Ultimately, the sword carved into my stomach was less brutal than the smile on his face.
Everyone who once loved me had died at the hands of this man—Lucian.
"Ahh—" I groaned.
My stomach was burning. Not from the blade, but from his joy.
The joy of fulfillment. Of victory. Of killing me.
"Duchess Liora… It's about time you died," Lucian said, laughing.
"With your death, everything will be in order."
I stared up at him, hatred pouring from my eyes.
Once warm and blue—now frozen like snow were my eyes.
The pain twisted in me. I was bleeding. I was crying.
It was a bloodbath.
And he was enjoying it.
"I swear…" I choked, blood rising in my throat.
"I swear upon my family—I will get revenge for this!"
Blood sprayed from my mouth. I fell forward.
Lucian crouched, voice calm, eyes empty.
"And how exactly will you do that?" he whispered.
"With your dead parents?"
He smiled, watching my body go still.
I opened my eyes.
Darkness.
Maybe this was the afterlife.
Maybe this was Hell.
I never imagined I would die such a gruesome death.
They called me the Duchess—the flower of a nation, ruler of a dukedom, beloved by all.
Everyone loved me… except the one man I loved.
But love is fragile in a world ruled by power.
Politics twisted their devotion. Corruption silences truth. And I—
I was powerless.
I loved him once. I would've given him everything:
My name. My heart. My life.
I did.
And he took it all without hesitation.
Maybe I should have seen the signs—
The forged decrees.
The late-night meetings.
The way his eyes stopped seeing me as a woman… and began seeing me as a threat.
I wish I hated him more than I loved him.
But I don't.
And maybe that's the cruelest part of all.
In the end, I was nothing more than a pawn—married off to bring peace to a crumbling empire.
A sharp pain tore through my stomach, spreading like fire across my entire body.
My vision shifted from black to a blur of color.
Is this… how I die?
I could still hear him. Lucian.
His voice cut through the haze.
"Such a pity," he said softly.
"You could have lived longer... if only you knew your place."
My limbs went numb. My vision swam.
But my hatred burned hotter than ever.
If there's a next life…
I won't be this weak again.
The last thing I saw—
Was his smile.
Silence.
For a moment, there was nothing. No pain. No breath. Just… stillness.
Then—
A scent.
Lavender.
Warm sheets.
A breeze brushed softly against my skin.
My eyes snapped open.
Ceiling. Not stone. Not blood.
White silk curtains danced in the morning light.
I sat up, heart pounding, lungs gasping.
My body—unwounded.
My hands—clean.
No blood.
No Lucian.
No sword.
I stumbled toward the mirror.
The face staring back at me was… mine.
But younger. Softer. No shadows. No scars.
This isn't a dream.
It's the past.
My fingers trembled as I touched my cheek. Smooth. Untouched. No traces of the war I had lived.
Everything felt too vivid, too warm. Like a cruel illusion I hadn't earned.
The door creaked open.
"Miss Liora?"
A girl in a maid's uniform stood in the doorway, wide-eyed.
"You're awake! Thank the heavens—I was just about to call for a physician—"
"Wait." My voice was hoarse. "What day is it?"
She blinked. "Pardon?"
"What year?" I demanded. "Tell me the year."
"It's the 8th day of the Spring Moon… year 764," she said carefully.
My stomach twisted. That was—
"One week before your engagement, Miss," she added with a sheepish smile.
"The entire manor's preparing. The Duke will arrive any moment now."
Duke Lucian.
My killer. My husband.
I stared at her.
Year 764.
A week before everything began.
A week before, I had lost everything.
The beginning of the end.
I gripped the bedpost, heart racing.
I'm back.
Back in the body he ruined.
Back in the world that broke us both.
But this time, I'll uncover the rot hiding behind his smile.
"Help me get dressed," I said quietly.
The maid blinked. "Already? You've only just woken up—"
"I said," I met her gaze, "help me get dressed. Now."
She hesitated, then nodded, moving toward the wardrobe.
I swung my legs off the bed. The floor felt cold against my bare feet.
My limbs trembled. My muscles protested with every shift.
This body… it's weaker than I remember.
No scars. No callouses. Seventeen again. Soft. Fragile.
But weakness wouldn't serve me now. Not again.
They said I'd been unconscious for nearly five days—some strange fever, the physicians claimed.
The priests had whispered it was divine intervention.
I knew better.
Perhaps even the gods struggled to pull my soul back into this shell.
I straightened my spine, clenched my jaw.
No matter what it takes... I'll stand. I'll move. I'll become who I need to be.
The maid returned, carrying a folded gown. She hesitated again.
"The gown they sent for today is strange," she mumbled. "Not from the palace. No seal."
My brows furrowed.
"Who sent it, then?"
She paused. "There was no note. Just… a single card tucked inside."
"What did it say?"
She held it out. I took it with trembling fingers.
Just four words, written in ink that hadn't existed the last time I lived:
Do not trust him.
A chill ran through me.
Who sent this? And… who is "him"?
The obvious answer would be Lucian. The man who had ended my life with a smile.
But something about it felt… off. Too deliberate. Too early.
Lucian hadn't been subtle in the last timeline. This felt like a whisper in a storm—meant to steer, not threaten.
My eyes drifted toward the window. The estate grounds bustled with servants preparing for the Duke's arrival.
Banners of House Viremond fluttered, proud and blind.
I knew how quickly they would fall.
If this card wasn't about Lucian…
Then who?
Who else am I forgetting?
Or worse—
Who wasn't there before… but is here now?
TO BE CONTINUED…