TIPI 01

Prologue

“You’re fired.”

The handsome, white-haired man sitting across from me delivered the news matter-of-factly.

“What? Why?”

“The advantage of being a contract worker is that you can be fired for practically any reason. Surely you knew that?”

I had always assumed that because I was a contract worker, things like labor unions had nothing to do with me.

“However, if you wish to remain as my personal physician, I can hire you under a new contract starting today.”

While I was calmly considering how to respond to an unfair contract termination, my employer, Duke Carseido, slid a new contract across the table.

I picked it up—and my eyes widened.

“This is a permanent employment contract, isn’t it? And the annual salary is increased by 200%…”

A salary increase, a private clinic, paid leave, even travel expenses.

The terms were so good they practically sparkled.

But then one particular clause caught my eye.

“But what is this? ‘When required by the employer, the employee shall perform the role of Duchess.’”

“As you know, I periodically announce my marriage to the public at appropriate intervals. It is time to do so again.”

It might sound insane to anyone else, but for him, it was perfectly normal.

He neither aged nor died. He was an immortal who pretended that generations of descendants had succeeded him, all the way down to the descendants of descendants.

“You want me to pretend to be your wife?”

“Yes. Whenever I need you, you will simply stand by my side and play the role of my wife. That is all.”

I stared at the contract, deep in thought.

The phrase “whenever required” bothered me quite a bit…

But surely this was better than being fired.

More importantly, I had come to this mansion almost as if fleeing because I didn’t want to marry a seventy-two-year-old count. If I went home, that man might start pestering me again.

Besides, it’s easy on the eyes.

Someone once said that the greatest employee benefit at the Carseido mansion was the employer’s face.

I wholeheartedly agreed.

“So, are you going to sign or not?”

“About the Duchess duties… Please add a condition that you will only require me to perform them during my working hours, from nine to six. And if you need me to work outside those hours, I want overtime pay.”

The duke picked up his pen. A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll be happy to agree to that.”

1

Illegitimate children in fairy tales were always unhappy in more or less the same way.

Seven-year-old Lionel, who had gone to find her baron father carrying nothing but her mother’s will, was no exception.

“Where did this beggar come from…? You should be grateful that we’re even taking you in. And don’t call me ‘Mother.’”

The family worked Lionel to the bone.

Looking down at her blistered hands, Lionel thought that this misery would continue forever.

If only her stepmother, Lavienne, hadn’t suddenly collapsed one day with a deathly pale face.

“Wait… Isn’t this hypoglycemia?”

Fifteen-year-old Lionel moved before she even had time to think.

In her previous life, she had been a second-year internal medicine resident who had died instantly in an unfortunate traffic accident.

“Orange juice! Candy! Sugar! Bring me anything! Hurry!”

The hated bastard child had instantly become their lifesaver.

There was something sweet about watching the people who had once thrown rags at her face now nervously asking for medical advice.

From then on, Lionel began taking charge of everything—from her stepmother’s lifestyle habits to those of the rest of the family.

“Mother. I told you. Broccoli first, then eggs, and then bread.”

By the time Lionel turned twenty, she was still scolding her stepmother first thing in the morning.

Five years was more than enough time for the young girl to awaken as a demonic drill instructor.

Lavienne hurriedly placed the rye bread on her plate.

The Baron of Prensia, who was sitting beside her, cautiously joined in.

“Lionel. Lavienne’s fasting blood sugar was 100 again this morning. So you don’t have to be quite so strict…”

As if she had been waiting for him to say that, Lionel pulled a small device from her pocket.

It was a measuring instrument she had specially commissioned from the Magic Tower.

“You can cheat a fasting blood sugar test, but you can’t cheat your HbA1c.”

HbA1c: a measurement indicating the average blood sugar control over the previous two to three months.

“If you want, we can test it right now.”

“Ah, all right.”

Lavienne put some broccoli into her mouth and chewed reluctantly.

Following Lionel’s instructions, she ate the egg and then reached for the rye bread.

Just as her fingers touched it—

Smack!

Lionel grabbed Lavienne’s hand.

Something immediately slipped out from her sleeve and fell onto the table.

A small packet of strawberry jam.

“Freeze. What is this? Trying to hide contraband?”

“B-but it’s okay to put just a little on!”

“No, it isn’t, Mother. Do you need to lose your hand to complications before you finally learn your lesson?”

Her half-brother, Luen, who had been silently chewing his rye bread, shook his head.

Lavienne’s fists trembled.

Then she abruptly changed the subject.

“Lionel. You remember the promise you made, don’t you? You said that if you couldn’t repay your medical school tuition within a year after graduation, you’d get married. But you’ve already quit two jobs…”

She continued needling Lionel.

“Perhaps being a doctor really was too much for you?”

“It’s all right. Being a nobleman’s wife is a perfectly decent life, you know. And what’s wrong with marrying someone a little older? They say love knows neither age nor borders.”

There’s such a thing as being too old.

If it were you, would you marry a seventy-two-year-old man and live happily ever after?

Men like that are old as dirt but still obsessed with having children. They’d probably