Chapter 1 — The Night I Died
*Chapter One*
_The Night I Died_
The first thing I remember about dying is the rain.
Not the pain.
Not the shouting.
Not even his face.
The rain.
It poured against the windows of the ballroom, turning the world outside into a blur of silver and black. Inside, hundreds of candles burned beneath a ceiling covered in gold, their flames trembling whenever thunder rolled across the estate.
It was supposed to be the happiest night of my life.
My wedding anniversary.
Our third.
I remember thinking that the flowers were beautiful.
That was the most ridiculous thing about it.
Even at the end, I was still admiring the roses.
Then I saw him.
Standing at the opposite end of the ballroom.
My husband.
Lucien Vale.
He wore the same black suit he had worn when he married me three years ago. His expression was calm. Almost painfully calm.
And that was when I knew.
Something was wrong.
"Lucien?"
He didn't answer.
I took one step toward him.
Then another.
The room seemed strangely quiet.
My guests were gone.
The musicians had stopped playing.
Even the servants had disappeared.
There was only him.
And me.
And the sound of rain.
"What's happening?"
Lucien looked at me.
For one horrible second, I thought I saw regret in his eyes.
Then it vanished.
"I warned you," he said quietly.
My heart dropped.
"About what?"
His gaze moved toward the envelope lying on the table beside me.
The envelope I had found that afternoon.
The one containing proof that my family had been betrayed.
The one containing letters with Lucien's seal.
The one I had foolishly believed would explain everything.
Instead, it had confirmed the truth.
He had known.
For years.
He had known who destroyed my family.
He had known who ruined my father's name.
And somehow—
I had married him.
"You should have left," he whispered.
I stared at him.
"You could have told me."
"I couldn't."
"You could have trusted me."
"I couldn't."
"Why?"
He looked away.
And that hurt more than anything.
Because Lucien Vale never looked away from anyone.
Except me.
I laughed.
It came out broken.
"So that's it?"
He said nothing.
"You let me love you knowing everything."
His jaw tightened.
"You let me defend you."
Silence.
"You let me marry you."
His eyes finally met mine.
"I'm sorry."
Two words.
That's all I got.
Then the world went dark.
---
I woke up screaming.
My hands flew to my chest.
No pain.
No blood.
No ballroom.
No Lucien.
I stared at the ceiling above me.
White.
Cracked.
Familiar.
My breathing came in short, frantic bursts.
Where was I?
I pushed myself upright.
The room was small.
A wooden desk stood beside the window. A pile of books leaned dangerously against the wall. My old blue curtains hung crookedly from their rod.
I knew this room.
I knew that desk.
I knew those curtains.
My eyes fell on the calendar hanging beside the door.
March 17, 2018.
I froze.
No.
That wasn't possible.
I stumbled out of bed and rushed toward the mirror.
A girl stared back at me.
Young.
Terrified.
Alive.
I touched my face.
My cheeks.
My hair.
The tiny scar beneath my chin that I hadn't had in years.
I knew this face.
It was mine.
But it was six years younger.
"No..."
My voice broke.
I grabbed the edge of the desk.
My legs nearly gave out.
Sixteen years old.
Sixteen.
I looked at the calendar again.
Then at my reflection.
Then back at the calendar.
My death had happened six years from now.
Which meant—
I hadn't just survived.
I'd gone back.
Six years.
Before the wedding.
Before the betrayal.
Before Lucien.
Before everything.
A strange laugh escaped me.
Then another.
I covered my mouth.
Tears filled my eyes.
I was alive.
I had another chance.
A chance to save my family.
A chance to destroy the people who had ruined us.
A chance to make sure I never met Lucien Vale.
My laughter stopped.
Because suddenly, I remembered something else.
Something I hadn't thought about while dying.
The last thing Lucien had said.
I'm sorry.
Why?
Why had he looked at me like that?
Why had he seemed almost—
afraid?
A knock came from the bedroom door.
I froze.
"Miss Elara?"
My blood ran cold.
That voice.
I knew that voice.
The door opened.
My old maid stepped inside, carrying a tray.
She smiled.
"You're awake."
I couldn't speak.
She frowned.
"Miss?"
"Today..."
My voice barely came out.
"What day is it?"
She looked confused.
"March seventeenth."
"And the year?"
She laughed softly.
"2018, of course."
Of course.
My hands began to shake.
I looked toward the window.
Outside, the gardens were exactly as I remembered them.
Green.
Peaceful.
Untouched.
The world had given me back the life I had lost.
I clenched my fists.
Fine.
If fate wanted to play with me—
I'd play back.
I would not become Lucien Vale's wife.
I would not trust him.
I would not love him.
And I certainly would not die for him.
Not this time.
I walked toward the mirror again.
But before I could reach it, something caught my attention.
A small envelope lay on my desk.
My name was written across it.
Elara.
My stomach twisted.
I opened it.
There was only one sentence inside.
Five words.
Five words that made my blood run cold.
I remember you too.
There was no signature.
I didn't need one.
Because I recognized the handwriting.
Lucien.
My dead husband remembered his life too.
And somehow—
he had found me first.
