Elara stood before the mirror, her breath hitching as she stared at a ghost.
The reflection didn't wear the tattered hospital gown or the hollowed-out expression of a woman who had given up. Instead, it was her—eighteen, freshly on the cusp of adulthood, and the sole owner of an estate worth millions. She was the star of a play she never realized was scripted against her.
She reached out, her fingertips trembling as they brushed the cool glass. I'm warm. I'm breathing. I'm not dead.
The memory of the heavy steel bar crashing against her skull flashed behind her eyes, sharp and white-hot. She gasped, clutching the edge of the vanity until her knuckles turned white. The phantom pain was so real she almost reached up to feel for the blood.
But there was no blood. Only the faint scent of expensive jasmine perfume and the distant, hauntingly familiar sound of laughter from downstairs.
Selene.
The sound sent a chill straight down Elara's spine. It was the laugh of a sister who had watched her go mad with a smile on her face.
Elara forced her lungs to expand, drawing in a shaky breath. She remembered everything. The fake accounts Damien had framed her with. The forged signatures. The drugs planted in her vanity drawer. She remembered the security footage they had edited to show her "insanity" when she finally broke under their pressure—watching the world move on without her from behind a locked door in a psychiatric ward.
Not this time.
She grabbed a soft blue blouse—the one Damien always said made her look "innocent"—and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She smiled at her reflection, not with joy, but with the cold, sharp precision of a predator. She didn't dress to look pretty today. She dressed to build a fortress.
The grand staircase curved like a question mark, its polished railings gleaming under the morning light. From the landing, Elara saw them—Selene, perched on the velvet couch like a delicate flower, and Damien Blackwood.
He stood with practiced ease, holding a bouquet of white lilies. He didn't know she hated lilies; he simply assumed she loved them because they were expensive, and in her past life, she had been too lovestruck to correct him. His eyes were fixed on Selene with a hunger he didn't even bother to hide.
How had she been so blind? She saw it now: the way Selene's fingers lingered on Damien's wrist, and the way their voices dipped into a low murmur, sharing secrets Elara was never meant to hear.
"Morning, Ellie!" Selene chirped, her voice dripping with fake honey. "You look beautiful today."
Elara felt a surge of pure, icy bile rise in her throat, but she bit the inside of her cheek until the copper taste of blood grounded her.
"Thank you," Elara said, her voice smooth as silk. "You too, little sister."
As she sat down, Damien leaned in. The scent of his expensive cologne—once her favorite—now made her want to gag. It smelled like the end of her life.
"Elara. You're radiant, as always," he murmured, reaching for her hand.
She flinched instinctively before forcing herself to let him take her fingers. His skin felt like a reptile's. She realized now he had never watched her with love, only with strategy. He wanted her name, her wealth, and her controlling shares in VossTech.
The butler, Marius, appeared with the tea service. When Elara looked at him, her vision blurred with sudden, hot tears. He looked younger, his hair less gray, his posture reflecting a loyalty that few others could match.
Her chest tightened at the memory of the night she lost him and Nanny Agnes. While she had been locked away, drugged and broken, Damien and Selene had moved against the only two people who could have saved her. Marius and Agnes had gathered evidence—files and recordings that could have exposed the conspiracy.
And it had cost them their lives.
The memories hit Elara like a physical blow: the flash of blood on the study walls, the sound of Marius's strangled gasp, and the chilling sight of Selene holding the knife. Their final looks hadn't been of fear for themselves, but of guilt—sadness that they had failed to protect her.
Not this time. I will be the one protecting you.
She looked up at Marius, meeting his gaze with a new steeliness. He paused, sensing the change, and gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod.
"Aren't you going to tell her, Damien?" Selene hummed, leaning toward him.
Damien cleared his throat and stood, squaring his shoulders. Elara knew what came next: the breathless tears of joy she'd shed the first time he knelt. The same ring that would later end up on Selene's hand.
"Elara Voss," he began. "I've known you for years. I know you aren't perfect—you have your... little flaws—but I am willing to guide you. Together, we can make the Voss name legendary."
My flaws? Elara thought, her heart turning to stone. You mean the ones you plan to invent on camera?
"Be my wife."
It wasn't a question. It was a command wrapped in silk. A takeover.
Elara let the silence stretch, studying him like a specimen under a microscope until his confident expression began to twitch. Then, she gently pushed the velvet box away, snapping it shut with a decisive click.
"Let me think about it."
Damien's mask didn't just slip—it cracked. "What?"
"Marriage is a serious legal decision," Elara continued smoothly. "Especially when it involves the future of the Voss estate. I need to consult with my advisors before making such a... permanent commitment."
In the corner, Marius looked up sharply, his lips twitching into the ghost of a smile.
Elara didn't wait. She stood and walked toward the study, her heels clicking against the marble like a war drum. Once inside, she locked the door and dialed a number she had memorized in the dark of her asylum cell.
"Nanny Agnes?" she whispered. Her hand was steady now. "I need you to come back to the estate. Immediately. And bring Mr. Hanover with you."
Mr. Hanover, the family lawyer, was the only man who could secure her assets before Damien could sink his claws into them. In her first life, she had ignored them both.
"I'm awake now, Nanny Agnes," Elara said, her eyes fixed on the door. "And I'm never closing my eyes again."