I didn't sleep.
The hours slipped by, quiet and unkind. The candle burned low, then out. Still, I lay there—eyes open, thoughts circling the parchment like vultures. I couldn't bring myself to touch it again. Not yet. Not while the ink still felt like a stranger's breath on my skin.
Magic. That word still didn't belong in my world.
Morning arrived without consent, like a decision made in my absence. The light was sharp, not golden, and I hadn't moved from the bed.
A knock—hurried, uneven.
"Mara?" I called, already knowing.
She pushed the door open, cheeks flushed, strands of hair loose from her braid. She'd been running.
"The Duke—" she began, breathless, "he's moved the date. The wedding. It's in two days."
I didn't blink. Of course, he had.
In my past life, he'd given me one day. One. And I'd wasted it crying into silks and asking my mother how I was supposed to survive a life I hadn't chosen.
But now... now I had two.
"I understand," I said simply.
Mara blinked, confused by my calm. She didn't know that I'd already lived this panic.
"The dress is on its way," I added. "I'll check with the couriers. The jeweler owes me a favor—he'll have what I need by tonight. And I'll pay extra if I have to."
It was strange, this steadiness. As if my body had already rehearsed the storm and now moved through it without hesitation.
I didn't look at the parchment. I didn't need to.
Whatever that voice was—whoever it belonged to—it could wait.
For now, I had a wedding to prepare for.
And this time, I wouldn't fall apart.
The dress was already in good hands. The right merchants knew my name. The jeweler would have the circlet, the shoes, the veil.
I would check on them myself.
And so, I dressed. Left the letters and the whispers behind. And stepped into the world as a woman who remembered everything.
I left before breakfast. The air was cold enough to keep me awake.
No escorts. No fuss. Just the list I had memorized and a coin pouch tucked beneath my sleeve.
The jeweler bowed too deeply.
The tailor fumbled words.
The veil was wrong. The thread, uneven.
"I'll pay double," I said, quietly. "Just have it ready by tomorrow."
They nodded like they had no other god to answer to.
The dress—still untouched—waited in soft silence.
My fingers brushed the lace.
Last time, I wept over these details.
This time, I took control.
Nothing would slip.
Not again.
I instructed the dressmakers:
Less frills.
More elegant and bold look.
This dress would be different.
Because this was the dress of revenge.
I returned before the sun reached its peak.
The courtyard was unusually quiet—except for the horses.
One of them neighed, restless.
Beside it stood a man I didn't recognize at once.
Not until he turned.
Golden hair.
A calm stance.
And a scar near his wrist. Faint but familiar.
Auren.
He wasn't supposed to arrive until the wedding day.
Yet here he was—early. Just like last time.
But this time… he looked different. Not younger, not older. Just—sharper.
He noticed me. Bowed, stiffly.
"My lady," he said.
Not Liora. Not yet.
I nodded. "I see they've summoned you early."
"They did."
I waited for more. He offered nothing.
He had always been quiet. Loyal. The one who held the reins without shaking.
But now… I couldn't forget what I knew.
What he'd done.
I forced a smile. "Then I suppose fate runs ahead of schedule for all of us."
He met my gaze for just a second too long.
And said nothing.
I departed from the place.
In my previous life,
He was the last one I suspected.
The quiet shadow.
The one who stood behind me when all the others turned away.
The one who held my hand after the Duke's temper spilled blood on the marble floors.
I trusted him more than anyone.
And maybe that was my mistake.
Because while I wept at my husband's cruelty, Auren was the one who passed the letters.
While I begged for truth, he held lies behind his tongue.
While I was dragged through cold halls and darker nights, he watched.
He watched.
They said it was loyalty.
But I learned—too late—that loyalty can rot. That obsession wears a gentler face.
It was Auren who led her to me.
Anissa.
He didn't raise the blade.
But he pointed them in the right direction.
And when I fell, it wasn't just the Duke's betrayal that crushed me.
It was his.
The one I thought would save me.
He didn't leave after the greetings.
Instead, he followed—quiet, unbothered—like he belonged in every room I entered.
"I heard the wedding's been moved up," he said eventually.
I didn't look at him. "It has."
A pause.
"I'm sure that's... difficult."
I wanted to laugh.
Not because he cared.
Because he pretended to.
"It's easier than last time," I murmured.
He blinked. "Pardon?"
"Nothing," I said. "Did you come only to offer good wishes, or are there more favors tucked beneath that armor?"
He smiled. A flicker of that same easy charm he used to wrap around me like a warm cloak.
"I'd hoped to speak to the Duke," he said. "But I'm glad to have seen you first."
I looked him in the eye, unflinching.
"I'm not the same girl you remember from our childhood."
He tilted his head. "A shame," he said softly. "I rather liked her."
So did I.
But she's dead.
I got inside my room, and he departed.
I didn't watch him go.
Didn't need to.
The silence he left behind clung to the walls like perfume—sweet, familiar, suffocating.
I waited until his footsteps faded, then closed the door with care.
The room was exactly how I had left it.
Almost.
My gaze slid to the desk.
The parchment.
Gone.
No crease on the surface. No stain. Not even the faintest whisper of ink.
"Mara," I called.
She entered too quickly. "Yes, my lady?"
"Did anyone come in while I was gone?"
She shook her head. "Only the knight, I think."
Auren.
The knight from the capital.
"Did he touch anything?"
"Not that I saw."
Not that she saw.
I nodded once and dismissed her.
Then I opened every drawer.
Lifted every cushion.
Checked the vase. The folds of the curtains.
Nothing.
Not even a shadow.
I didn't like the silence anymore.
It used to be comfort. A breath between the chaos. Now, it felt like a held note—waiting to shatter.
The parchment was gone. The room was perfect. Too perfect.
I lit another candle just to watch the flame flicker. It grounded me.
Then I opened the wardrobe. Not for clothes—just to keep my hands busy. Anything to distract me from the gaping absence on my desk.
And that's when I saw it.
Not parchment. Not ink.
But a shard of something was wedged behind the inner lining—where the seam had frayed years ago and I never thought to mend it.
I reached in, slow. Pulled it out.
A piece of mirror?
No. Not quite. The surface shimmered, but it wasn't glass. It was lighter. Warmer. And when I held it in my palm, the air around me… shifted.
Not colder. Not heavier.
Just aware.
I stared into it. It didn't reflect the room. It reflected me.
But not how I looked now.
How I looked then.
The night before the wedding, in my last life.
Eyes wide. Dress loose at the shoulders. Fear hidden under painted lips.
And then it was gone.
In a blink, the shard turned dull.
I should've dropped it.
Thrown it into the fire.
But I didn't.
Instead, I wrapped it in cloth and slipped it into my sleeve.
Because if someone had stolen the parchment…
They'd left this behind.
And that was a mistake.
I slept.
Not well. Not deeply. But enough for the hours to pass.
When I woke, the world had changed again.
The manor was no longer quiet. No longer mine.
Servants moved like ants in summer—rushing, sweating, and bowing too quickly. Trunks were carried in. Horses stabled. The scent of perfume and expectation clung to the air like dust to silk.
The guests had begun to arrive.
I stood by the window, watching the courtyard. The first carriage had barely pulled in when the next one arrived. The pace reminded me of vultures circling a battlefield—dressed in finery, smiling in lace.
And then I saw her.
Anissa.
Stepping out like she owned the sun. Pale blue gown, ringlets bouncing, gloved hands reaching for no one.
She spotted me at the window.
Waved.
I didn't wave back.
In another life, she'd been my closest friend. The kind of girl who knew my favorite tea, my fears, the way I twisted my ring when I lied. We used to braid each other's hair. Whisper secrets into pillows. Laugh in the gardens after curfew.
And then she used those secrets like knives.
Fed them to the Duke when he grew suspicious. Painted me weak, disloyal, hysterical.
I thought she loved me. She loved what I had.
And when it suited her, she took it—took him.
The betrayal still echoed beneath my ribs like an old wound. I didn't flinch. Didn't let her smile scratch me.
Instead, I turned from the window.
"Is there a guest list?" I asked Mara when she arrived.
She nodded. "I've been told to assist with the welcoming."
"Good," I said. "I want to know who walks through those doors."
It wasn't paranoia.
It was strategy.
Because just then, as I made my way to the front hall—poised, pleasant, sharp—I saw a crest I didn't recognize. Silver embroidery over plum silk.
A new carriage. Larger. Foreign.
A woman stepped down first—a duchess, regal in every movement. And behind her—
A girl.
About my age. Dark hair swept back in a braid threaded with silver. Her dress was simple, but elegant. No fuss. No frills.
And her gaze—
Sharp.
Calculating.
Mismatched eyes.
One hazel. One blue.
She caught me watching and didn't look away.
Mara whispered beside me, "The Duchy of Veilmeir."
Veilmeir.
I frowned. "That's south of Noctare, isn't it?"
"Yes, my lady. Though the Duchy rarely attends southern court functions. This is their first visit in years."
Strange. I remembered Veilmeir only in passing. Cold lands. Stricter customs. I never interacted with them—not even in my past life. And yet, here stood the duchess's daughter, staring at me like we shared a secret.
"What's her name?" I asked.
Mara checked the list. "Lady Elaris Veilmeir."
I nodded, even as the name turned cold in my mouth.
Elaris Veilmeir.
No memory of her.
No mention.
But something told me that would change.
Because as she walked past, her sleeve brushed mine—and something buzzed beneath my skin.
Not pain. Not warmth.
Just a quiet... pull.
I didn't look back.
Neither did she.
TO BE CONTINUED