Letters from a Dead Heir

I opened the strange, wax-sealed delivery to find a bloodstained letter. The handwriting was unmistakably mine, but the instructions were madness: *Shave your head, bind your chest, and become Sabin. The Dukedom must be ours.* With my memories fractured by an assassin's poison, I have no choice but to follow my past self's chillingly brilliant blueprint for revenge. As the new male heir of House Volkov, I navigate a viper's nest of usurping uncles and deadly aristocratic trials. My only obstacle? General Ignac Rostoch, the fiercely strict military warden assigned to oversee my inheritance. He is meant to be a tool in my grand scheme, yet our forced alliance pushes us into suffocatingly tight spaces - literally, as we spend an agonizing hour pressed chest-to-chest in a narrow weapons closet to evade my uncle's assassins. Now, the stoic General is spiraling into a severe panic, secretly consulting underground physicians for tonics to cure his sudden, forbidden attraction to another man. My past self accounted for every political trap, but did she foresee the explosive consequences of breaking the General's composure? What happens when I must don a gown for a covert mission, and he recognizes the eyes of the 'boy' he's been desperately fighting not to love?