Author: Momo Chan

1 To seize my place as the future Crown Princess for my illegitimate half-sister, Evelyn, my three older brothers stopped at nothing. My eldest brother, Damon, deliberately unleashed his prized tiger, which tore half the skin from my face, leaving me disfigured. My second brother, Julian, secretly allowed bandits into our estate. They severed the tendons in both my hands, ensuring I could never hold a quill again, my talents forever wasted. My third brother, Adrian, bribed a debauched nobleman to violate me, shattering my reputation and my purity. Evelyn successfully took my place and became the Crown Princess. Only after their goal was achieved did my three brothers remember me. “Don’t worry, Alice,” they promised, “we’ll make it up to you. We’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.” I clutched the marriage contract just delivered to me by the crippled Lord Chancellor, and answered calmly, “That won’t be necessary. Your repentance is a burden I can no longer bear.” It took me three days to legally sever all ties with them. Then, without a backward glance, I stepped into the bridal carriage. Later, I heard my three brothers turned the capital city upside down, even posting a bounty, just to bring me home. But what did it matter? I was no longer connected to them in any way… … In the training grounds, my eldest brother, Damon, was personally training a tiger cub. He was the most renowned beastmaster in the Kingdom of Veridia, training animals exclusively for the royal family. But now, he stroked the cub’s head, his face full of tender hope. “Pip,” he murmured, “you must be a good boy, so you can protect Evelyn when you’re grown…” Tears streamed down from under my mask, seeping into the unhealed wounds on my cheek. The stinging pain was sharp and deep. I had always wanted a tiger cub of my own, but Damon had always scolded me for my impropriety, saying that the tiger was the king of beasts, a companion fit only for a king. I used to think he was just a stickler for rules, afraid I would bring trouble upon myself. Now I knew the truth: for the person he truly cherished, he was more than willing to bend those rules. Seven years ago, after my mother passed away and my father brought his mistress and her illegitimate daughter, Evelyn, into our home, the brother who had once adored me became a stranger. His eyes saw only Evelyn; his trueborn sister had ceased to exist. I walked over to Pip and stroked his soft, downy head. “Brother,” I asked, my voice low, “do you remember that I always wanted a tiger cub, too?” Damon saw me and recoiled as if from a monster. He snatched Pip into his arms, his eyes wary. “Alice, what are you trying to do? This is a wedding gift for Evelyn. Don’t you dare think of taking it!” His distrust wasn’t new. Seven years ago, when Evelyn first arrived at our estate, she had deliberately paraded in front of me in her new, fine clothes, a clear provocation. I paid her no mind, simply ordering my handmaiden, Lyra, to escort her out. But Evelyn tore her own dress, slammed her head against a stone table, and accused me of attacking her. When Damon arrived, he saw only her pathetic, tear-streaked face. She shrank into his arms like a frightened fawn. “Brother,” she whimpered, “Lady Alice said I was a bastard, unworthy of such fine cloth. She had her maidservant tear my clothes from my body…” Damon had always been simple-minded, believing only what he saw with his own eyes. He refused to listen to my explanation, slapped me hard across the face, and our relationship has been cold ever since. In his mind, I was a jealous shrew who wanted everything for herself. It was true seven years ago, and it was true now. I had tried to prove my innocence countless times over the years, only to be met with disgust and dismissal. Every word from my mouth was, to him, a lie. Now, on the verge of leaving forever, I had finally found peace with it. You can’t force affection, and a heart won by deceit will never be true. My goal today was simple: to sever our ties, not to reconcile. Damon looked at the disownment writ I had prepared and sneered. “A highborn lady with such a petty heart. You’re nothing like Evelyn, so gracious and understanding. Having a sister like you is my greatest shame.” I touched the cold, unfeeling mask on my face, as if tracing the ruined flesh beneath. “And having a brother like you,” I said with a self-mocking laugh, “is mine.” I had always adored Damon, hanging on his every word, never once contradicting him. Even after the tiger mauled me, I never directly accused him. This was the first time in my life I had shown him such insolence. He couldn’t stand it. He grabbed me by the throat, his eyes shot with blood. “You brought this on yourself, Alice! The day you commanded that cub to attack Evelyn, you should have known this day would come!” I was suddenly thrown back to a summer when I was eight. Evelyn had dragged me into the tiger enclosure to play. I tried to stop her, warning her of the danger, but she was determined to touch a cub that was teething. The startled cub pounced, scratching her face. When Damon rushed in, she pointed at me and screamed that I had ordered the attack. Without a single question, he locked me in an empty tiger cage and starved me for three days and three nights. The memory was a heavy stone in my chest, crushing the air from my lungs. Eager to be free of this place, I pushed through the pain. “Since you hate me so much, Brother, then sign the papers. Then Evelyn can be entered into the family archives as your trueborn sister…” “Fine! A venomous creature like you was never worthy of being my sister anyway!” Damon snatched the quill from a servant and scrawled his name. He threw the document in my face. “Don’t you regret this! Who would want you, looking as you do now? What good is cutting ties? You’ll still have to live in this house, eating our food, using our resources!” I picked up the writ, folded it carefully, and tucked it into my sleeve. “You needn’t worry, Lord Damon. Alice will not be a burden.” His eyelashes fluttered. He took a step closer, his voice a low growl. “You call me Lord Damon?!” I stepped back, maintaining the distance between us. “Our ties are severed. It is only proper.” He trembled with rage, his jaw tight. “Good! Very good! Let’s see how long your pride lasts. Don’t come crawling back to me!” I won’t, I thought. In three days, I will leave this house and never return. Regret, hardship… whatever comes next, it will be mine alone to bear. 2 The next day, I entered the study of my second brother, Julian. After our father, the Duke, passed away, Julian, as the most learned and promising son, inherited his title and became the new Lord Chancellor. Years in the royal court had taught him a composure Damon lacked. He didn’t react to my unannounced entry, his eyes remaining on the document he was writing. A single, perfunctory question drifted from his lips. “Are your hands any better?” I looked at my hands. Though the wounds had healed, they could no longer hold a quill. “Much better,” I said, a bitter laugh escaping me. “Thank you for leaving me with at least some ability to function.” Julian, pleased by my lack of hysterics, offered a small, satisfied smile. “Now, this is how a lady of a great house should behave. Alice, don’t blame me for my harshness. Evelyn suffered so much in her youth. Her skills in poetry, painting, and politics are no match for yours. If we hadn’t helped her this time, I fear she would have chosen a life of lonely spinsterhood after losing the Prince…” I gazed at the painting of orchids I had gifted him, which hung on the wall. A wave of sorrow washed over me, a single tear tracing a path down my cheek. “And what about me, Brother? My engagement is ruined. What am I to do? Live out my days as a lonely spinster?” He saw my tear but mistook it for an accusation. The flicker of guilt in his eyes vanished, replaced by annoyance. “Alice, I was trying to spare you some dignity. You know full well how you came by that engagement to the Prince! Evelyn was the one who saved him. You shamelessly stole the token of affection the Prince left for her, which led him to propose to the wrong sister! You owe her this!” At the Midsummer Festival when I was ten, I pulled a boy my age from the river. Before he lost consciousness, he pressed a jade pendant into my hand. I didn’t know he was the Crown Prince, who had snuck out of the palace to see the festival, so I casually left the pendant on my dressing table. Evelyn’s mother, while pretending to bring me medicine for a cold, saw it. After making inquiries, she returned with Evelyn and accused me of theft. They described the pendant’s design and the events of that day with perfect accuracy. My father and brothers naturally believed them. But when the Prince came to formally propose, he ignored the pendant. Instead, he closed his eyes and gently took my hand. “It was her,” he declared. “This is the hand that saved me. I would not mistake it!” The Prince’s validation did not clear my name. It only made my father and brothers despise me more, convinced I had used some dark art to bewitch him. From that day on, Julian lost all faith in me and sided completely with Evelyn. He held fast to our father’s last words: “You must help Evelyn reclaim the marriage that is rightfully hers!” “Alice, if you have a shred of conscience left, you will wish Evelyn nothing but happiness!” Julian’s sharp words pulled me from my reverie. I no longer had the will to argue. I nodded meekly. “I understand.” I took down the orchid painting. “This was my finest work. Let it be a wedding gift for the Prince and Evelyn. Since you never truly liked it anyway…” A flicker of regret crossed his eyes, but his proud, stoic nature wouldn’t allow him to show it. He looked down. “Do as you wish. As long as you don’t cause any trouble for Evelyn.” I placed the disownment writ on his desk and offered him the quill. “Sign this, Brother, and I guarantee I will never disturb Evelyn again.” He looked up sharply, his voice laced with anger. “Are you threatening me?” “Yes,” I replied calmly. Julian hesitated, then snatched the quill and signed his name. “You said it! Don’t you dare go back on your word!” I folded the document and glanced one last time at the decree he was drafting. “Lord Julian,” I said, “reducing taxes by thirty percent will certainly help the common folk, but it will be a great burden on the royal treasury. A ten percent reduction, coupled with incentives for cultivating fallow land, would be a more sustainable path to prosperity.” His eyes lit up, the corners of his mouth twitching into an appreciative smile. “Alice, you truly have a gift for governance. It’s a shame your heart is so twisted. Stay by my side. Be my advisor. As for this disownment writ… I’ll consider it a childish tantrum.” I shook my head calmly. “Thank you for the offer, Lord Julian, but my nature would only vex you. I will not offer my counsel again. Consider this last piece of advice a repayment for your years of care.” Julian sighed. “Very well. We will speak again when you have come to your senses and changed your ways.” You won’t have time to wait for that, Brother, I thought. In two days, we will part ways, forever.

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The day I was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I discovered my in-laws had never paid into my health insurance as they’d promised. Staring at the zero balance in my account and my own meager savings, I sat in the hospital corridor for an entire day. Later, I asked my oncologist how long I had left if I chose not to pursue treatment. After he told me, I went to my in-laws’ house under the cover of darkness, turned on the gas stove, and chose to take them with me. The next thing I knew, I was back in the year I first got married. To avoid making the same mistake, I decided to handle my own insurance this time. This one small change led me to an unexpected discovery. The person who had denied me my insurance… wasn’t who I thought it was at all. 1 “Kelly, sweetheart, now that you’re married into our family, we’re all one. I know your job doesn’t offer benefits, so from now on, let us handle your health insurance.” My mother-in-law’s kind voice echoed in my ear. Before I could even process it, my body had already given its reflexive answer. “Okay…” My eyelid twitched. I quickly changed my tune. “Okay… I mean, it’s okay, but really, I can handle it myself, Eleanor. My salary isn’t high, but with Mark’s income, we have more than enough. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.” I kept my face calm, but my palms were slick with sweat. I had no idea if this deviation from my past life would trigger some unforeseen negative consequence. But right now, I had to distance myself from my two-faced in-laws as quickly as possible. In my previous life, it was because I believed they genuinely had my best interests at heart that I entrusted them with something so important. Looking back, I had been an absolute fool. I had treated them like family, and they had treated me like an idiot. “Well, if you say so, Kelly.” To my surprise, my in-laws didn’t insist. They readily agreed to my proposal. “But you two are just starting out, and there are a lot of expenses when you’re newlyweds,” Eleanor said. “Let us transfer four thousand dollars to you every month. You can use it however you see fit. Don’t you dare refuse this, Kelly.” Right then and there, she pulled out her phone and transferred forty-eight thousand dollars to my account. She explained it was a year’s worth of support paid in advance, to save us the psychological pressure of monthly payments. She smiled and told us to spend it freely, to ask if we ever needed more, as they had little use for money themselves. Mark was their only son; everything they had would one day be ours. My father-in-law chimed in, echoing her sentiments. After the transfer, they didn’t linger. They left our new home without any fuss. Watching the elderly couple’s retreating figures, the confusion in my heart deepened. 2 That evening, after Mark got home, I served the dinner I’d prepared. As we ate, I casually brought up his parents’ offer to pay for my insurance. There was no surprise on Mark’s face, as if his parents had already filled him in. Just as I suspected. “Yeah, Mom and Dad told me when they left this morning,” he said, his tone perfectly calm. “It’s normal for you to not want to bother them. They gave you the money anyway, so you can just arrange it yourself.” After dinner, he cleared the table and went to the kitchen to do the dishes, his behavior completely normal. I sat back down, a growing sense of unease creeping over me. If my in-laws had been the ones to deliberately screw me over in my past life, then after I rejected their offer this time, they shouldn’t have been so agreeable. Even if they transferred the money to keep up appearances, they should have complained to their son behind my back, griping about what an ungrateful daughter-in-law I was and trying to get the money back. But they had done none of that. It made my defensive actions seem pointless, like I was the one making a scene over nothing. I even began to doubt my own memories, wondering if my past life had just been a vivid nightmare. I shook my head, forcing myself to stay calm. It was better to be cautious. I would take it one step at a time. As I was about to get up, my phone vibrated. It was a text from my mom. Mom: Kelly honey, you’ve been married almost a month and I haven’t even visited you yet. Are you working tomorrow? I was thinking of stopping by. I thought for a moment and replied that I had the day off, that she could come whenever she liked. In her reply, I noticed something strange. My mom, who was terrible with technology and only used her phone for calls and basic texts, had sent me a popular, trending meme. 3 The next morning, Mark had been gone for less than two minutes when the doorbell rang. Despite the tension I’d been under since my rebirth, the sight of my own mother helped me relax a little. I got her a pair of slippers and went to the kitchen to pour her a glass of water. Before I could even sit down, my mom asked a very sudden question. “Kelly, I heard your in-laws gave you some money?” I had no intention of hiding it. “Yes,” I replied. “They offered to pay for my health insurance, but I thought it would be too much trouble, so I declined. They transferred me the money to do it myself instead.” “Hmm, you did the right thing, Kelly,” my mom said, nodding and taking a sip of water. “Something that important shouldn’t be left to outsiders. What if they said they’d pay, but never actually did anything? Then if you got really sick and needed it, you’d be in a real mess, wouldn’t you?” I murmured in agreement and reached for the remote to watch some TV. But my mom stopped me, pressing on. “So, how much did they give you?” I turned to look at her. Her face held a look of casual curiosity, as if she were asking what I’d had for breakfast. But a gut feeling, a sixth sense, made me lie. I told her I’d received two thousand dollars. I didn’t know how she’d heard about the money, but I prayed that whoever told her hadn’t mentioned the exact amount. Perhaps fate was on my side. She clearly didn’t know the real number. A flash of disappointment crossed her face when I said two thousand. “Kelly, honey, I don’t mean to criticize, but your in-laws seem quite well-off. Two thousand is all they could spare? We didn’t even ask them for a dowry, we just wanted you two to be happy. But looking at it now, maybe we asked for too little. Maybe they think we’re easy to push around, and they don’t value you because of it.” I said nothing, just watched my mom talk to herself. “If I had known, I would have demanded a fortune! Then you wouldn’t be living so frugally now!” she continued. Then she asked, “So, is it two thousand a month, or two thousand for the whole year?” “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” My feelings were a confusing mix. A terrible suspicion began to form in my mind. She had never been this interested in my finances before. Her behavior was deeply abnormal. She didn’t notice my silence, her words tumbling out. “Well, why don’t you give that two thousand to me? I’ll pitch in a little extra and get your insurance sorted for you!” 4 My heart sank. The terrible suspicion now consumed me. I couldn’t stop myself from connecting my mother to my lack of health insurance. Although there was little concrete evidence yet, considering everything that had happened since my rebirth, it wasn’t impossible for my mother to have been the one pulling the strings. To test my theory, I transferred four thousand dollars to her. “Mom, I know I can trust you with this. Please, you handle the insurance for me. You don’t need to add any of your own money, we have enough. Consider the rest a little something from me to you and Dad. Since I’m not at home, I can’t take care of you as much, so use the money to buy yourselves something nice.” “Of course! I’ll get it done for you, don’t you worry!” My mom cheerfully accepted the money and left shortly after. The next few days passed quietly. My in-laws acted as they always did. They’d send good morning texts in the family group chat and share photos of their meals. They never once mentioned the forty-eight thousand dollars, as if it had never happened. No one asked if I’d paid my insurance. They seemed to trust me completely. The money was mine to do with as I pleased. My husband, Mark, was also completely normal. Our life continued just as it had before we were married. If I cooked, he did the dishes, and vice versa. He was upholding all the promises he’d made to me, without a hint of impatience. My suspicion of my mother grew stronger. I decided I had to verify it myself. A week after I gave her the money, I went to a pharmacy to buy some antacids with my insurance card. The pharmacist told me there were no funds in the account. At first, I didn’t believe her. Seeing my shock, she thought her machine might be broken, but after checking several times, the result was the same. It felt as if my bones had been removed. I collapsed onto a nearby chair, all strength gone from my body. The pharmacist helped me to a small sofa. After thanking her, I stubbornly texted my mom, asking why there was no money on my insurance card. Mom: No money? How is that possible? I definitely paid it! Her reply was one of utter surprise, her self-righteous tone making me wonder if I’d brought the wrong card. After a moment’s thought, I called her. The phone rang for a long time before she answered. I immediately noticed an unusual sound in the background, something I’d never heard at my parents’ home before. It sounded like a child, maybe around ten years old. Before I could ask, my mom abruptly hung up. She sent a text moments later, claiming she was busy and couldn’t talk, telling me to just text her if I needed something. The more I thought about it, the more something felt wrong. I let Mark know I was heading out and drove to my parents’ house. On the way, I tried calling my mom repeatedly, but she either hung up or rejected the call. Her texts became more and more irritated. She asked if I had nothing better to do, telling me to just stay home and relax on my day off instead of constantly calling her. I didn’t reply to her last texts. I had already arrived at their apartment complex. I parked the car, hurried into the building, and took the elevator to the tenth floor. The elevator dinged open, and I walked to the door on the left side of the hallway. I entered the passcode. After a moment’s pause, the door didn’t open as expected. Instead, a cold, electronic voice announced: Incorrect Password. I looked around, confirming several times that this was indeed the home I had lived in for years before my marriage. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. I tried the code again, several times. The result was the same. Left with no other choice, I started pounding on the door. If anyone was inside, they would surely hear me. After several minutes of banging, my parents’ door remained shut. Instead, the door next to theirs opened. The neighbor, seeing it was me, scratched her head in confusion. “Kelly? What are you doing here? Didn’t your parents sell this place?”

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1 I’d always favored my own son, crushing my stepson at every turn. The year they both brought their girlfriends home for Christmas for the first time, I rolled out the red carpet for my son’s girlfriend, serving her hand and foot. But my stepson’s girlfriend, on her very first visit, I put to work in the kitchen. I was the very picture of the evil stepmother. Later, when I was on my deathbed, my son and daughter-in-law said it was bad luck to even visit. They refused to see me. It was my stepson and his wife who hired a caregiver for me. As I looked at the two of them, my last breath was a sigh of regret. “Mom, what’s in the box? Hurry up and show us!” Hearing my son’s voice, I froze. My mind went blank for a solid two seconds. I blinked, the scene before me eerily familiar. Wasn’t this five years ago? The Christmas my son and stepson first brought their girlfriends home? But… that’s impossible. I died, didn’t I? Could it be? Was I… reborn? Before I could unravel the thought, my son’s impatient voice prodded me again. I looked up at him, my gaze drifting to the woman beside him. Her face was a mask of pure anticipation, but behind it, I could almost see the vicious sneer she’d worn in my final days. My hand trembled, the gift box nearly tumbling into the pot of stew on the table. I jerked it back, shifting it to the side. Then, I turned to the other young woman at the table. “Jenna, dear,” I said, my voice steady. “This is a little something to welcome you to the family. I hope you and Ethan will be very happy together.” Confusion flickered across her face, but she reached out and accepted the box. I pulled my hand back and, without a moment’s hesitation, unclasped the cheap bracelet from my own wrist. “Claire,” I said, turning to my son’s girlfriend. “This was passed down from my mother. It’s yours now. I trust you’ll make my son happy.” The last words were ground out between clenched teeth. My little performance stunned the room into silence. All four of them stared at me, their minds clearly struggling to catch up. I simply picked up my fork and knife and began to eat, ignoring their collective shock. After my husband—their father—passed away, I’d made no secret of my preference. My biological son, Caleb, was my golden boy. My stepson, Ethan, was a constant reminder of my second-class status as a stepmother. So when they both brought their girlfriends home, my bias extended to them. I doted on Claire, my son’s girlfriend, serving her the finest food and drink. Meanwhile, I treated Jenna with cold disdain, ordering her around as if she were the hired help. It was her first time in our home, yet I’d made her cook the entire Christmas dinner. Caleb had mentioned Claire wanted a nice bracelet. I, who usually pinched every penny, who bought myself costume jewelry for less than twenty dollars, had drained my savings. I spent thousands on the piece now in Jenna’s hands. Claire’s parents were notoriously greedy, demanding an outrageous sum of money before they’d “allow” her to marry. But because my son loved her, I was prepared to hand over my entire nest egg. I truly believed I had never done her wrong. Later, when it was time for me to be cared for, I chose to live with Caleb. When Claire was pregnant, I waited on her like she was a queen. But what did I get in return? They were embarrassed by me. They told their friends I was the live-in housekeeper. Worse, when I fell gravely ill, they called me a jinx, dumped me in a hospital, and never looked back. My own son wouldn’t even block his wife’s cruelty; he just stopped answering my calls. The chill of that betrayal was colder than death itself. With a nurse’s help, my heart heavy with shame, I called Ethan. I never expected him to come, but he did, with Jenna by his side. They brought me nourishing soups and gifts. They hired a full-time caregiver to see to my needs. I died without ever managing to say, “I’m sorry.” But now, realizing I’d been given a second chance, I’d changed the script. That bracelet was going to Jenna. I finally saw the truth. My daughter-in-law was a viper, and my son was a thankless leech. Ethan and his wife—they were the ones with kindness and decency in their hearts. You raise children so they’ll take care of you when you’re old. Well, if my own blood was a bad investment, then I would invest in the one I could count on. 2 The rest of the meal passed in a heavy, unnerving silence. Ethan and Jenna, both quiet by nature, ate without a word. Claire, on the other hand, was less subtle. When I bent down to pick up a dropped napkin, I saw her foot sliding away from Caleb’s under the table, a silent, angry kick. After dinner, Jenna instinctively rose to clear the plates. I glanced at Claire, who was already absorbed in her phone, and cleared my throat. “Jenna cooked this wonderful meal,” I announced. “So, Claire, you can do the dishes.” The smile on Claire’s face froze. “Oh,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “I don’t do dishes, Eleanor.” “Really? Who does them at your house, then?” I asked, feigning curiosity. “My mom, of course,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. A bitter smile touched my lips. I must have been blind in my last life. Looking back, Claire wasn’t close to her own parents; she was hardly the picture of a dutiful daughter. What on earth made me think she would ever take care of me? I let out a small, sharp laugh. “Well, you see, once you’re married, someone has to do them. Who’s it going to be in your new home?” Claire shot me a look, as if I were some kind of prehistoric relic. “We’ll hire a housekeeper, obviously. Right, Caleb?” She turned to my son, seeking his immediate agreement. And then I heard it, from my own flesh and blood. “Yeah,” Caleb said, without a hint of shame. “Or, you know, we’ll have you, Mom.” A cold sneer formed in my heart. They hadn’t even walked down the aisle, and they’d already cast me as their unpaid servant. Well, it made sense. That’s exactly what I was in my last life. This time, however, they were in for a bitter disappointment. In the end, it was Jenna who quietly stood up and washed the dishes. I knew Claire wouldn’t lift a finger, not even if I dragged her to the sink. In my previous life, I had cooked elaborate feasts every day just to convince her to stay a little longer. Now, I couldn’t wait for her to leave. While they were all chatting in the living room, I decided to slip away to my room to review my finances—my nest egg. But as I turned, I saw Caleb following me. He shut the door behind him, his voice an immediate accusation. “Mom, what is wrong with you today? Wasn’t that bracelet for Claire? Why did you give it to Ethan and Jenna?” His voice rose. “And you made Claire wash dishes on her first visit! Are you trying to sabotage my marriage before it even starts?” I shot him a dismissive glance and continued searching for the key to my lockbox. I didn’t bother explaining. “It’s my money. I’ll give my gifts to whomever I please.” He was genuinely angry now. “If you don’t treat Claire right, who’s going to take care of you when you’re old? You can’t possibly be thinking of relying on them, can you?” Without looking up, I replied flatly, “Yes. I am.” Why would I rely on them? So they could take my money and leave me to rot in a hospital? Caleb had always been the center of my universe, coddled and spoiled. I’d always given in to him. This was likely the first time he’d ever heard me speak to him with such finality. He just stood there, stunned, for a long moment. Finally, he spat out, “You’re acting possessed today,” and stormed out of the room. I ignored him and continued my search. It had been so long, I couldn’t for the life of me remember where I’d hidden the key. Just then, a soft knock came at the door. It was Ethan. “Mom,” he said, holding out the gift box. “You should have this back.” I looked at the box in his hand, exasperated. “I gave that to your girlfriend. What’s the meaning of this?” “It’s too valuable,” he explained simply. I sighed. Ethan and Jenna, I swear, were too good for their own good. When his father was alive, I’d treated Ethan decently enough. But the moment he was gone, my kindness vanished. I knew what people thought of me—the wicked stepmother. I just never cared. And Jenna… I’d never once offered her a genuine smile. Yet here they were, this sweet, unassuming couple, still showing me respect. Honestly, if I were in their shoes, I’d hold a grudge. And that, right there, was the very reason my heart was finally, irrevocably changing. 3 I forced a smile, hoping it looked more friendly than it felt. “I know I haven’t been fair to you over the years, Ethan,” I said, a pang of guilt twisting inside me. After all, I’d practically shoved the gift in Claire’s face before changing my mind. “Now that you’ve found a wonderful woman, it’s only right that I give you a proper gift.” Thankfully, he just stood there in silence for a few moments before nodding. “Thank you, Mom.” I waved him off, and as he left, my fingers finally closed around the key. I opened the lockbox and pulled out my bank book. I stared at the balance: $200,000. In my last life, Claire’s parents had demanded a “bride price” of $188,000 before they would consent to the marriage. I’d handed it over without a second thought. But since I was choosing Ethan this time, this money was destined for him. Still, once bitten, twice shy. It was probably wise to keep a little something for myself, just in case. When I emerged from my room, the living room was empty. The walls in our house were thin. I could hear Caleb in his room, placating Claire, telling her I was just an old woman who didn’t know any better and not to take it to heart. From Ethan’s room, I heard Jenna’s soft voice telling him they needed to be good to me, to slowly repay my kindness. I paused for a beat, then returned to my room, took the bank book, and slipped it into my pocket. The New Year’s Eve broadcast had been on for a while, the sound of fireworks popping outside. Caleb and Claire emerged from their room, announcing they were going for a walk. Good riddance. I was glad to see them go. After the door clicked shut, I looked at Ethan and Jenna. I hesitated for a second. “You two should go out for a stroll as well.” They exchanged a look and their hands found each other. I knew that look. They had something they wanted to say to me. I searched my memory, trying to recall this specific day in my past life. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but then… a flicker. Something flashed in my mind. That’s right. There was something important. In my previous life, after dinner, Caleb and Claire had also gone out. Ethan had come to my room alone. He told me he and Jenna were planning to get married and he needed my help with the money for her family. Jenna’s parents were only asking for $100,000. But under my financial thumb, most of Ethan’s salary over the years had gone to supporting the household. He simply didn’t have that kind of money. I had refused him without a second thought. I was perfectly willing to give Caleb the money, but to give it to Ethan? It felt like a waste. I’d immediately insulted Jenna, sneering that she should take a good look at herself and ask if she was even worth that much. That conversation had soured the mood in the house for days. After the holidays, Ethan announced he was moving to another city for work. But before he left, he insisted we formally separate our finances and living arrangements. Of course, I refused. I wouldn’t admit it, but I knew Caleb was nowhere near as capable as Ethan. If Ethan left, who would support this family? But that time, Ethan was adamant. He put it to me bluntly: was I going to live with him, or with Caleb? I remembered the scene vividly. Caleb had exploded. “Mom, if you don’t stay with me, who’s going to look after Claire’s baby when it comes?” Ethan ignored him, his eyes fixed on me. “Mom, if you choose to come with me, Jenna and I will take care of you. If you choose him, I will still send you money to support you.” At the time, all I heard was Ethan’s cold, emotionless tone. I felt my own son needed me more. But now, thinking back… one was asking me to serve, the other was offering to provide for me. What a complete and utter fool I’d been. Snapping back to the present, I heard Ethan’s voice. “Mom, Jenna and I are planning to get married.” I looked at the two of them. Ethan was a straightforward man, and Jenna was a woman of few words. Honestly, I didn’t care who he married, as long as he was happy. Remembering how their lives had flourished, I took a deep breath. “How much are they asking for?” I asked. Last time, Ethan had come to me in private, probably afraid I would reject him. This time, perhaps because of the bracelet, he’d brought Jenna with him to ask together. The room was quiet for a moment. “Jenna’s parents are asking for one hundred thousand,” he finally said. “Consider it a loan, Mom. I’ll pay you back.” I felt the bank book in my pocket. A part of me still stung at the thought of parting with the money. But I knew myself. When I was young, all I wanted was a man to rely on. Now that I was old, all I wanted was a son to care for me. I was getting on in years, and I wasn’t some titan of industry. For me, this money was an investment. I made the wrong choice in my last life. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. But to my surprise, just as I pulled the bank book from my pocket and placed it on the table, before I could even begin to discuss the details, the front door burst open. Caleb and Claire were back. And the first thing his eyes landed on was the bank book on the table.

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The Duchess, my sister-in-law, had just shoved her own son and daughter from the gallery window. I, who had witnessed the entire thing, did not scream. I did not call for help. I simply sat, calmly sipping my tea, and watched the tragedy unfold. I watched, my expression serene, as one child was impaled on the wrought-iron fence below, and the other shattered upon the cobblestones. I did this because, in my previous life, I had screamed for a physician the very instant it happened. But I was too late. The children died, and the Duchess, Theresa, swore to everyone that I was the murderer. My mother, returning from a pilgrimage, rushed back to the manor with a hand-picked witness and, without a moment’s hesitation, condemned me. Helpless, I turned to my brilliant scholar husband, begging for his support. He tore his hand from my grasp. “You venomous snake!” he spat. “You lured me away just so you could commit murder!” Then my brother, the formidable Lord Regent, his face a mask of incandescent rage, ran me through with his sword. He ordered my body to be dragged to the public square and drawn and quartered. As I died, I couldn’t understand. Why? Why did my husband and my own mother bear false witness against me? Until I opened my eyes again and found myself back on the very day the children died. 1. “Fanny, darling, you take the gifts back to the manor. The children must be waiting. I’m just going to pop into the tavern next door for a bottle of wine.” The sound of my husband Alexander’s voice sent a jolt through me. I was reborn. It was real. In my last life, Alexander and I had been returning from the Winter Ball at the palace. Halfway home, he had made the same excuse to stop at the tavern. The moment I had stepped through the doors of the manor, I’d seen the children screaming as they fell. I had sprinted forward, desperate to save them, while simultaneously shouting for a servant to fetch a physician. The Duchess, Theresa, was collapsed on the floor, paralyzed by fear. Seeing me was like seeing a lifeline. “Fanny, save me!” she’d sobbed. “The children weren’t focusing on their studies, I only meant to punish them by making them stand at the window for a while… I never thought… please, you have to help me!” By the time I reached them, the children were already gone. My brother, Alistair, the Lord Regent, had lived a life of impeccable discipline. He had taken Theresa as his second wife but had no other mistresses. These two children were his only heirs. He would want blood for this. The commotion drew the neighbors. They pointed at me, accusing me of murdering the young Lord and his sister. I tried to explain that I had just returned, that Theresa was the one responsible. But then Alexander rushed in, his finger pointed at my nose, his voice thick with hatred. “Fanny, you are a monster! You tricked me into leaving so you could kill children!” Amid the chaos, my mother, who was supposed to be on a religious retreat, burst in with her so-called witness, her eyes demanding my life. “You poisoner! Give me back my grandchildren!” Before I could form a word, my brother Alistair, home at some unknown point, ran me through with his sword. He roared for his men to drag me to the executioner’s square to be drawn and quartered, and they tore my head from my body as I watched in horror. To my dying breath, I never understood why they did it. The phantom terror of being torn apart still lingered. I swore on my trembling hands. This time, I would uncover the truth. And I would make every single one of them pay in blood. I calculated the time. The children’s “accident” was still half an hour away. As Alexander turned down the alley towards the tavern, I saw him exchange a subtle, knowing glance with Theresa’s handmaiden, Rosalind. A chill of pure ice cascaded down my spine. My husband, who had sworn he loved me more than life itself, was in league with my sister-in-law. I couldn’t fathom why. But I would not be a lamb to the slaughter. “Darling,” I purred, forcing a playful pout. “I want to see the new collection at the jeweler’s. Won’t you come with me, please?” Alexander, caught off guard after his signal to Rosalind, flinched. He quickly recovered his gentle, coaxing tone. “My sweet girl, just tell me what you’d like. I’ll bring it back for you.” A wave of revulsion washed over me. I fought it down and linked my arm through his. “No, I won’t have it. Your taste is so dreadfully old-fashioned. If you’re in such a hurry, why don’t you go back first?” Did he think I was still a fool? My mother and sister-in-law were already waiting at home, ready to spring their trap. In my last life, they had been the ones to hold me down, allowing my brother to deliver the fatal blow. 2. The jeweler had many new designs on display. As I browsed, Alexander grew increasingly impatient, urging me to leave. I pretended not to notice, my hatred for him a burning coal in my gut. He had the audacity to set a trap for me. If I didn’t still have a use for him, I would have had him cut down where he stood. Finally, I saw my loyal maid, Clara, give me the signal that all was arranged. Only then did I casually select a set of jewelry. “Fanny, that’s a man’s set…” I was already walking out of the shop. “I like it,” I said dismissively. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be heading home now.” He was practically giddy with relief. He couldn’t wait for me to go back. In my last life, he had used every trick in the book to lure me home, straight into their web. This time, I was eager to see what pathetic games they would play. As my carriage departed, I glanced back and saw Rosalind slip furtively into the shop. The two of them put their heads together, whispering. I smiled coldly and settled back into my seat. Just like last time, the Regent’s manor was eerily quiet, the servants all dismissed. The moment I walked in, I saw the two children falling from the gallery. This time, it was a few minutes earlier. Theresa was already collapsed on the floor. The second she saw me, she crawled towards me on her knees, her face a mask of terror. “Fanny, save me! The children weren’t focusing on their studies, I only meant to punish them by making them stand at the window for a while… I never thought… please, you have to help me!” I wrenched my arm from her grasp and called towards the door. “I’m afraid that’s no use, Sister. I’ve already sent Clara to fetch the city guard and a physician.” This time, I had no intention of saving anyone. At the mention of the city guard, Theresa’s feigned panic turned to genuine horror. She began to stammer that it wasn’t on purpose. She was a brilliant actress. If I hadn’t seen that same face screaming for my death in my past life, I might have even believed her. The guards and the physician arrived quickly. As we descended the grand staircase, we saw the physician shake his head grimly. Outside, a crowd of neighbors had gathered, their curses aimed at me. After all, the world believes in wicked aunts, not wicked mothers. The guards began to question everyone separately. While Theresa was being interrogated, I waited. Suddenly, my magnificent brother, the Lord Regent, stormed back into the manor like a hurricane. He pushed through the crowd and his hand closed around my throat. He had been a warrior in his youth, and his aura was that of a killer. He had adored these two children above all else. Now, believing I had murdered them, he was ready to kill me with his bare hands. “Fanny,” he snarled, “did you loathe them this much? Enough to send them to their deaths?” The neighbors began to spit in my direction. Alexander and I had been married for five years without a child, and the court gossips whispered that I was jealous of my brother and his perfect family. I had denied it, but I knew Alistair had never truly believed me. Now, his eyes were bloodshot, like a beast that had lost all reason. His hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it. “If anything has happened to my children,” he ground out, “I swear I will have your life for it.” The memory of his sword piercing my chest overwhelmed me. I was frozen with terror, unable to speak. Theresa emerged from her questioning and saw the scene. “My Lord!” she cried. “I had just gone up to the gallery when I saw Fanny push the children! When I tried to save them, she nearly killed me too!” She pointed to her forehead, which was now bruised and bleeding. My dear sister-in-law. With a single sentence, she meant to sign my death warrant. 3. Don’t let my sister-in-law’s delicate frame fool you; when she shrieked and lunged at me, she came with the force of a battering ram. I sidestepped her lunge and, in front of everyone, kicked her squarely in the backside, sending her face-first into the mud. I snorted. “Dear sister, you were the one who pushed the children. Why are you trying to frame me?” The chaotic manor fell silent, broken only by Theresa’s muffled sobs. No one had expected me, a high-ranking lady of the court, to resort to such brutish violence. Even my enraged brother instinctively loosened his grip. I seized the opportunity and scrambled away from him. Recovering, Theresa’s voice exploded. “You’re insane! They were my children! How could I possibly harm them?” “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Sister, but they aren’t your biological children. And since you find my presence so inconvenient, what better way to solve both problems? Frame me for their murder, and you get rid of three obstacles at once.” My words struck her like lightning. Her face went ashen. She shot a panicked look at Alistair, then turned back to curse me. “You fiend! You’re trying to sow discord! Why would I use my own children’s lives to frame you?” “Sow discord? After the palace banquet today, my husband and I went directly to the jeweler’s. When would I have had the time to harm the children?” I watched her face pale even further and was about to press her when a hand clamped over my mouth. “That’s enough!” It was Alexander, who had just rushed in. He shot a pained, protective look at Theresa, then tightened his grip on my mouth. “Fanny, what nonsense are you spouting? When did I ever go to a jeweler’s with you?” My heart turned to ice. Even knowing he was a traitor, facing his open betrayal still sent a shard of pain through me. He had denied me just like this in our last life. The mystery that had haunted me to my death was now, seeing his devotion to Theresa, painfully clear. “Alexander,” I said, my voice muffled as I struggled against his hand, “you were the one who wanted to buy wine. I only begged you to come with me to the jeweler’s. How can you deny it?” I finally broke free, my eyes locking on his, filled with despair and fury. “Why are you lying for her?” Alexander’s eyes darted away for a second before he flatly denied it. “What lies are you telling? We all know you’re the killer. We have witnesses and evidence. Are you trying to blame the Duchess for your crime?” Every word was another nail in my coffin. As I opened my mouth to speak again, my mother, Lady Isolde, burst in, just as she had before. “Damn you, Fanny! You murdered my grandchildren, and I will see you pay with your life!” Her distress seemed genuine, her curses flying from her lips. “Theresa, my dearest girl, do not worry! Mother will see justice done for you today!” My mother, the woman I had respected for twenty years, the Dowager Duchess of the manor, pointed an accusing finger at me. “Call the guards! Arrest this murderer!” A profound chill settled deep in my bones. My own mother, whom I had loved and revered for two decades, was personally accusing me of murder. Before Alistair married, he had doted on me. But after Theresa arrived, everything changed. It was as if she, not I, had become the true daughter of the house. I looked at my mother in anguish. “Mother, are you truly saying I killed them? I am your daughter.” I hoped to appeal to some lingering ember of affection. I was wrong. She wouldn’t even look at me, her face a mask of hatred. “Get out of my sight! This family has no place for a thankless wretch like you!” She dragged a trembling maid forward. “The Regent’s house has treated you well, Fanny! Why did you have to harm the young Lord and his sister? Here! Here is the witness who saw it all! Do not even think of denying it!” At the word “witness,” Alistair lunged at the maid, grabbing her by the collar. “What did you say? Did my sister truly murder my children?” The maid nodded, terrified. Just like last time, my mother insisted I was the murderer. I stared at her, my voice catching in my throat. “Mother… why? Why are you doing this to me?” I thought I might see a flicker of remorse, but all I received was the stinging slap of her hand across my face. “Insolence! You have murdered the heirs of this house! You are not worthy to call me mother! Alistair! Have her executed!” That slap didn’t just strike my face; it shattered the last vestiges of love I held for my mother. Alistair, having heard the ‘confession,’ turned to me, his eyes filled with a murderous light. He charged, drawing his sword and thrusting it toward my chest. A suffocating wave of terror washed over me. My vision blurred, but through the haze, I saw Theresa, hiding behind my mother, a triumphant smile on her face. My husband stood beside her, a protective arm around her. I closed my eyes in despair as the cold steel broke my skin. At the last possible second, a dark object flew through the air, striking Alistair’s blade and knocking it aside. A powerful voice boomed through the manor. “Halt!”

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1 Duke Alaric had loved me for five years, and in all that time, he defied my wishes only three times. The first was on the day my mother died, when he returned from the Northmarch with a pregnant dancing girl in tow. The second was on the day after my mother died, when he took an axe to the Silverwood trees my parents had planted for me in the manor gardens. “Liana is with child,” he’d said. “The scent of the blossoms disagrees with her.” The third was on the day of my mother’s funeral, when he held a grand wedding feast for Liana at the Gilded Lily Pavilion. As I clutched my mother’s memorial urn, I finally understood that when grief reaches its absolute peak, tears refuse to fall. And so, I used the golden sigil of command—a right earned by the blood of my family, the House of Valerius, all of whom had died as loyal marshals of the realm—to petition the King for a decree of annulment. When I hear a beloved has two minds, I come to him with a heart resolved to break. We had loved each other for five years. The breaking took only three days. After my mother’s passing, I volunteered to take command of the fortress in the Northmarch. Before the ducal manor, the Lord Chamberlain who delivered the royal assent looked at me with pity. “Lady Evelyn,” he said, his voice soft with regret. “You have waited for the Duke for five years. Your hardships were finally coming to an end. Why would you choose to go to that bitter, frozen land?” He sighed. “The Duke is utterly devoted to you. The entire capital has been waiting for your wedding celebration.” I lowered my eyes and smiled, a bitter, self-mocking curve of my lips. Devoted? Perhaps, once. That is, if I hadn’t, by chance, overheard a conversation between Alaric and the house physician seven days ago. “Your Grace,” the physician had said, his tone hesitant. “Lady Liana is now three months along. Perhaps it is time to cease the Duchess’s barrenness draught?” Alaric’s brow furrowed. His voice was cold, laced with a chilling obsession. “Why would we stop?” “If Evelyn Valerius were capable of bearing a child, she would use it as leverage to prevent my marriage to Liana. Only when she is crippled by her own shame and inadequacy will I have the chance to give Liana the title she deserves.” The physician sounded uneasy. “But my lady, the Duchess, is so deeply in love with you—” Alaric’s eyes flashed with ice. “If she had any sense, she would understand that I only married her to repay the debt I owe her father and brothers for saving my life. I would never have had to scheme so desperately to bring Liana home otherwise!” He finished with a sneer. “It is her great fortune to have married me at all!” I stood outside the door, hearing every single word. A cold so profound it felt like it was in my bones washed over me, and my legs trembled, barely able to hold my weight. So, the tonics the physician brought me each day were not to restore my health. They were draughts of barrenness, meant to ensure I would never, ever conceive. I stumbled back, my heart seizing. A year ago, Alaric had been ambushed by raiders in the Northmarch. I had ridden for five days straight without rest, and when I found him, I had sliced open my own wrist and let three full bowls of my blood drain out to save him from the brink of death. The physician who treated me then told me my body had been gravely weakened, that I would likely never bear children. I was devastated, lost in a grief so deep I wished for death. It was Alaric who had knelt before me in front of the entire court, swearing he did not care that I was barren. The King, moved by his valor in battle and his profound love for me, had granted him the title of Duke of the Northmarch. But I never imagined it was a lie. The physician who diagnosed my infertility had been planted by Alaric from the very beginning. He convinced me I was barren, and then, with draught after draught, he stole from me my right to ever become a mother. And he did all of this, this intricate, cruel deception, simply to win military glory and a title, so he could one day openly marry the woman he brought back from the Northmarch. The thought drew a hollow, desolate smile to my face. “Lord Chamberlain,” I said, my voice steady. “My mind is made up.” Seeing my resolve, the old courtier did not press further. “His Majesty has decreed it. At the conclusion of Lady Valerius’s funeral rites, the decree of annulment shall be issued. You may then depart with your command, my lady.” At the mention of my mother, my eyes burned. My husband, the man who had sworn to cherish and honor my mother as his own, who had promised me a life with him and him alone, had not once come to see her since his return to the capital. He probably didn’t even know she had died. I fought back tears and accepted the King’s command. It was alright. In one more day, I would have my annulment. I could leave this manor forever. Returning to the manor with the royal scroll, I ran right into Alaric. Seeing my thin clothes, he immediately shrugged off his own heavy cloak and draped it over my shoulders, his touch a familiar gesture of concern. “The spring chill is treacherous. Why aren’t you wearing more? You’ll make me worry myself sick.” His cloak was saturated with a heavy, sweet perfume. In all the capital, only Liana wore that scent. The gesture was so absurd I could only find it laughable. I looked up at him, my face pale and gaunt. But Alaric didn’t even notice. He was lost in his own thoughts. “Ah, that reminds me. In your dowry, weren’t there two bolts of fine silk brocade? I was thinking of having a gown made for Liana.” He continued, his tone earnest. “After all, if she hadn’t taken care of me in the Northmarch, I might never have seen you again.” I lowered my gaze, and for the first time, I didn’t argue. “Very well.” 2 “Evelyn, don’t misunderstand,” he said quickly. “I just pity her, all alone with no one to rely on. It’s not like you. You have me.” I forced a smile. “It’s no matter. I don’t mind. Go on, take it.” With my permission, Alaric’s face lit up with undisguised joy. He released my hand and hurried towards the storeroom. I watched as he carefully selected three bolts of iridescent, water-colored silk. He then summoned the finest tailor in the capital, his voice gentle and serious as he gave meticulous instructions on the cut and embroidery. In the five years since our betrothal, he had never once shown me such care. A humorless smile touched my lips. I walked over to him and presented him with a scroll. “This is a royal decree of marriage I petitioned for, on behalf of you and Liana,” I said. “Consider it a way to give her child a proper name.” Alaric froze, a flash of pure ecstasy in his eyes. But he quickly masked it, pulling me into a fierce embrace, his voice thick with feigned heartbreak. “Evelyn, you sacrifice so much for me. I can never repay you.” He held me tight. “Rest assured, no matter what happens, the lady of this house will always be you.” His embrace was as warm as ever. But this time, it only made my stomach churn. The moment the new gowns were finished, Alaric took the decree and, making some excuse, left the manor. Watching his retreating back, I was suddenly thrown back in time. Three days ago, the old steward of my family’s estate had come to me. My mother’s old illness had returned, he’d said. She had coughed up so much blood it had soaked half her bedding. Her time was short. I had panicked, grabbing Alaric as he was about to leave the manor, my voice choked with tears. “Alaric, can you please come with me to my family’s estate? My mother—” Before I could finish, Liana’s sweet, cloying voice drifted in from the courtyard. “Alaric, my love! You promised you would help me choose new hairpins today. Are you ready?” At the sound of her voice, Alaric pushed my hand away, his expression strained. “I’m terribly busy right now, Evelyn. Can I go with you when I have a spare moment?” But my mother closed her eyes for the last time, and Alaric never came. In that moment, all my hope, all my love, shattered into dust. I knelt at my mother’s bedside, sobbing until I couldn’t breathe. With a tremendous effort, she gripped my hand, a dry, faint smile on her lips. “Alaric didn’t come,” she whispered, each word a struggle. “Don’t be angry with him when you go back.” “After I’m gone, he is all you have left in this world.” “You must be good to each other… you must…” I watched her take her last breath, and my heart felt as if it had been ripped from my chest by a wild beast. Tears swam in my eyes, and I wanted to scream, Mother, the man you call my only support is with another woman right now. For her, he has made it so I can never have children of my own. There were twelve hours until my departure from the capital. I hadn’t even begun to pack my belongings when Alaric, without a moment’s delay, brought Liana to the manor. When I went to the side courtyard, I found Alaric himself, axe in hand, chopping down the twin Silverwood trees he had planted for me as a symbol of our love. He looked up, his gaze faltering when it met mine. He stood at the courtyard gate, holding the hand of Liana, who was dressed in a striking crimson gown. He, so handsome; she, so exquisitely beautiful. They looked like a pair destined for each other. Liana, her face a mask of false concern, walked towards me, one hand on her belly. “The maids told me these were your favorite trees, sister,” she sighed. “It’s all my fault. I only mentioned that the scent of the blossoms made me feel unwell, and His Grace insisted on cutting them down.” She clutched Alaric’s arm, looking at me with wide, innocent eyes. “I never wanted to marry him before you, sister. But the Duke worries so for the child in my womb.” Her eyes raked over me, a cruel glint within them. “It is only after becoming a mother myself that I’ve learned… a woman’s life is one thing before she is a mother, and quite another after. It is a burden you, thankfully, will never have to bear.” Every word was a poisoned dart aimed directly at my heart. But Alaric didn’t care. He pulled her protectively behind him and said to me, his voice placating, “Liana is with child. Don’t lower yourself to her level.” He had no memory of the promise he made me five years ago, before he, my father, and my brothers rode off to war against the northern hordes. He had blushed and sworn three things to me. First, that when he returned victorious, my father and brothers would be with him, safe and sound. Second, that when he had won his glory, he would make me his wife. Third, that in this life, he would take no other. But in the end, my father had died taking a flurry of blades meant for Alaric. My brother had been drawn and quartered by the enemy while covering Alaric’s retreat. When my mother heard the news, she wept tears of blood until she fell ill and never recovered. And Alaric, his glory won, now intended to marry the woman he brought back from the Northmarch. He had broken all three promises. I looked at him, and he finally seemed to notice me, asking absently: 3 “Evelyn, the wind is cold. Where are you going with those bags?” I pulled my lips into a thin, humorless line. “I’m returning to my family home.” “Oh, good,” Liana said, her smile wide, but her eyes filled with scorn and malice. “For a moment, I was worried you were angry with me and wouldn’t be attending my wedding to Alaric.” Her gaze dropped and she suddenly noticed the pair of Twin Dove Clasps I held in my hand. Her eyes lit up, and without asking, she snatched them from me. “Oh, I like these. Alaric, darling, make your sister give them to me, won’t you?” Alaric’s expression froze. He looked at me, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. But before he could speak, I said, my voice devoid of all emotion, “You may have them.” For a second, I saw utter disbelief in Alaric’s eyes. Liana’s triumphant smile also faltered. She had just noticed the inscription on the clasps: our two names, intertwined. They were our betrothal gift. A vicious light entered her eyes. She raised the clasps high and smashed them onto the ground. “What worthless trinkets,” she spat. “They look fine from a distance, but up close, they’re as common as scrap metal.” With a sharp crack, the two clasps broke into four pieces, lying amidst the muddy, fallen petals of the Silverwood trees. Just like my five years of love for Alaric. I gave a desolate smile. There was nothing left to hold on to. I turned to leave. Seeing my frail figure, so thin it looked as if the wind might blow me away, a strange, inexplicable panic seized Alaric. “Wait!” I turned back, my gaze calm and empty. “I promise you,” he said, his voice earnest. “After the wedding tomorrow, I will go with you to see your mother.” A sharp pain lanced through my heart, not for him, but for my mother. I hid my burning eyes and said nothing. There was no point. There were only four hours left until my departure from the capital. My mother’s funeral was to be held on the exact same day as Alaric and Liana’s wedding. I held my mother’s urn, every step feeling as if I were walking on the blades of knives, the pain searing through my flesh and into my very bones. White mourning papers filled the air like snow. As I rounded a corner, I came face to face with Alaric. He was dressed in celebratory red, mounted on a magnificent warhorse, his face beaming with joy. Behind him was Liana’s grand bridal carriage, carried by eight men, followed by a procession of wedding gifts that stretched for a mile. The joyous music and the cheers of the crowd filled the streets. Until I appeared, holding my mother’s urn, dressed in simple, white mourning clothes. It was as if a slash of white had cut through a sea of red. The crowd fell silent. Seeing me, the smile on Alaric’s face froze. His eyes filled with anger. “Evelyn,” he hissed, “must you humiliate me like this on my wedding day?” The old me would have cried, would have defended myself. But this time, I felt nothing. Not a single ripple in the dead calm of my heart. I simply said, “Move.” Alaric looked at me as if I were a stranger. Liana, however, suddenly stepped down from her carriage, her face streaked with tears. “Lady Evelyn, I know you do not like me, but you must think of Alaric!” She sobbed. “You are already unable to bear children! Are you trying to drive me to my death by making such a scene at my wedding?” “Fine! I will die, then!” She screamed and threw herself headfirst towards the carriage wheel. Alaric, panicked, caught her and then turned on me, his voice frigid. “Evelyn, have you not caused enough trouble? Will you not be satisfied until Liana is dead?” At his words, the crowd’s gaze turned on me, filled with scorn. “Is that the woman Duke Alaric was meant to marry? So jealous and without virtue.” “To think she would use such a tactic to force her husband’s hand. What a spectacle.” I heard their whispers, but my heart remained as still and silent as a pool of stagnant water. Alaric bit his lip. My lonely figure in the crowd reminded him of something, and for a moment, he looked lost. He reached out a hand, as if to touch me, but I shoved it away. “Don’t touch me!” My reaction seemed to extinguish the last flicker of gentleness in his eyes, leaving them cold as ice. He pushed the weeping Liana towards me. “Apologize to Liana. Now,” he commanded. “Or else—” He never finished his sentence. Nine royal attendants, all dressed in white mourning robes, cut through the red silk and celebratory music of the procession and stopped directly in front of him. “A decree from His Majesty the King!” The announcement sent a wave of confusion through the crowd. In the sudden jostling, the black cloth covering the urn in my hands fell away, revealing the nine characters I had carved myself: The Spirit Urn of the Lady Valerius, née Wang. A collective gasp went through the ducal wedding party. The crowd fell utterly silent. And in that instant, Alaric’s face went bone-white.

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I am the Crown Princess of Eldoria, and my father’s only child. When I was seven, my father, the King, selected four sons from the Four Great Houses of the realm. They were the most handsome, the most brilliant, and they were to be raised at court as my future consorts, groomed to one day help me rule. The people called them the “Four Lords of Eldoria.” None of them liked me. Even the one I adored, Lord Kaelan, had already given his heart to another. Now, with the King’s health failing, he asked me which of them I would choose to be my Prince Consort. I left my fate to the God, deciding with a simple drawing of lots. I never imagined I would draw the name of the most unreliable one of them all: Lord Lysander. On the day the royal decree was to be announced, Lord Kaelan fell to his knees and begged me not to leave him. 1 “Father, I choose Lysander.” I stared at the wooden token in my hand and gave a bitter smile. Perhaps this was fate. Kaelan and I were simply not meant to be. My father hesitated, his gaze searching mine. “Aurelia, are you certain? Once the royal decree is issued, there is no turning back.” Of course, I knew that. But Kaelan didn’t love me. Why should I force him into a miserable life? Besides him, it made no difference to me who I married. As the Crown Princess of Eldoria, I had duties that outweighed my own desires. I bowed my head. “Father, my mind is made up. I will not regret it.” The King sighed and wrote Lysander’s name upon the royal scroll. “In three days, I will proclaim to the kingdom that Lord Lysander is to be your Prince Consort.” I nodded. As I left my father’s chambers, I saw four strikingly handsome men walking towards me, each with a god-like grace. My four consorts-in-waiting. Gareth, my cousin, was the first to speak. “Your Highness,” he said, his curiosity getting the better of him, “we heard the King asked you to choose a consort. Who did you pick?” My eyes instinctively flickered to Kaelan. The fourth lord, Tristan, noticed and clapped Kaelan on the shoulder with a grin. “Is there any need to ask? It must be our Kaelan. Everyone in the palace knows the Princess has eyes only for him.” At his words, Kaelan’s face turned to stone. When he looked at me, his eyes burned with a mixture of resentment and bitterness. That single glance was a dagger in my heart. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to tell him that I hadn’t chosen him, to beg him not to look at me with such hatred. But then I thought, after all the years I’ve spent chasing after him, let him worry for a few days. Seeing my silence, Gareth nudged me. “Come now, Your Highness, don’t keep us in suspense. Who is it?” My gaze fell upon Lysander, who stood apart from the others, fanning himself languidly, saying nothing. “You will all find out in three days.” Lysander’s eyes met mine, and he raised a single, inquisitive eyebrow. I turned and walked back to my wing of the palace without another word. Tristan was right. Everyone knew I loved Kaelan. But he was a man of immense pride. He saw the idea of rising through marriage to a woman as a disgrace and hated that his life, even his choice of wife, was not his own to control. Besides, he was already in love with someone else, a woman he could never be with because of me. He met all my attempts at affection with cold disdain. He didn’t understand that my marriage was not a matter of the heart, but a political tool. My father was ill, and despite a harem of consorts, I was his only child. The consort program was a strategy to maintain balance and control over the Four Great Houses. My husband had to be one of them. Whether they wished it or not. Lost in thought, I was startled by a voice from behind me. “Your Highness, a moment.” 2 I turned. It was Kaelan. His fists were clenched, his expression dark. “Is there something you need, my lord?” He gave a stiff bow. “I have already given my heart to another. I pray you will grant us your blessing.” I laughed. “Kaelan, do you truly believe I would choose you?” He faltered. “You are the Princess. You have so many choices. Why must you insist on forcing someone who does not love you?” I looked down, a bitter smile touching my lips. “Rest assured, I will not bother you again. You are free to pursue your ambitions, to be with the woman you love.” He frowned. “Your Highness, what do you mean by that?” Just as I was about to tell him I had chosen Lysander, a clumsy figure stumbled and crashed into me. I lost my balance and fell to the ground. Before I could even react, Lady Seraphine was on her knees, begging for mercy. “Forgive me, Your Highness! I… I didn’t mean to! Please, forgive me!” I rubbed my bruised arm, looking at her in confusion. Seraphine was the niece of a powerful court duchess, from a prominent house. Yet every time she saw me, she acted like a mouse cornered by a cat, even when I had done nothing. Kaelan often shot me dirty looks because of it, assuming I had been bullying her. Seeing her knock her head on the stone floor until it was red, Kaelan rushed forward, his voice laced with pain. “That’s enough, Seraphine. It was a small accident. There’s no need for this.” He helped her up, then shot a warning glance in my direction. I watched the scene with a scornful silence. Seeing this, Seraphine immediately dropped to her knees again, tears streaming down her face. “Your Highness, I deserve to be punished. Please, just forgive me this once.” I pushed myself up from the ground and looked down at her. Kaelan, thinking I was deliberately tormenting her, lost all composure. “Aurelia! It was an accident! How can you abuse your power like this? How do you expect to rule this kingdom one day if you cannot even show basic decency?” Abuse my power? She was the one who had run into me. I hadn’t said a single word, and he was already accusing me. Had I been too kind to him for too long? Had he forgotten his place? He wanted to see me abuse my power? Fine. I would show him. I yanked Seraphine to her feet and slapped her, hard, across the face. “Remember this,” I said, my voice dripping with contempt. “This is what it means to abuse my power.” Kaelan’s eyes widened, but he was too slow to stop me. Seeing the red handprint blooming on Seraphine’s cheek, he pointed at me, his voice trembling with rage. “Aurelia…” CRACK! I slapped him too. “You will address me as Your Highness.” He was stunned into silence. I had spent years trying to win his affection. He had never imagined I would treat him like this. He gritted his teeth, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles cracked. “Fine,” he seethed. “Just fine.” “Seraphine, let’s go.” Watching them leave, a wave of melancholy washed over me. He hadn’t always been like this. When we were seven, I fell into the palace lake, and he saved me. After my cousin Gareth, he was the one I was closest to. He would help me with my lessons, encourage me when the Grand Tutor was harsh, and even share my punishments. It was only when we grew older and understood the meaning of our arrangement—that everything he learned, everything he did, was to prepare him to serve me—that he began to change. He couldn’t accept a life he hadn’t chosen. He felt trapped. Then, he met Seraphine at a poetry gala and was captivated by her. I gave a self-deprecating laugh. He would probably be thrilled to learn I had chosen Lysander. 3 The next day was the kingdom’s annual High Rite of Ascension. My father’s health was worsening, so I had to preside, with the Four Lords at my side. Kaelan was still furious about yesterday’s events and refused to even look at me. I couldn’t be bothered with him either. After the midday meal, I took a walk in the gardens. Suddenly, a familiar voice drifted to my ears. “Lord Kaelan, I made these honey cakes myself. Try one.” I followed the sound and saw Lady Seraphine, holding a small cake to Kaelan’s lips. He leaned in without hesitation and took a bite, a smile gracing his face—a smile I had never seen before. She laughed and gently wiped a crumb from the corner of his mouth. They were the very picture of devoted lovers. I fought down a wave of nausea and was about to leave when several figures in black dropped from the trees around me. “Who are you?” I demanded, my hand flying to the small dagger at my belt. “What do you want?” They exchanged a glance, then charged, their blades aimed at my heart. Though I had trained with the Four Lords, my skill was limited. Kaelan had already noticed the commotion. “Kaelan, help me!” I cried out. He took an instinctive step towards me, but Seraphine threw her arms around him, her voice a frightened whimper. “Kaelan, don’t go! I’m so scared!” He hesitated. In that single moment of hesitation, a blade sliced across my arm. The pain was so sharp it brought a cold sweat to my brow. I stared at him in disbelief. In a moment of mortal danger, he had chosen not to save me. I gritted my teeth. “Kaelan, what are you standing there for? Save me!” As the words left my mouth, Seraphine let out a piercing scream. “Aaaah!” One of the assassins had broken off and was now lunging towards them. Kaelan pushed her back, his entire focus on protecting Seraphine. He didn’t see another assassin raise his sword and charge at me from the side. I closed my eyes, bracing for the end. But the pain never came. My eyes flew open to see Lysander standing in front of me, his own sword having just sent the assassin’s blade flying. Gareth and Tristan arrived a second later, joining the fray. The assassins were quickly subdued. Seeing their failure, they all turned their blades on themselves, dying in a spray of blood that splattered across my gown. I stood frozen, a desolate chill spreading through me. I had thought that even if Kaelan didn’t love me, the bond of our shared childhood still meant something. But at the moment of truth, for Seraphine, he had left me to die. Gareth and Tristan had seen it all. Their expressions, when they looked at Kaelan, were complicated. My father was informed and ordered a full investigation. The House of Xie was too powerful to move against directly, but the King’s anger needed an outlet. He ordered Lady Seraphine to be confined to her family’s estate. That night, Kaelan stormed into my chambers, his face a mask of fury. “Aurelia, this had nothing to do with Seraphine. Why did you do it? This is nothing but petty revenge!” He actually believed I was behind her punishment. I looked at him, my voice as cold as ice. “Kaelan, do you have any idea how close I came to dying today?” He was unmoved. “But you’re fine, aren’t you?” “Besides,” he continued, “you are the Princess. You have countless guards to protect you. Seraphine only has me. You saw what happened today—she was nearly killed by those assassins as well. She is a victim too.” “Go to the King. Beg him to lift her confinement.” I clutched my wounded arm, the pain a dull throb. “Impossible.” My refusal sent him into a rage, his chest heaving. “And you call yourself a princess! You can’t even tell right from wrong! You are utterly unreasonable!” He spun on his heel and stormed out. He did not come to the palace for the next two days. He only returned, reluctantly, on the third day—the day the royal decree was to be announced.

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Do you know just how spineless parents can be? Have you ever seen people with wealth and power get pushed around and humiliated by their dirt-poor relatives? My name is Stella. My uncle is a small-town security guard, a man from the absolute bottom rung of society. My father is the chairman of a publicly traded company. My mother is the Chief of Medicine at a prestigious hospital. And yet, from 2009 to 2016, every single time I reached for food at the dinner table, my uncle would slap my hand. Four times. My parents saw it. They said nothing. This cast a long, dark shadow over my childhood. It’s why, all through middle and high school, I chose to live at a boarding school. This year, I graduated from college. I came home for a celebratory dinner. When I reached for a piece of food, my uncle raised his hand to strike me again, a grim replay of an old, familiar horror. But this time, I slammed my chopsticks right into his face. This time, I was done being silent. … To celebrate my graduation and welcome me home, my parents had invited a few relatives and friends over for dinner. “Stella, eat up. I made all your favorites,” my mother said with a warm smile, setting down the last dish, a fragrant seafood chowder. It had been so long since I’d been home, and my parents were clearly thrilled to have me back. Dad opened a bottle of expensive single-malt Scotch. “Go on, dig in. Your mother’s been in the kitchen since dawn getting ready for you.” I stared at the steaming, vibrant dishes spread across the table, a sense of unreality washing over me. So many years had passed, and the resentment I held for my family had been worn down by time, faded almost to nothing. I nodded, picking up my chopsticks to grab a piece of food. But just then, my uncle, who was sitting beside me, rapped his chopsticks sharply on the table twice. He stared at me, his face a mask of cold indifference. “Who said you could start eating?” My hand shot back as if I’d been burned, my heart instantly hammering against my ribs. To the outside world, my family was the picture of success and respectability. My father ran a successful company, and my mother was a renowned physician. It was no exaggeration to say we were powerful. My uncle, Rick, on the other hand, was a relic from a different world. All I knew was that he’d run with a gang in his youth, and in a fight that went too far, he’d killed someone. Manslaughter. He served twelve years, getting out in 2009. My mother, Eleanor, torn apart by a mix of pity and fear that he’d fall back into his old ways, brought him to the city to live with us. She even got him a job as my father’s driver. From his wedding to the birth of his children, he has been completely dependent on my mother’s charity. He’s been a fixture in our lives ever since. I was eight years old in 2009. That was when the ritual began. Every time we sat down to eat, he would slap my hand with his chopsticks. He’d always assume the posture of a disciplining elder, lecturing me with the same tired lines. Things like: “The adults haven’t even started. You dare take a bite? You think you’re better than us?” “I’m hitting you for your own good. So you don’t grow up offending people without even knowing it.” “Don’t think you can just coast on your parents’ money. You have to make your own way in this world.” I was just a kid. I didn’t understand what he meant, or why he was saying these things to me. So, I learned to wait. I wouldn’t touch my food until one of the adults had taken the first bite. But, predictably, he’d still hit me. I’d ask him, my voice trembling with unshed tears, why he still hit me. He wouldn’t answer directly, probably because he couldn’t find a new fault. Instead, he’d tap his empty plate. “Get me some food.” Other times it would be, “Bring me a glass for my drink.” I never understood why he singled me out, what I had done to deserve his relentless torment. But I had been raised to be polite, to never talk back to my elders. So, I would just lower my head in silence, picking at the rice in my bowl. My father, Mark, saw it all. And he remained silent. For a long time, I would ask him, “Dad, why does Uncle Rick always hit me?” Sometimes he wouldn’t answer at all. Other times, he’d just parrot the same excuses Rick used, telling me to just do as he said, so he’d have no reason to pick on me. But it never worked. The next time, Uncle Rick would always invent a new reason to strike me. Over time, it carved a deep wound into my psyche. Mealtimes became an ordeal, a source of profound anxiety. I became timid, jumpy, constantly walking on eggshells. It didn’t stop at the dinner table. He started finding fault with me everywhere, lecturing me in front of my parents for hours on end. From the day my uncle moved in, I never had another truly happy day. My life was a suffocating coil of tension and oppression. It wasn’t until I went away to boarding school for middle school that my mental state began to improve. The distance was a balm. As I grew older, I developed the ability to see things for what they were. A bitter resentment toward my parents began to fester. I couldn’t understand why they were so spineless. Why did they let him bully me? Why was it that this man, who lived off our family’s generosity, could treat us with such contempt, ordering me around like a servant? Even at boarding school, I still had to come home at least once a month. My animosity towards my uncle ran deep, and I did my best to avoid him. Sometimes he’d eat out, or my dad would take me to a restaurant, just the two of us. I’ll never forget the winter break of my eighth-grade year. I was running around on the lawn of our villa when I accidentally bumped into him. He hit me across the face with a ruler. My parents were right there, inside, watching TV in the living room. My first instinct was to run, but he grabbed the back of my down jacket, his grip like iron. “What do you have eyes for?” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. “You stand right here. Don’t you move.” From the corner of my eye, I saw my parents glance in our direction through the large glass window. I was trembling, frozen with fear, as I watched my uncle walk back into the house. He reemerged moments later holding a long, thick plastic ruler. The color drained from my face. Tears streamed down my cheeks before I could stop them. I held out my hands, trembling, expecting the blow to land there. But the heavy ruler cracked across my face. I was thirteen. I was at that age where looks and pride mean everything. I couldn’t bear the humiliation, being beaten so viciously, so utterly without dignity, right in front of my own parents. The ruler fell on my left cheek, then my right, again and again. I cried, I begged, I stumbled backward. The pain was so sharp I instinctively tried to cover my face, but he just violently tore my hands away. I thought, surely, my parents would come out. They would at least try to stop him. But they didn’t. I screamed myself hoarse for what felt like an eternity, and they never even came to the window. I don’t know how many times he hit me. I only know that I felt the skin on my cheeks split open, the warm trickle of blood running down my face. My throat was raw. He spat on the ground, gave me one last shove that sent me sprawling, and walked away. I shattered. I lay on the cold grass and cried for a long, long time. When I finally ran out of tears, my gaze vacant and numb, I touched my swollen face and walked back into the living room. My parents were still on the sofa, still watching TV. But something about their posture was stiff, unnatural. “Mom,” I croaked. My mother’s eyes flickered toward me for a split second. When she saw the state of my face, she shot to her feet, a flash of anger in her expression. “Why does he always have to make such a scene over nothing? It’s so irritating!” Then she pulled me into a room to treat my wounds. My father never once looked at me. In the bedroom, as my mother dabbed antiseptic on my cuts, she muttered to herself. “How could he hit you like this? He’s so vicious.” “Your face is so swollen… this won’t go down for a while.” Her words only made the tears start again. “Mom,” I sobbed, “why didn’t you come out?” Her hand paused for a moment. “Come out for what?” “To tell him to stop.” My mother pressed her lips together. After a long silence, she finally said, “Next time, just be more careful. You know how he is. Just stay away from him.” It was a heart-chilling response. But it was also the first time she had ever verbally admitted that she didn’t approve of his actions. Most of the time, in stark contrast to my father’s silence, she would side with my uncle and criticize me, even if she didn’t believe it herself. Last year, my cousin Jessica stole over twenty thousand dollars from my credit card. Everyone begged me to let it go, but I was resolute and called the police. That was the first time I ever saw my uncle scared. He wept, he pleaded with me not to press charges. My parents joined in, begging me, saying, “We’re family, just drop it.” I felt a surge of helpless fury. The incident led to a massive fight, and I didn’t come home for a long time afterward. I thought that seeing my uncle so humbled might have taught him a lesson, that he might finally show some restraint. I was wrong. He hadn’t changed at all. If anything, he was worse. And now, here we were. At the dinner table. Not just with my parents and my aunt, but with two of my father’s old friends, important business partners. By humiliating me in front of outsiders, my uncle wasn’t just putting me in my place. He was emasculating my parents, reveling in the intoxicating thrill of inverted power. But this time, his pathetic little power trip was about to end.

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I was a queen for three years, and a Queen Dowager for twenty. When I died, I was surrounded by my children and grandchildren, and the lords of the court wept at my funeral. By all accounts, a life such as mine should have held no regrets. And yet, when I was granted a second life, and my grandmother asked me who I would choose for a husband, I did not choose the Crown Prince again. Instead, I chose the Duke who guarded the Northern Marches. Let the north be the north, and the capital be the capital. My only wish was that our paths would never cross again. 1 In the Willow Courtyard, the air was so still you could hear a pin drop. Tendrils of frankincense smoke rose from a bronze censer, blurring my grandmother’s sharp, assessing gaze. She studied me from head to toe, as if trying to see straight through to my soul. “You have always favored the Prince,” she said, her voice a low command. “Why not choose him?” I knelt on the cold stone floor, my voice steady. “It is precisely because I favor him, Grandmother, that I cannot marry him.” “I will not break my own heart, waiting for a man who will never truly return to me. I will not let my spirit wither. I beg you to grant my wish.” A long silence stretched, and my legs began to ache from kneeling. Finally, I heard my grandmother let out a long sigh, her voice softening. “Very well. I shall go to the palace tomorrow and inform His Majesty. I will ask him to decree the marriage for you.” I bowed my head to the floor, my forehead touching the cool stone in a final gesture of gratitude. In this life, I would not marry Prince Apollo again. 2 Two days later, the King’s Road was as bustling as ever, the streets thronged with people. I had gone out for my usual errands when my carriage was blocked by the Prince himself, riding out from the palace. He reined in his warhorse and leapt from the saddle, the motion as fluid and graceful as a dancer’s. He was, as always, devastatingly handsome. But his brow was furrowed in a deep scowl, and when he spoke, his voice was ice. “I heard you begged the King for a betrothal. Are you that desperate, Seraphina?” His cold, dismissive gaze stung my eyes. I turned my head slightly, avoiding his stare. “Rest assured, Your Highness,” I said softly. “The marriage has nothing to do with you.” His face grew even darker. He let out a chilling sneer. “Nothing to do with me? I am the one who held you, who saved you. Who else would have you now? Had I known you would be so clinging, I would have left you to the bandits all those years ago.” I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to steady my voice. “Your Highness, please do not be angry. It is truly not—” “Enough!” he snapped, cutting me off. His temper flared, and he vaulted back onto his horse, looking down at me from his superior height. “I will marry you. I will give you the title of Princess. But do not dare to dream of anything more.” With that, he glanced back at the modest green carriage trailing behind him, called out, “Let’s go,” and galloped away, leaving me to choke on the dust kicked up in his wake. As the green carriage passed, a pale, delicate hand lifted the curtain, revealing a familiar profile. It was my half-sister, Gladys. I shook my head with a bitter smile and turned to get back into my own carriage. We had been childhood friends, he and I. I didn’t know how we had come to this. He used to be the one who protected me most, always calling me his “dearest Sera.” At royal banquets, if he didn’t see me, he would pester my grandmother until he found me. When did it all change? I suppose it was after he saved me from those bandits. He had held me then, his voice tight with panic, terrified that I had been truly harmed. But when he heard the Queen suggest I be betrothed to him, his entire demeanor had shifted. From then on, whenever someone mentioned our unofficial engagement, his face would darken, and he would ignore me. At first, I didn’t understand why. It wasn’t until my past life, on the night my half-sister married the Duke of Ancora, that I finally understood. The Prince got drunk that night, and he spent the entire evening staring at a miniature portrait of Gladys. I finally realized he had already given his heart to someone else. It just wasn’t me. In my previous life, after the Duke died, my half-sister was sent to guard the royal tombs. The last time they saw each other, they stood on opposite ends of a grand hall during a court banquet, their roles and statuses a chasm between them, staring at each other in silent, heartbroken agony. Their love was truly a thing of profound depth. So, in this life, I decided to grant them their wish. 3 When I returned to the manor, my grandmother was already waiting for me. She was reclining with her eyes half-closed, a handmaiden kneading her shoulders with a gentle, rhythmic pressure. She looked no different than usual, but I knew. I knew my grandmother was in a foul mood. As I expected, she opened her eyes at the sound of my footsteps and gave me a thorough look-over. “Are you hurt anywhere?” A warmth spread through my chest. I shook my head. She sat up straight, her face hardening. “The Prince sent a messenger. He intends to take Gladys as his royal consort. The Queen Dowager has already given her blessing.” Gladys. My half-sister. I froze. This had not happened in my previous life. Where had I made a mistake? My grandmother was still smiling, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I had intended to make her a proper wife, but she seems eager to throw herself away as a mere mistress. If I hadn’t promised the King to keep your betrothal a secret for now, I would love to see the look on her face when she finds out…” I remained silent. In my past life, my grandmother had married me to the Prince and Gladys to the Duke, making her a Duchess. In this life, knowing my grandmother’s cunning, if I married the Duke, she would have schemed to make Gladys the Crown Princess. But Gladys had chosen to be a consort instead. A lesser position. Her previous words sparked a thought. “Grandmother, do you know why His Majesty wants to keep the betrothal a secret? And for how long?” My grandmother considered this for a moment. “Since the Queen’s passing, the King has not looked upon the Prince with the same favor as before. I suspect he has grown wary.” She looked at me. “It won’t be for long. The Duke returns to the capital next month. The decree will be announced then.” I silently counted the days. It was only a couple of weeks. A relief. Gladys’s ceremony was set for three days’ time. The Prince, eager to have her by his side before his own grand wedding, wanted to both please his beloved and deliver a sharp blow to my pride. Because it was a rushed affair for a mere consort, the ceremony was far from grand. But the Prince came to escort her personally, even bringing a pair of wild geese he had hunted himself—a traditional and deeply personal betrothal gift. It was clear he was giving Gladys as much dignity as he could. The normally serene Willow Courtyard was adorned with lanterns and colorful silks, a festive air all around. But if you looked closely, you’d see that none of the fabrics, none of the chests of gifts or finery, were of the true, deep crimson reserved for a royal bride. Even the veil on Gladys’s head was a soft rose-pink. I watched the joy on the Prince’s face slowly crack, then force itself back into a smile. His gaze drifted down to their intertwined hands. One feigning festivity, the other feigning shyness. Noticing my gaze, he lifted his chin defiantly and squeezed the woman’s hand beside him even tighter. I coolly shifted my gaze away, ignoring his childish games. It wasn’t until we had left the courtyard, out of our grandmother’s sight, that the Prince pulled me viciously into a corner. “Seraphina, when did you become so jealous and petty? You wouldn’t even allow Gladys to wear crimson, afraid people wouldn’t know she is just a consort? Do you know how much this wounds her? How is she supposed to hold her head high?” My brow furrowed in anger. I wrenched my arm from his grasp. “Your Highness, is it not proper for a consort to wear rose-pink?” “How could that be proper? Gladys is—” “She is what?” I stared at him, a half-smile on my lips. His face flushed a deep red, and he was rendered speechless. I knew what he wanted to say. He wanted to say that Gladys was the woman he cherished above all others, that she shouldn’t be treated like anyone else. I spoke slowly, deliberately. “If Your Highness feels she has been wronged, you are more than welcome to petition the King to make her your Princess.” It was common knowledge that consorts wore rose-pink. I didn’t know what he was making such a fuss about. If he was so worried about his precious love being slighted, why hadn’t he dared to ask the King to make her his wife sooner? In the end, it was simple fear. As I expected, he flew into a rage. “So this is the character of the great Duke’s daughter,” he sneered. “Since you refuse to give Gladys face, then on our wedding day, do not blame me for refusing to give you any.” I said nothing. Just then, Gladys came looking for him. I stepped aside, inviting him to leave. “Your Highness, please.” He snorted and stormed off. But Gladys did not follow him immediately. She stopped and looked at me, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “The Prince is blaming you because of me again, sister? I am truly sorry—” She leaned in close, her voice a ghost of a whisper. “Tell me, sister, who do you think will be queen in this life?” 4 So, Gladys was reborn, too. I closed my eyes and let out a soft sigh. In our last life, she had married the Duke of Ancora. He was a soldier, a cold man who knew nothing of tenderness. Every time Gladys saw me, she would glare at me with seething hatred, as if I had stolen her grand destiny. So, in this life, she contacted Prince Apollo ahead of time, securing her place as his consort. She wanted to enter the East Wing of the palace before me, to lay her plans early. The threads of fate had diverged. But little did she know, I had no intention of ever marrying the Prince. All her schemes against me were destined to fail. I didn’t leave the manor in the following days, instead staying home to prepare for my own wedding. I had always felt a pang of guilt for the Duke. He, the Prince, and I had all grown up together. But my heart had only been for Apollo, and the Duke was a man of few words, so I often overlooked him. I still remembered him standing in the gloom of the dungeons, his dark eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t comprehend. “Sera,” he had asked, “if I became king, would you marry me?” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The Duke commanded a powerful army, and he was suspected of treason. Apollo had used my name to lure him to the capital, where he was ambushed and killed. That was his end in our previous life. I hope that this time, we can both have a better fate. I tied off the last stitch and unfolded the crimson bridal veil I had just finished embroidering with twin griffins and silver clouds. I blew on it gently. My grandmother always said my needlework was clumsy, so I had taken lessons from the master embroiderer at The Gilded Needle. This was my finest work. The Duke… he would like it, wouldn’t he? My heart was full of hope. I never imagined my creation, my heart’s blood, would be so utterly desecrated. When I went back to The Gilded Needle to retrieve the veil, the embroiderer smiled at me. “The Prince took it,” she told me. Seeing my face fall, she looked at me, confused. “His Highness heard you had embroidered a veil for him and was so delighted he wanted to see it. Is… is something wrong, my lady?” I closed my eyes, suppressing the rage that surged within me, and bolted out of the shop. After asking countless people, I finally found where Apollo was. A royal guard tried to stop me, cautiously explaining that the Prince and his consort were flying a kite and it would be inappropriate for me to intrude. I pushed him aside with a cold laugh. On a sprawling green lawn, a woman was flying a kite, her pale hand stretched high. Soon, another, larger hand covered hers, and the woman leaned into his embrace with a shy, coquettish laugh. My sudden appearance interrupted their flirtatious display. The Prince’s face soured. He eyed me warily. “What are you doing here?” I held out my hand, getting straight to the point. “The veil. Give it back to me.” His brow furrowed. “It’s gone. Just make a new one.” My eyes widened in fury. Before I could speak, Gladys let out a delicate laugh. She covered her mouth with a silk handkerchief, her beautiful eyes dancing as she pointed to the sky. “Sister, your veil is truly beautiful. It makes the most unique kite in the entire capital, doesn’t it?” Following her gaze, I felt a jolt, as if struck by lightning. The kite she held by a string was made from my bridal veil. The crimson silk was a stark slash against the brilliant blue sky. Even the silver clouds I had so painstakingly stitched were vividly clear. Apollo— He had used the work of my hands, the proof of my heart, to please his mistress. Blood rushed to my head. I felt as if I were drowning in a sea of fire, the grievances of this life and the last pouring out like a flood, threatening to crush me. Losing control, I shoved him with all my might, my voice nearly a scream. “That was mine! How could you?!” “Are you mad—?” He stumbled back, his angry question dying on his lips the moment he saw my crimson-rimmed eyes. He had never seen me so emotional. For a moment, he was stunned, at a loss. After a long pause, he scowled, his voice hard. “Fine. It was made for me anyway. As long as it pleased me, that’s all that matters. Why make such a scene? This one is gone. Just go and embroider a new one.” I trembled with rage, forcing back the tears that pricked my eyes. I choked back the lump in my throat and stared at him, my voice clipped. “Who told you… this veil was embroidered for you?” He froze. After a moment of hesitation, the flicker of guilt on his face was replaced by mockery. “So you’ve learned to play hard to get, Seraphina. The royal decree is imminent. Can’t you just behave? It’s just one veil. On our wedding day, you’ll still be begging me to lift it. Must you act as if this is the end of the world?” I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the storm in my chest. I turned, took the bow and arrow from a nearby guard, and in one swift motion, drew the string taut. With a whoosh, the arrow shrieked through the air. At almost the same instant, the kite dancing in the sky ripped apart. With the sound of a blade tearing through silk, the crimson veil was utterly destroyed. The Prince stared at me in disbelief, too shocked to speak. Gladys, beside him, shrieked and buried her face in his chest as if terrified. In the nearly frozen air, I stared at him, my face devoid of all expression. “Between you and I, Your Highness, we are like this silk. Severed and broken.” Without another word, I threw down the bow and turned to leave. Behind me, I heard Gladys’s tearful voice. “Your Highness, it’s all my fault. I thought sister would be happy to see you had turned her heartfelt gift into a kite… I didn’t realize… She seems so angry. Should you go and console her?” I felt a burning gaze locked on my back. After a brief silence, I heard a man’s hoarse, irritated voice. “Let her be. She’ll get over it once we’re married.”

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“Mr. Hawthorne, are you ready to sign?” Adrian Hawthorne stared blankly at the grand, echoing hall of City Hall. The clerk’s impatient voice finally pierced the fog in his mind, and the reality of the situation crashed down on him. He was reborn. And not just reborn—reborn on the very day he was supposed to marry Ella Sterling. He vividly remembered the last time, a lifetime ago. Joy had been a frantic pulse in his veins, waking him at dawn, compelling him to drag an impassive Ella here, impatient and eager, to be first in line. But now, his fingers traced the edges of the marriage certificate, his face a mask devoid of any happiness. The Sterlings were the premier family of New York City, a dynasty built on iron-clad rules and suffocating etiquette. As the heiress, Ella needed a husband who would be her unshakable support—a man who was gentle, devoted, and willing to orbit entirely around her and the Sterling empire, a man who would handle her every worry so she wouldn’t have to. So, in his previous life, to be that perfect husband, he had thrown it all away. He abandoned his career, his ambitions, his very self. He resigned from his post, managed the household, and sacrificed his entire existence for her. He hadn’t even reached fifty before the years of thankless toil had left him riddled with illness. It was during those last, agonizing days, confined to his bed, that he found the love letters she had written to his younger brother, Leo. “You are a free bird, meant to soar in the endless blue sky. Because I love you, I could never bear to see you caged.” “Your brother bears a striking resemblance to you. Every time I look at his face, I can numb myself and pretend it’s you I’m spending my life with. I’ll let him handle the children, the elders, the household chores. I only want you to be happy, free, and to live every day in brilliant splendor.” In that single, soul-crushing moment, he understood. Ella, the woman he had grown old with, had been in love with his brother, Leo Hawthorne, all along. Marrying him had been nothing more than a calculated means to an end. The truth shattered him. When his son found out, he rushed home not with comfort, but with a face alight with glee, eagerly pleading with him from his bedside. “Dad, since Mom’s always been in love with Uncle Leo, you should just divorce her already.” “You’ve never been his equal, not for a single day. Uncle Leo is a diplomat, a man of the world, and you… you’re just a stay-at-home husband. You’re not worthy of her. You’ve kept the family running smoothly all these years, so Uncle Leo never had to worry about a thing. Now they can finally be together. Why don’t you just let go and give them your blessing?” The rage and despair were a final, fatal blow. His world went black. When he opened his eyes again, he was here. Back at City Hall, on this very day. Love yourself before you love anyone else. This time, he wouldn’t make the same mistake. Just as he was about to speak, the phone in Ella’s clutch rang. It was Leo. The name on the screen transformed her icy expression into one of sudden, melting tenderness. She stepped away to take the call. He couldn’t hear what was said, but a minute later, she walked back, her tone clipped and businesslike. “Adrian, your brother sprained his ankle. As his future sister-in-law, I should go check on him. You can sign the papers and head home by yourself.” She didn’t wait for a reply, already striding toward the exit. Her assistant scurried after her. “Ms. Sterling, the board meeting is about to start! That contract is worth billions, you can’t—” “Cancel it.” With that, Ella floored the accelerator, and her car vanished into the stream of city traffic. Watching her disappear without a backward glance, Adrian felt only a chilling sorrow and a sharp, cutting irony. In his past life, his eyes and heart had been filled with nothing but Ella. He never knew that her eyes and heart had been filled with nothing but Leo. How had he been so blind to such an obvious devotion? He had wasted his entire life. At the counter, the clerk tapped on the glass partition. “Mr. Hawthorne, are you going to sign this or not?” A faint smile touched Adrian’s lips, but it never reached his eyes. “I am.” He picked up the pen. On the application form, where the groom’s name should be, he deliberately, stroke by stroke, wrote three words: Leo Hawthorne. Then, he took the family registry and handed over the page belonging to his brother. Ella, you love him so much. Then I’ll grant you your wish. Walking out of City Hall, he glanced at the marriage certificate in his hand and a genuine, sharp smirk tugged at his lips. Bride: Ella Sterling. Groom: Leo Hawthorne. He wondered what expression Ella would wear when she finally saw these documents. Just as he tucked the certificate into his briefcase, his phone buzzed. He answered, and the regret-tinged voice of his Director at the State Department came through the line. “Adrian, my boy, are you absolutely certain about resigning? The people in this department are one in a million, and you’re one of the brightest I’ve ever seen. Your potential is limitless. We have an overseas post opening up, and I was planning on giving it to you, but then you hand me your resignation.” “I know family is important to you, but I just have to say…” Before the Director could finish, Adrian’s voice cut through, firm and clear. “Director, my apologies. I was foolish before. I’m not resigning. I’ll take the overseas post.” In his last life, the moment he resigned, that very same overseas assignment had been handed to Leo. He had naively believed that sacrificing his dreams for love would earn him Ella’s devotion in return. Instead, he was imprisoned in the Sterling mansion for the rest of his days, his talent and spirit withering like a flower cut from its stem. Meanwhile, Leo, stationed abroad, had become a star, an icon for students and a source of national pride. This life, he would not be shackled by love. He would not sacrifice himself for Ella Sterling again. From this day forward, he would live for himself. He would live his own brilliant life. The Director on the other end of the line was stunned into silence for a moment, then his voice erupted with excitement and joy. “Excellent! That’s just excellent! I’ll submit your name immediately. Adrian, you can take a few days off. Prepare yourself at home. You’ll be departing in two weeks.” Adrian paused. Two weeks? That was the day of his… no. It was the day of Leo and Ella’s wedding. He smiled. “Understood.” Then he hung up. With those two monumental tasks completed, a huge weight lifted from his shoulders. He hailed a cab and headed for the Sterling residence. Outside the gates of the Sterling mansion, Adrian keyed in the code. As the door swung open, a concerned voice drifted from inside. “Sera, are you sure it was okay to leave my brother at City Hall all alone for me? That doesn’t seem right…” Ella was kneeling, gently massaging Leo’s ankle. Her usually cold voice was laced with a tenderness Adrian had never heard directed at him. “Don’t be silly. Your brother is always so understanding. He won’t be angry over something so small. That’s precisely why I agreed to marry him.” Standing in the doorway, Adrian let out a bitter, silent laugh. Understanding? Oh, yes. He was incredibly understanding. So understanding that this time, he’d arranged for her to marry the man she truly loved. He walked in without a word. Hearing his footsteps, Ella quickly withdrew her hands and stood up. She placed a tube of ointment on the coffee table. “You’re back,” she said, her voice a flat statement. “Leo twisted his ankle, so I was helping him with it. He’s having trouble walking, so he’ll be staying with us for a few days.” Adrian offered a placid smile. “Of course. I understand. Given your new relationship, that’s the least you could do. And as for him staying here, it’s perfectly appropriate.” The words sounded right, but they hung in the air with a strange, double-edged meaning. Before she could probe further, Leo grinned and slung an arm over Adrian’s shoulder. “Thanks for having me, bro. I even brought you a gift from my trip.” He brandished a designer shopping bag. “No offense, but you’re still young. Why do you always dress like an old man? I got you some stuff from Europe.” Adrian glanced down at his own attire—a simple, tailored black and white suit. It wasn’t flashy, but it was respectable, perfectly suited for his role as the son-in-law of the Sterling family. He was young, too. He used to love vibrant colors. But for the sake of a “respectable” image in his past life, he had let his youth fade to gray. Seeing Adrian’s downcast gaze, Leo assumed his words had hit their mark, and the smile on his face widened. “Go on, bro, try them on. You can wear them to work tomorrow.” This time, before Adrian could respond, Ella spoke up. “Leo, Adrian has already resigned. He’ll be a stay-at-home husband from now on. Those clothes aren’t suitable for him. They’d look better on you. You should keep them.” At her words, Leo’s eyes lit up. “Bro, you really quit?” The undisguised triumph and excitement in his voice caught Adrian off guard for a second. He knew exactly why Leo was so thrilled. In their past life, they had attended the same university, majored in the same subject, and even joined the State Department together. Yet Adrian had always managed to outperform him, to be one step ahead. Now that he had voluntarily stepped down, how could Leo not be ecstatic? Adrian said nothing, his silence allowing their assumptions to fester. Leo took his silence as confirmation and couldn’t contain his joy. A grin spread across his face as he tugged on Ella’s sleeve. “We’ve been talking for a while, Sera. I’m getting hungry. When’s dinner?” Ella immediately turned to Adrian. “It’s getting late. You should start cooking. And remember, Leo doesn’t eat onions or cilantro, so make sure not to add any.” It was a command spoken from habit, one Adrian had heard countless times before. But this was the first time it sounded so grating. In the past, he would have been in the kitchen before she even finished her sentence. But slaving away over a hot stove was predicated on one thing: his love for her. Now that his love was dead, his willingness to serve her had died with it. He looked up at the woman before him. “I’m not feeling well. Have one of the maids do it.” Ella’s brow furrowed slightly. “Adrian, you know I can only eat your cooking.” Habit. A bitter taste filled Adrian’s mouth. Yes, a habit he had painstakingly created. After learning about her frequent stomachaches and picky eating, he had spent countless hours researching recipes and mastering dishes that were gentle on her stomach. He had cured her ailment, but in doing so, had made her palate so discerning that even Michelin-starred chefs couldn’t satisfy her. She only wanted his food. He forced a thin smile. “You should get used to it. What if I’m not around someday?” She didn’t grasp his meaning. “Not around? Where would you be going?” Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Leo stepped in to play peacemaker. “Hey, how about I cook?” “No!” Ella’s rejection was instantaneous and sharp. “A man of your standing shouldn’t be in the kitchen. How could you be around all that grease and smoke?” Leo looked momentarily taken aback by her fierce protectiveness, then a smug smile played on his lips. Adrian, however, could only offer a grimace. Ignoring their tender moment, he threw a final sentence over his shoulder as he headed to his room. “Well, I’m not doing it.” The evening ended with Ella taking Leo out to a fancy restaurant. She seemed not to have noticed his strange behavior, or perhaps she just didn’t care. After all, she was utterly convinced of his undying love, certain he would never leave her. She probably assumed he was just sulking because she’d abandoned him at City Hall. So, the next day, in a rare gesture, she cleared her schedule to take him for his wedding suit fitting. The entire floor of the haute couture salon had been cleared for them. Twenty bespoke, handcrafted suits hung on gilded racks. When the curtain of the fitting room was drawn back, Adrian stood bathed in the glow of a crystal chandelier. He wore a stunning, ink-black, peak-lapel three-piece suit. Silver thread embroidered a delicate vine that crept from his shoulder to his waist, and a rose crafted from deep red jewels bloomed over his heart. The boutique staff gasped in awe. Standing to the side, a flicker of envy, swift and sharp, crossed Leo’s eyes. He stepped forward, circling Adrian. “Wow, bro, that suit is incredible. I almost want to try it on myself.” Adrian looked at him, a slow smile spreading across his face. “If you want to, then you should.” The staff, knowing it was bad luck for someone else to try on the groom’s suit, tried to intervene. But Adrian was insistent, his gaze fixed not on them, but on Ella. When he had first emerged in the suit, her expression had been placid, unmoved. But now, at the prospect of Leo trying it on, a flicker of light entered her cool eyes. A deep, unspoken longing. He understood. In her heart, she was marrying the wrong man, but she desperately wanted to see the man she loved dressed as a groom. The curtain was drawn again. When it reopened, Leo stood there, wearing the exact same suit. “Bro, this suit is amazing, but it just doesn’t look right on me.” He stood before the mirror, complaining that it was a bit too large, that it didn’t fit him properly. Adrian just smiled. He turned to the head tailor. “Please alter this suit. To his measurements.” The statement stunned everyone. Not just Leo, but even Ella, whose gaze had been glued to his brother, finally snapped back to reality. “What do you mean by that?” Adrian’s smile was infuriatingly calm. “Nothing. The wedding is still a few days away. I was thinking of losing a little weight.” He was lying. Thanks to his little switch at City Hall, the groom on the marriage certificate was now Leo. This wedding, therefore, was Leo’s. And the suit, naturally, had to be tailored for him. Later, when they were choosing the rings, Adrian bypassed the display and handed a massive, ten-carat diamond ring directly to Leo. “Try this on.” He showed no interest in what he himself liked, only asking Leo for his opinion. Once he saw that Leo loved it and that the size was right, he ordered that one. It was the same story with the shoes. This string of bizarre actions finally made Ella realize something was deeply wrong. As they left the shopping center, she was about to confront him, but Leo tugged on her sleeve. “Sera, I’m craving some mango ice cream.” As always, Leo’s needs took precedence. Ella swallowed her questions and turned to go. She returned moments later with two mango-flavored ice cream cones. When she offered one to Adrian, he didn’t take it. “I’m allergic to mango.” A flash of embarrassment crossed Ella’s face. “I’m sorry. I’ll go get you another one.” As her back receded into the crowd, Leo held up his ice cream, his expression a mask of smug triumph. “You’ve known all along, haven’t you, bro? That I’m the one she’s always loved. Why else would she remember my favorite flavor but forget you’re deathly allergic?” The taunt landed, but Adrian’s face remained a placid lake. This lack of reaction clearly irritated Leo. He stepped closer, his voice turning venomous. “I could never beat you at anything, my entire life. But this? In this, I’ve won. Completely.” He leaned in, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me, Adrian. How does it feel? To know the woman you’ve loved for so long only has eyes for me? I’m ecstatic. You’ve always been the one on top, but now, finally, I get to watch you suffer.” A twisted, poisonous smile spread across Leo’s face, a serpent’s grin that sent a shiver of dread down Adrian’s spine. Before he could react, Leo gave him a violent shove. The world tilted. Sky and ground swapped places. Adrian’s body felt weightless as he plunged backward down the stone steps. In a desperate, reflexive move, he shot his hand out and grabbed onto Leo. THUD. CRACK. Two heavy impacts echoed as they both tumbled down the stairs. Adrian felt as if every bone in his body had been rattled loose. As he tried to push himself up, a violent, cramping pain exploded in his lower abdomen. A warm gush of fluid spread beneath him. He looked down, his hand trembling. It was blood. So much blood. His mind went white. Beside him, Leo had already started crying out in pain. “Leo!” From a distance, Ella saw the scene. The ice cream cones dropped from her hands, splattering on the pavement. Two men had fallen, but she ran to only one. She rushed to Leo’s side, her face a mask of panic, and helped him into the car, speeding off toward the hospital. From beginning to end, she never once glanced at Adrian, lying in a spreading pool of his own blood. As if on cue, the heavens turned against him. Dark clouds gathered and a sudden downpour began, the rain washing away the blood, mingling with it in crimson streams that flowed into the gutter. The pain in his abdomen was a sharp, relentless drill. His strength gave out, and as his consciousness faded, the world dissolved into blackness. When he woke up, he was in a hospital. A kind stranger, he learned, had called an ambulance for him. Ella, consumed with worry for the injured Leo, had probably never even realized he had fallen too. Or perhaps, she had seen, and simply hadn’t cared. He wasn’t the one she cherished, after all. It didn’t matter. The marriage certificate now legally bound her to Leo. His face was pale as he tried to get up to handle his discharge papers. Just then, the door opened and a doctor walked in, holding a report. “Mr. Hawthorne, that was a nasty fall. You’re lucky you were brought in so quickly. Any later, and we might not have been able to save your reproductive function.” The words buzzed in his ears like a swarm of angry hornets. How could he have forgotten? In his past life, he had taken the same fall. Back then, terrified he wouldn’t be able to have a child with Ella—a living symbol of their love—he had vowed to be the best father imaginable, to pour all his love into that child. And in the end, how had that precious son repaid him? By begging him on his deathbed to divorce his mother, to make way for her and Leo. A humorless smile twisted his lips. “Doctor,” he said, his voice firm. “I don’t want it. The ability to have children. Please, schedule the surgery.” The doctor looked surprised but didn’t press the issue. He simply handed Adrian a consent form for a vasectomy. “Before the procedure, we’ll need a signature from your legal next of kin.” That evening, Adrian returned to the Sterling mansion with the consent form. Ella was in the kitchen, a place she never entered, awkwardly trying to make soup for Leo, who had a minor fracture. She glanced up when Adrian walked in, a single, dismissive look that held no concern for his own injuries. He gave a sad, inward smile. He folded the paper to conceal most of its contents, then handed it to her. “Ella, the wedding planner called. The venue is almost ready. They just need your signature on this final approval form.” Ella, flustered by her unfamiliar kitchen duties and anxious to get back to Leo, waved a dismissive hand. “You can handle these things from now on.” Without even looking at the document, she snatched a pen and hastily scrawled her name across the bottom of the vasectomy consent form. The very next day, Adrian took the signed form and, without a moment’s hesitation, underwent the procedure. The surgery left him weak, forcing him to stay in the hospital for a few days to recover. During that time, his social media feed was a constant stream of Leo’s posts, all featuring Ella. Ella, who hated having her picture taken, was now smiling in countless selfies with Leo. Ella, who never set foot in amusement parks, was now a VIP pass holder at every theme park in the city with Leo. Ella, who would never touch street food, was now sitting on a tiny stool in a designer gown, eating grilled skewers with Leo. All the things she had refused to do with him, she was now doing with Leo. Leo even posted a special dedication: “So lucky to have such an amazing sister-in-law.” And beneath it, a single, silent “like” from Ella. Adrian closed his eyes and set his phone face down on the bedside table. It didn’t matter. He would be leaving soon. On the day of the Sterling family banquet, Adrian saw Ella again. And Leo, clinging to her arm. After their last confrontation, Leo had dropped all pretense of civility. And Ella, who claimed to see Leo as “just a brother,” seemed perfectly content with the arrangement. Adrian ignored them and walked straight into the house. But as soon as he entered the living room, a sharp voice cut through the air. “It’s been only a few days, and you’ve already forgotten your manners!” Adrian looked up to see Ella’s mother, Mrs. Sterling, glaring at him with icy disdain. His heart sank. The Sterlings were obsessed with propriety, and Mrs. Sterling was particularly vicious. She had never approved of him, her future son-in-law. Every time he visited, she found some new excuse to punish him, all under the guise of “teaching him the rules.” As expected, she immediately found fault. “Look at you! And how dare you walk ahead of Ella?” Adrian’s hands, hanging by his sides, clenched into fists. In his past life, to keep the peace and spare Ella any trouble, he had tolerated Mrs. Sterling’s every cruelty. No matter how insulting her words, he endured them. No matter how many ridiculous rules she imposed, he obeyed them. But he was done tolerating. After all, he wasn’t her son-in-law anymore. He ignored her and turned to head upstairs. “Have you no respect? Did you not hear me speaking to you!” Mrs. Sterling slammed her hand on the table. “Someone, bring the tea! He needs to be taught a lesson!” When Ella and Leo entered, they saw the maids forcing Adrian to his knees. Ella took one look and knew her mother was displeased with him. She said nothing, simply guiding Leo to a seat on the sofa. The sight sent a chill through Adrian’s heart. Past life or this one, she would never stand up for him. Scalding hot tea was poured into the cup he was forced to hold with both hands. It quickly overflowed, cascading over the rim and onto his skin. The pale flesh instantly turned an angry, blotchy red, blisters already beginning to form. A searing pain shot through him, and he instinctively tried to drop the cup. But a maid’s hand held his own in a vise-like grip. “Ah!” A pained cry—but it came from Leo. “That’s horrifying!” Mrs. Sterling’s expression changed instantly, her voice filled with concern. “What are you waiting for? Get Leo out of here! Do you want to frighten him?” Ella immediately covered Leo’s eyes and led him out, cooing softly, “It’s alright, don’t be scared. Mother is just teaching him some manners. It has nothing to do with you.” Only when the teapot was empty did the maid release Adrian’s hands. CRASH! The teacup slipped from his grasp and shattered on the floor. Mrs. Sterling didn’t even spare him a glance as she stood up and walked away. Adrian looked at his scalded hands and gave a bitter smile. By the time he had treated his burns and made his way to the dining room, Ella, Leo, and Mrs. Sterling were already well into their meal. Mrs. Sterling was lovingly placing food on Leo’s plate, urging him to eat more. Leo nodded happily. Mrs. Sterling watched him with adoration. “If only you were my son-in-law,” she sighed. The words hung in the air, and everyone’s expression shifted. Ella finally spoke, her voice low and firm. “Mother, Adrian is still here.” But Mrs. Sterling paid her no mind, shooting a dismissive glare at Adrian, who stood silently by the wall. If Ella’s affection for Leo was a subtle, hidden current, Mrs. Sterling’s was a roaring, public declaration. She had said it countless times: she wished Leo were her son-in-law. If Ella hadn’t insisted on marrying Adrian, Mrs. Sterling would have had her wish long ago. For a fleeting moment, Adrian was tempted to tell her the truth—that Leo was now her son-in-law. But before he could speak, Mrs. Sterling’s cold voice cut him off. “What are you standing there for? Get over here and serve us!” Yes, serving the food. Another one of Mrs. Sterling’s “rules” for him. At every meal, he was expected to stand by and peel shrimp, debone fish, and attend to their every need. By the time he was allowed to eat, only scraps and cold leftovers remained. Adrian glanced at Leo, who was looking at him with a triumphant smirk. “Perhaps my brother should learn as well?” he suggested suddenly. After all, this time, it was Leo marrying into the Sterling family. The smile froze on Leo’s face. “He will never have to learn these things,” Ella said coolly, placing a peeled shrimp into Leo’s bowl. Adrian lowered his gaze, hiding the irony in his eyes. You’re wrong, Ella. In seven days, he will be your groom. After dinner, Leo started glancing at his phone incessantly. Ella leaned in, her voice a soft murmur of concern. “I almost forgot, I have concert tickets. But if I leave now, will your mother be upset?” “It’s fine, I’ll go with you,” Ella whispered back. She then stood up and addressed her mother. “Mom, I have some urgent work to take care of at the office. We have to go.” Mrs. Sterling, suspecting nothing, waved them off. Ella shot Leo a look, and he quickly stood up to say his goodbyes. In a moment, they were gone. Only Adrian, who had heard everything, was left with a hollow feeling of self-mockery. He had spent a lifetime with her, and all he ever heard about was her work. He never knew she went to concerts. He never knew she would lie to her own mother for Leo. It seemed her life as a Sterling daughter-in-law would go quite smoothly after all. With Ella gone, Adrian had no reason to stay. He turned and walked out, ignoring Mrs. Sterling’s angry shouts and the sound of another teacup shattering behind him. Mrs. Sterling despised him, so there was no car to take him home. Ella, of course, wouldn’t be coming for him. The mansion was in an exclusive, secluded area where cabs were nonexistent. So, Adrian walked. It took him three hours to get back. His heels were raw and blistered. He treated his own wounds and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. Ella and Leo didn’t return until the next day. Leo was still wearing a light-up headband from the concert, his face beaming with joy. Ella walked over to Adrian and placed several different invitation samples on the table in front of him. “See if there’s a style you like.” Adrian didn’t answer. He randomly pointed to one and looked at Leo. “Do you like this one?” Leo, confused but obliging, nodded. “Yeah, it’s nice.” Adrian grunted his approval, pulled that invitation out, and handed it to Ella. “This one, then.” Ella didn’t take it. Her eyes narrowed, her gaze hardening. Why? Why does he always ask Leo? The suit, the ring, the shoes, the venue, and now even the invitations. He consulted Leo on everything. It was as if Leo were the groom, and Adrian was simply preparing to step aside. The thought had no sooner formed than she dismissed it. Adrian loved her too much. He would never hand her over to someone else. Once the invitation style was settled, Adrian volunteered to write them all out himself. His reason was sound enough. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime wedding. The invitations should be handwritten to be meaningful.” “There are over three thousand of them. Are you sure?” Ella felt she was understanding his bizarre behavior less and less. “I’m sure.” That night, Adrian sat at his desk, meticulously writing out the invitations. The main text was already printed. All he had to do was fill in the guest’s name, and the names of the bride and groom. His focus was absolute. Stroke by stroke, in the “Bride” section, he wrote: Ella Sterling. And then, in the “Groom” section, he wrote: Leo Hawthorne. In his past life, he had done the exact same thing, his heart filled with hopeful dreams of a happy future with Ella. But that marriage had brought him nothing but a lifetime of bitterness. Ella spent most of her time with Leo. A single phone call from his brother, and she would drop everything and leave him without a second thought. Even at home, she was constantly on the phone with him. He had fought with her, argued with her, but her only defense was always the same hollow excuse: “I only see him as a brother.” He never understood why she married him if she didn’t love him. Not until he was on his deathbed and read that letter. The regrets and sorrows of his past life were finally being severed by his own hand. Three days before the wedding, Adrian and Ella were on a private yacht for the final rehearsal. Usually, it was just the two of them. This time, Adrian insisted on bringing Leo along. After the rehearsal, Adrian went out on deck to feel the sea breeze. The weather was gloomy, the ocean a dark, churning gray. He disliked it. As he was about to head back inside, Leo’s voice came from behind him. “Adrian, what the hell have you been playing at lately? Why did you even drag me to the wedding rehearsal? Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal your bride?” A wry smile touched Adrian’s lips. “Why would you need to steal her? She’s already yours.” Leo’s confusion turned to anger. He grabbed Adrian’s arm, demanding an explanation. Adrian scowled and tried to pull away. Just then, the weather took a violent turn. A furious gust of wind slammed a monstrous wave against the yacht. Thrown off balance, they stumbled in their struggle. And together, they plunged into the sea.

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My wife melted my parents’ gold memorial busts and gave the gold to a college student she sponsored. He posed with the gold bars, flashing a finger heart and a sickly sweet smile: “Got a golden gift! Kisses to my favorite angel investor~” I called Catherine, my voice icy. “You melted my parents’ memorials. Explain.” She replied flatly, “They’ve been dead for decades. The gold was better spent on Leo’s research than wasted on the dead.” I clenched the phone. “Return their ashes in ten minutes.” She scoffed. “That trash? I threw it out.” Ten minutes later, police arrested Leo for grand larceny, and he was expelled. Meanwhile, Cross Group’s stock crashed, wiping out billions. If she wanted to cross every line, I’d play her game—my way. 1 When my security team dragged Leo out, his handsome face was already a bruised, swollen mess, a smear of crimson staining the corner of his mouth. His bloodied fingers were still desperately clutching the last gold bar to his chest. The next second, my leather shoe ground down on his trembling hand. Taking the gold bar from my bodyguard, I studied the audacious college kid before me. “Adrian Blackwood! What the hell is wrong with you?” he howled, his eyes spitting defiance even as his body trembled uncontrollably. A choked scream escaped him. I crouched down, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at me. The venomous hatred in his eyes was crystal clear. “Catherine gave these to me! What right do you have to take them?” he shrieked, struggling against my grip. A faint, tell-tale love bite was still visible on his throat. I tapped his pale cheek with the corner of the gold bar. “Yours?” I asked, my voice deceptively calm. “It seems Catherine forgot to mention who the real owner of these gold bars is.” The blood-streaked ingot landed in the safe with a heavy thud, the sound making him flinch. He still didn’t seem to understand that some things can’t be acquired just by being young and handsome. Things like this pile of gold. Things like… Catherine. Leo’s gaze faltered for a moment, but he quickly tilted his chin up again. “Catherine said she was giving them to me, so they’re mine! She always keeps her word!” he declared. “You just wait. She’ll make you pay for this!” I instantly lost interest. Wasting my breath on- a low-life fool like this was pointless. I turned away from him and gave a cold command to my bodyguards. “Take him downstairs. It’s time he sobered up.” They moved at once, seizing Leo without a word. “What are you doing? Get off me!” Leo yelled, his struggles futile. “Catherine! Help me!” My men remained impassive as they delivered another round of brutal punches and kicks. Before he could even process the pain, one of them grabbed him by the hair and dragged him before me like a sack of dead weight, forcing him to his knees. His face was ashen, no different from a cornered sewer rat. All the smug swagger from his social media post had vanished. “Stop!” A familiar female voice cut through the air. Catherine was rushing toward us, her stilettos clicking furiously on the pavement. Her perfectly applied makeup couldn’t hide the panic and rage on her face. She carefully helped Leo to his feet, then spun to face me, her eyes blazing. “Adrian, are you insane?” she seethed. “It’s just a pile of gold! You’re not short on cash. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” A pile of gold? That “pile of gold” contained the remains of my parents. She had desecrated their remains, and now she had the audacity to call me petty? It seemed lust had truly rotted her brain. I didn’t mind reminding her of a few things. “Catherine, it seems I’ve been far too lenient with you. You knew exactly what was inside those memorials, yet you dared to give them away,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You’ve completely forgotten my rules.” My tone was even, but Catherine’s face instantly went pale. Yet Leo, the fool, was still running his mouth. “What woman doesn’t love a handsome, caring guy?” he sneered. “You’re just pissed that Catherine likes me. You’re jealous!” My gaze turned glacial as I looked at Catherine. “You know what I’m capable of. Do I need to remind you again?” “The ashes,” Catherine stammered, her face tight with a fear I knew well. “I’ll return them to you immediately.” There was a story she knew. A cocky trust-fund kid once mouthed off to me. The next day, his body was found at the bottom of a ravine. “Leo, apologize. Now,” she commanded, her fists clenched. “But Catherine—” “I said, apologize!” The reality of the situation finally seemed to dawn on Leo. The powerful woman he saw as his protector was nothing more than an ant in my eyes. He finally bowed his head, his voice a sullen mumble. “Mr. Blackwood, I’m… sorry.” I let out a cold laugh and climbed into the waiting Cayenne. Through the window, I saw Catherine gently tending to Leo’s wounds, dabbing at them with a handkerchief. The look of tender concern in her eyes was one she once reserved only for me. Five years ago, the Cross Group had gone bankrupt. Her parents, facing ruin and prosecution, had taken their own lives, leaving behind a mountain of debt. Catherine had waited for me for three days and nights in a blinding snowstorm, her tears freezing on her face. “Mr. Blackwood, I’ll give you everything I have. Just please, save me.” In that moment, she had moved me. Not just with her tenacity, but with her rare and desperate courage. I offered her a deal: marry me. She accepted without hesitation. In the five years since, I had poured my resources and energy into rebuilding the Cross Group, transforming it into an industry titan and placing it at the top of the financial world. Catherine, in turn, had grown from a timid, broken girl into a formidable powerhouse in the business world. I had believed our bond was unbreakable. Until today. Until she crossed the ultimate line for another man. 2 When I arrived home, the ceramic urns containing my parents’ ashes were sitting on my desk. My fingertips gently traced the cool, smooth surface. Ultimately, I sent the unfiled lawsuit documents to Catherine’s email. If she had any sense left, she’d know what to do. It was my final warning. Five years of marriage. I was willing to give her one last chance to choose. All she had to do was come to her senses, cut her losses, and get rid of that repulsive boy. Everything could go back to the way it was. But she seemed determined to walk straight off a cliff. The next morning, my assistant knocked frantically on my office door. “Mr. Blackwood, the board just appointed Leo as the new Chief Technology Officer…” I stared at the arrogant eyes in the resume photo, and a chill spread across my face. In his headshot, Leo wore an ill-fitting designer suit, a provocative smirk on his lips. His resume was even more brazen: Expelled in junior year of university. Zero work experience. Position sought: CTO. The absurdity was staggering. The previous CTO was a company veteran, a top talent in the industry whom I had personally headhunted with a massive salary. And now he was being replaced by this… waste of space? A cold smile touched my lips. “Notify the board,” I said, my voice sharp. “Effective immediately, Catherine Cross is no longer the CEO of the Cross Group.” My assistant hesitated. “Sir, if you act so decisively, Mrs. Blackwood will be furious…” “Just do it,” I cut him off. As I stepped out of my office, I could hear Leo’s voice booming down the hall. “So what if I got expelled? I’ve got Catherine in my corner! She’s all the backing I need!” Someone immediately chimed in with fawning agreement. “The last guy was one of Mr. Blackwood’s handpicked men, and she still fired him for you! That’s never happened before!” another voice added. “She dotes on you. You’d better take good care of her…” Leo chuckled. “Of course. What woman could resist a perfect man like me?” My steps faltered. The look in my eyes turned to ice. Noticing my change in demeanor, my assistant strode forward and sent Leo sprawling with a swift kick. “Where did this piece of trash crawl out from?” Leo scrambled to his feet, his face a mask of disbelief. “I’m with the CEO! Do you want me to have her fire you right now?” I walked slowly towards him, looking down from my full height. “The CEO, you say?” I drawled. “As long as I’m here, she calls none of the shots.” His face drained of all color. “Adrian Blackwood, what gives you the right?!” “The fact that I own 80% of the Cross Group’s shares.” His eyes burned with impotent rage, but all he could do was bite his lip and glare at me. Just then, Catherine rushed out of her office. “Adrian, what is the meaning of this?” “I should be asking you that,” I replied coolly. “The lawsuit I sent you yesterday. Were you blind, or are you intentionally defying me?” She bit her lip, softening her tone. “Darling, Leo is still so young. If he gets caught up in a lawsuit, what will happen to his future? He was just being impulsive, he didn’t mean what he said. Don’t hold it against him.” She reached for my arm, her eyes pleading. “There’s nothing going on between us, I swear. You have to believe me.” I pulled my arm away, a humorless smile on my face. “Catherine, you swore to me once that you would always listen to me. And now, for this… thing… you’re going to fight me?” Her face went white, her lips trembling as she struggled for words. I turned to my assistant. “Release a public statement. Leo is terminated, effective immediately,” I commanded, my voice sharp as a razor’s edge. “And let it be known that any company in this city that hires him is making an enemy of Adrian Blackwood.” Leo’s eyes suddenly welled with tears. He lifted his chin defiantly, his voice thick with emotion. “Catherine, it’s all my fault. I hate that I have no power, no way to stay by your side and protect you,” he choked out. “Since Mr. Blackwood dislikes me so much, I’ll leave right away. Please, don’t let me come between you…” Seeing Leo, with his tear-streaked face, still trying to “protect” her, was the final straw. Catherine snapped like a cornered animal. She spun around, shielding Leo behind her. “Adrian! Do you have to be so cruel?” I turned and walked toward the conference room without a backward glance, my voice as cold as ice. “I gave you a choice, Catherine.” 3 A week passed, and Leo was still parading around the company. Catherine seemed to be deliberately provoking me. Not only did she give Leo another promotion, but she also transferred 5% of the company’s shares to him. Since she was so insistent on challenging my authority, I saw no reason to show her any more mercy. At the auction, the room erupted in applause as I signed the final share transfer agreement. Just then, Catherine burst in, her face a thunderous mask of rage. “The Cross Group is my family’s company! What right do you have to auction off all the shares?” she demanded. “Adrian, is this still about those damn ashes? Are you that jealous? Haven’t you made enough of a scene?” She took a breath, her voice dropping to a low threat. “If you keep this up, don’t blame me when I walk away for good.” I slowly raised my eyes, the coldness in them deepening. It seemed that over the years, I had truly spoiled her. Spoiled her so much that she’d forgotten what lines should never be crossed. “Catherine, my patience has its limits.” My voice was quiet, but each word was a dagger. “I gave you plenty of chances. You’re the one who threw them away.” Leo, who had been trailing behind her, suddenly rushed forward and dropped to his knees in front of me, his voice choked with sobs. “Mr. Blackwood, you can look down on me, you can humiliate me, I can take it. I’m just a nobody with no background. But Catherine is your wife! How can you be so cruel to her?” He cried as if his heart was breaking, yet he kept his head held high, a perfect portrait of defiance against tyranny. What a masterful performance. His act ignited the room. Flashbulbs went off like fireworks, and reporters shoved their microphones in my face. “Mr. Blackwood, do you admit to using your power to bully others?” “Is it true, as the rumors say, that you view ordinary people as ants to be crushed?!” The scene descended into chaos. Amid the pandemonium, I caught a glimpse of Leo. His head was bowed, but a triumphant smirk played on his lips. My assistant immediately had security clear the room. As the last reporter was escorted out, the heavy doors of the conference room closed with a solid boom. I turned slowly, my gaze piercing Catherine. “Three strikes, Catherine. This is the last one.” “Make your choice. Cut all ties with him, and you can remain the CEO of the Cross Group. Or, you can take your pet and get out of my sight.” Catherine flinched, but then a raw hatred I had never seen before flared in her eyes. “Adrian, you think I’m afraid of you? I know all your dirty little secrets! If you dare to touch Leo again, I can’t guarantee what might slip out.” I laughed. This little woman, who once trembled in my arms, was now baring her fangs at me for a pretty boy. “Are you threatening me?” I tapped my fingers on the table, a contemptuous smile on my face. “Catherine, do you really think that scares me?” “You!” she sputtered, her chest heaving with rage. But under my cold, unyielding stare, she finally broke. Grabbing Leo’s hand, she fled the room. BAM! The heavy oak door slammed shut. The sound was like a sledgehammer, shattering the last remnants of our five-year relationship. Fine, Catherine. If you choose to burn everything down for him, then don’t blame me for being the one to light the match.

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