Lydia Slater thought she might be running a fever.

Her breathing was rapid, her body was burning up, and even her heart was racing. Her mind felt foggy with strange images flashing before her and memories that weren’t her own. As the scenes slowed down and became clearer, so did her thoughts. She realized she wasn’t sick, she had crossed into another world.

It was the 1970s now, and she had somehow ended up in the body of a girl with the same name as hers, Lydia. This girl had just turned eighteen, had finished middle school, and had spent the last three years working on her family’s farm. When her parents saw she was old enough to marry, they asked around to set her up with someone.

As it turned out, the wife of the village chief was looking for a bride for her youngest son, Sigmund Ferris, who was serving in the military. She was willing to offer a large dowry, and the marriage was quickly arranged.

Sigmund had joined the army at sixteen and was now twenty-five, having served for nine years. During all that time, he had never returned home but regularly sent money, more and more with each passing year. His mother had tried to arrange his marriage several times before, but he never came back, so she could only wait.

As Sigmund approached thirty, his mother grew desperate. She sent a telegram claiming she was on her deathbed to ensure he would come back, and at the same time, she scoured the village for a suitable girl. The original Lydia was the perfect match. She was young, pretty, educated, and hardworking, so Sigmund’s mother finalized the marriage before he even arrived.

When Sigmund finally came home, his mother pushed him into filing the marriage paperwork and getting the certificate. They even went straight to the wedding chamber that same night.

In those days, arranged marriages weren’t exactly blind, but there were plenty of cases where couples barely met before tying the knot. The original Lydia had grown up hearing people say that Sigmund, a soldier with a heavy air about him, must’ve had something wrong with him since he hadn’t come home in so long and didn’t seem eager to marry. They whispered that whoever married him would probably end up a widow in all but name.

Hearing such rumors over the years had left a deep impression on her, so much so that on the night of her wedding, she’d been so terrified that she died of fright before Sigmund even stepped into the room. And that’s when Lydia from another world came in.

As she processed the flood of memories, Lydia couldn’t help but want to scream. Seriously, what kind of mess had she landed in?

Just as she was about to open her eyes and get a look at the room, the door creaked open. Footsteps approached, heavy but steady, followed by the soft sound of the door closing. Only one person could’ve come in at this time, Sigmund Ferris.

Lydia didn’t dare open her eyes. She kept them squeezed shut, her heart racing even faster. Seriously, she had just arrived, and now she had to deal with a wedding night? Wasn’t this all happening way too fast?

Before this, Lydia had been an orphan who spent her life working hard to get ahead. She had never even held a guy’s hand, let alone been in a situation like this. She had no idea what to expect.

She waited and waited, but the room remained quiet. The silence made her even more anxious. Her heart pounded in her chest.

Then, out of nowhere, a deep, calm voice spoke.

"I brought in some warm water. Do you want to wash up?"

Lydia almost jumped. His voice was really nice. Slowly, she cracked open her eyes just a bit. Standing by the bedside was a tall figure dressed in a crisp military uniform, every crease perfectly in place. Even though it was summer, he had buttoned his shirt all the way up. His sharp features, the high nose, defined jawline, and lips pressed into a slight line, gave off an air of discipline.

And d*mn, he was good-looking.

Even though Lydia had seen plenty of actors on TV, none of them came close to how striking Sigmund Ferris was in person. She couldn’t help but admire him silently.

"Do you want to wash up?" he asked again, his voice patient.

Snapping out of her daze, Lydia stammered, "Y-yes!" She hurriedly got out of bed, put on her shoes, and made her way to the washstand, splashing her face with the warm water.

Sigmund then set down another basin and filled it. "You can soak your feet in here."

Lydia blinked. In the village, most people weren’t bothered by such things. Even women usually just washed their hands and feet with cold water and called it a night. The original Lydia had been no different. But now that Lydia was here, she actually had a habit of soaking her feet before bed. Hearing Sigmund’s offer, she mentally gave him a point.

After soaking her feet, Lydia was about to dump out the water herself, but Sigmund sat down, removed his shoes and socks, and placed his feet in the basin.

Lydia hesitated. "Wait, I used that water…"

"It’s fine. It’s not dirty."

His feet, like the rest of him, were pale, long, and slim. Even his feet looked good. Lydia couldn’t believe she was thinking this, but it was true.

After he finished soaking his feet, Sigmund picked up the basin and took it outside to dump the water. He came back shortly after and locked the door.

The room wasn’t very big as half of it was taken up by the bed, and the rest of the space had a small round table and a washstand. On the table was a dim oil lamp casting a warm glow over the simple furnishings.

Lydia glanced around the room, and her eyes accidentally landed on Sigmund’s face again. Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly looked away, feeling it race in her chest once more.

Sigmund walked over to the table and reached for the lamp to blow it out.

"Wait," Lydia blurted. "Why are you blowing out the light?"

He paused and looked at her, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "You want to keep it on? Fine by me."

Lydia froze. That wasn’t what she meant!

The light went out. Without the lamp, the room plunged into complete darkness, the kind that made it impossible to see even an inch in front of you. You could hear the other person’s breathing, but you couldn’t make out a thing. Lydia’s pulse quickened as she listened to the sound of Sigmund’s breathing growing closer.

Suddenly, his breath was right next to her ear, warm and slow. She could feel the heat of it brushing her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Don’t be scared," Sigmund’s voice was barely above a whisper, soft and husky, completely different from his earlier calm tone.

Lydia swallowed hard, her throat dry. She didn’t know where she found the courage, but she replied with a steady voice, "I’m not scared."

The moment the words left her mouth, Sigmund let out a low, quiet laugh. His breath quickened just slightly.