Pain.

That was the first thing Seraphina Whitmore felt. Not the gentle, fleeting kind, but the kind that seared through her bones, consuming every nerve like fire licking at the edges of her soul. Her body ached in ways that defied reason, her limbs cold, her throat raw, as if she had spent hours screaming but had no voice left.

She tried to move, but the weight of exhaustion pinned her down. A sharp, nauseating stench of blood and damp earth surrounded her, mixing with the faint scent of rotting wood. Her fingers twitched, brushing against something hard—stone, cold and unyielding beneath her touch.

Then came the memories.

Like shattered glass reforming into a picture, everything came rushing back.

The betrayal. The lies. The moment she had been led to her death.

Seraphina’s breath caught in her throat as her final moments played out in vivid, horrifying detail.

Damien’s smirk as he held her wrists, his grip like iron.

Liliana’s mocking laughter, sweet and poisonous as honey.

Her father’s cold eyes, filled with nothing but disgust.

The sharp push—the feeling of air rushing past her skin as she fell.

The bone-crushing impact as her body hit the ground.

She had died.

No, she had been murdered.

Her heart thundered against her ribs, panic clawing at her throat. Where was she? How was she still breathing? Was this the afterlife? A cruel purgatory where she would be forced to relive her pain over and over again?

With great effort, she forced her heavy eyelids open.

Light. Soft, golden morning light filtering through sheer curtains. A bedroom.

Not a grave.

She inhaled sharply, struggling to sit up. The movement felt foreign, like her body wasn’t her own. Her pulse pounded as she took in her surroundings—plush ivory sheets, a grand oak vanity, a crystal chandelier glimmering above her. This was her old bedroom.

Her mind reeled. Impossible. This place had been lost to her long ago, stolen the moment her family had cast her aside. She had never returned here after her fall from grace. And yet… she was here.

Her gaze darted to the mirror. What she saw nearly stopped her heart.

A face she hadn’t seen in years.

Gone were the gaunt cheeks, the hollow eyes, the weary lines carved by suffering. In their place was the reflection of a young woman—barely twenty, her complexion smooth and untouched by time’s cruelty.

She lurched forward, hands flying to her face. Her fingers trembled as they traced the unblemished skin.

This was not her body after betrayal. This was the face of Seraphina before the tragedy. Before she had lost everything.

Her breath came in short gasps. She staggered from the bed, her legs weak but moving. With hesitant steps, she reached for the calendar resting on her nightstand.

Her fingers clutched the pages, eyes scanning the date.

Five years ago.

The realization crashed over her, a tidal wave of disbelief and something far more dangerous—hope.

She had been reborn.

The gods had granted her a second chance.

A shudder ran down her spine as the truth sank in. She was no longer the broken woman who had died in the shadows of betrayal.

She was back, standing at the precipice of the past, armed with knowledge of the future.

This time, she would not be a fool.

A knock at the door startled her.

"Miss Seraphina, are you awake?"

The voice sent chills down her spine.

That voice…

Marianne.

Her loyal maid. The only one who had stood by her side, even when the world turned against her.

Seraphina swallowed the lump in her throat. Marianne had been killed in her past life—punished for refusing to betray her.

Guilt twisted inside her, followed by a steely determination.

She would not let that happen again.

Clearing her throat, she steadied herself. "Come in."

The door creaked open, and there she was—Marianne, young and full of life. Not the broken, bloodied figure Seraphina had once found in a cold alleyway.

"My lady," Marianne greeted with a warm smile, stepping forward with a tray of tea. "You barely touched your dinner last night. You must be starving."

Seraphina barely heard her. She was too focused on memorizing every detail—her bright hazel eyes, the soft kindness in her features.

How had she ever taken this for granted?

Tears burned the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away. No more weakness. This time, she would protect those who truly cared for her.

Taking a deep breath, she schooled her expression into calm. "Thank you, Marianne."

The maid paused, brow furrowing in confusion.

Seraphina never used to thank her.

Not in this lifetime, anyway.

A small smile tugged at Seraphina’s lips. Let them wonder. Let them see the change.

She took the teacup, sipping slowly as she formulated her plan.

First, she needed to confirm who her enemies were at this exact point in time.

If she was truly five years in the past, then she was still engaged to Damien Lancaster.

The very man who had orchestrated her ruin.

Her fingers clenched around the teacup.

In her past life, she had loved Damien. Trusted him. She had fought to be worthy of him, only to be discarded like a worthless pawn.

But not this time.

This time, she would be the one to play him.

The first step? Breaking the engagement before he had the chance to betray her.

But she couldn’t act too soon. No, she had to be careful. One wrong move, and she would alert Damien—and his accomplice, Liliana—that she was no longer their naive prey.

She had to be smart. Deceptive.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. This time, it was heavier. Firm.

"Seraphina," a familiar voice called. "It’s Damien."

Speak of the devil.

The sound of his voice no longer made her heart flutter. Instead, it filled her with cold, calculated fury.

But she forced a soft smile, schooling her features into an innocent mask.

"Come in," she called sweetly.

The door opened, and Damien Lancaster stepped inside.

Tall, strikingly handsome, dressed in his usual tailored suit. In her past life, she had adored every detail—the sharp jawline, the confident smirk, the way his gaze seemed to promise forever.

But now?

All she saw was the man who had orchestrated her death.

Her fingers curled into her palm, nails digging into her skin.

This time, Damien Lancaster would never see her downfall.

No.

This time, she would be the one to ruin him.

And she would enjoy every second of it.