Blackening the Affectionate Male Lead (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 4

Whitney hurriedly left the greenhouse and headed straight to her room. As she approached the door, she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand upon seeing Rael waiting for her. Though she tried to compose her expression as if nothing had happened, her fingertips trembled.

Rael, as if she had been waiting right outside Whitney’s door, scolded her.

“Where on earth have you been? Lady Melissa is coming soon, so wait inside. I’ll bring you some warm tea.”

[I went out because I felt suffocated.]

Whitney showed Rael the note she had written. Without even a hint of curiosity, Rael furrowed her brow and pushed past Whitney into the room.

“Hurry up and get everything ready.”

Rael nodded toward the maid. The maid standing beside her wheeled over a tray and placed teacups and pastries on the table.

“Don’t go anywhere else—just wait here, understood? Don’t make me have to search for you again.”

[…I won’t. Don’t tell my sister I went out. You’ll only get scolded for no reason.]

“Hmph, I wasn’t going to anyway.”

Rael shot Whitney a sideways glare before leaving the room. Only after the maid had also exited did Whitney slump into a chair.

‘What should I do? What can I possibly do…?’

Her throat burned as if on fire. Anxiety dried her mouth, and her thoughts turned chaotic. Clutching her trembling hands, Whitney poured tea into her cup.

‘It’s okay. I just have to pretend I don’t know anything. Then I’ll meet His Majesty the King and tell him everything.’

But what would that change? What could possibly be different?

The king now had only one son left—the sole heir to the throne was Prince Karl.

A hollow laugh escaped Whitney. Everything had already been carefully orchestrated.

Where had it all gone wrong?

Perhaps it had started the moment she found and rescued Prince Karl. Whitney sipped her tea to soothe her parched throat.

At that instant, searing pain shot through her entire body.

‘Ugh!’

It hurt—so terribly. She let out a silent scream and collapsed from her chair onto the floor. Scratching at her chest in agony did nothing to ease the torment.

Her breath grew shallower, and the pain intensified. Whitney stretched out her hand and crawled toward the door.

‘Please, someone… h-help…’

Crying out was useless. Clinging to her fading consciousness, Whitney saw the door swing open.

“Whitney’s not here. I told her to wait, but since she’s nowhere to be found, I suppose there’s nothing for it.”

Melissa spoke in her soft, gentle voice as she closed the door. Then she approached Whitney. Summoning every last ounce of strength, Whitney grabbed Melissa’s ankle.

“Just die quietly. You’ve no reason to feel wronged. The real problem isn’t the one who takes—it’s the one who gets taken from. Who told you to trust people so easily? You’re a fool who learns nothing, even after being betrayed once.”

Melissa jerked her foot back, causing Whitney’s hand to thud heavily onto the floor. With a smile, she stomped firmly on Whitney’s hand.

“Don’t grab my ankle. If only Father were still alive, things would’ve been so much easier. You ruined everything. I won’t let you ruin this chance too. Do you have any idea what I sacrificed to get it? So please, just die quietly.”

Whitney closed her eyes as she watched Melissa’s foot step farther away. Her breath hitched raggedly, and her consciousness gradually faded.

[This is the timeline separator]

“Huh… huh…”

Whitney clutched her throat as if her breath had risen to her chin. The memory of that suffocating moment haunted her, making the pain feel endless.

She gasped desperately for air, and a flood of oxygen rushed into her nose.

Before she could even grasp what was happening, she curled inward, clutching her chest and groaning from the lingering pain in her body. It felt as though every drop of moisture within her was being drained dry.

As the pain slowly subsided, her eyes opened.

‘What on earth…?’

The room she saw upon opening her eyes was her own. Only then did she realize something was terribly wrong, and she sat up abruptly.

She was certain she had died. She remembered drinking the tea laced with poison by Melissa, and the slender feel of Melissa’s ankle against her fingertips as she made her final, desperate grab.

“…Melissa.”

Her voice actually came out! Whitney clutched her throat and cautiously spoke again.

Her own voice sounded strange to her—it had been so long since she’d heard it. Though it had only been a few days since she’d lost her ability to speak, she felt oddly comforted by the sound.

“Melissa. Melissa.”

She clenched her fists. Melissa, who had killed her, appeared vividly in her mind. She could almost hear the faint echo of Melissa’s footsteps fading away, leaving her to die alone.

“Am I really alive?”

Though it seemed impossible, everything felt too vivid to deny. Cautiously stepping out of bed and walking to the mirror, Whitney burst into tears at the sight of her reflection.

‘I’m alive… I’m actually alive. But… something feels off.’

Her face looked slightly younger, her green eyes clearer. Her hair was tousled from sleep, and she wore an old but frilled nightgown.

The nightgown she wore was the very one Melissa had given her as a gift for her nineteenth birthday.

She reached out and stared at her reflection in the mirror for a while.

‘This isn’t a failed poisoning. This… this is going back in time.’

She had been twenty-one when she attended the royal banquet and saved Prince Karl.

Was it really possible that she had not only returned from death—but also traveled two years into the past?

How could this happen? Yet everything she touched felt real, and the pain was completely gone.

Even in this unbelievable situation, she remained calm—after all, what had happened before her death had been far more unbelievable.

Still, if such an impossible thing had occurred, she hoped for something more hopeful—like returning to a time when her father was still alive.

‘Wait—if I’ve gone back two years… that means Prince Chester is still alive.’

Good heavens! Whitney covered her mouth with her hands. Perhaps heaven had granted her a chance to set things right.

Just then, the door opened, and Whitney’s gaze turned toward it. The maid who entered without even knocking—shockingly rude—was none other than Rael.

“Oh! You startled me. Huh? Are you awake?”

She entered the room as if nothing were wrong and drew back the curtains, making Whitney squint against the blinding sunlight.

Whitney barely managed to shield her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Why are you just sitting there like an idiot? Will you be taking your meals separately?”

“…Yes.”

She still didn’t feel ready to face Melissa. She needed more time to steel herself before confronting the woman who had killed her.

“From now on, you don’t need to come wake me up. I’ll call you when I need you. That’ll be easier for you too.”

“Of course it’s easier for me. Do you have any idea how hard it is to climb all the way up to the attic of this mansion? We’re lucky Madam is kind—if the Duke weren’t away, do you think anyone would bother caring for a bloodless brat like you?”

Rael snorted and left the room. Whitney closed the door behind her and took a deep breath.

‘Is it really okay for me to stay like this?’

Leaning against the door, she closed her eyes. She needed time to fully process this situation and let the fury in her heart settle.

[This is the timeline separator]

The next morning, Whitney organized her chaotic thoughts. She still had time before the banquet.

To save Chester, who had died so unjustly, she first needed to secure her own foundation. She had spent her whole life ignored by her stepmother and older sister. Naturally, she had always believed it was her own fault—she was used to accepting and enduring everything.

Now, she finally understood—it had all been done to make her easy to manipulate. They had isolated her so thoroughly that she’d believed only their words, carefully suppressing young Whitney to the point where she couldn’t even recognize what was wrong.

She recalled what she needed to do first. Since she was nearing the end of her nineteenth year, she would have to make her debut as a debutante on her twentieth birthday. That might be her opportunity. She still had half a year left.

‘I need to learn more about Prince Chester.’

Helping him would require many preparations. First and foremost, she herself had to change. If only Melissa hadn’t ruined her dress at the debutante ball, she wouldn’t have been shunned by high society.

Though everyone had blamed her, looking back, Melissa had been at the root of everything.

The green dress—the only garment inherited from her mother. Though it had been altered in the name of fashion until it was ruined, Whitney would never forget the day she wore it.

Lace had been patched over the worn fabric, and beads added as a distraction. Anyone could tell it was a repaired dress, but Whitney hadn’t cared—after all, her stepmother had never given her a proper one anyway.

When Melissa had whispered to her, wearing a displeased expression, that buying a new dress for the debutante ball was wasteful and that a princess should demonstrate modesty, Whitney should have realized then that it was all part of Melissa’s scheme to isolate her in society.

She opened the wardrobe and looked at her mother’s keepsakes.

‘If I mend it properly, it might still be wearable.’

Then as now, she had no money. Yet she didn’t want to sell her mother’s jewelry to buy a new dress. The fabric was of such good quality that, despite the years, it still felt soft to the touch.

There was still time before the debutante ball, and she had to do something. She couldn’t let history repeat itself.

Even if Whitney hadn’t found Prince Karl, someone else would have—he was meant to be the pawn in their trap to eliminate Prince Chester. It didn’t matter who played that role.

‘If Melissa sees it, she’d gladly make Karl her pawn.’

If Karl truly loved her—if Whitney had returned from death without knowing anything—she might have taken Karl’s hand instead of Prince Chester’s.

She would have helped him avoid falling off the cliff in the first place, just to keep him alive. In a way, she now owed a debt to Prince Chester.

Because of her, he had died. Because of him, she had survived—only to die in the end.

‘This time, I’ll save him.’

Whitney closed the wardrobe and left the room. But first, there was something she needed to do.

She needed evidence to reclaim her rightful place.