Chapter 1 - The Death We Shared.
The fire took her son first.
Clara screamed as the nursery at Blackwood Manor went up in flames, Julian’s men holding her back while Rosalind watched from the carriage, her hand resting on her own pregnant belly.
“My lady, run!” her maid sobbed.
But Clara ran _in_. She grabbed little Leo — only four, coughing, his tiny fingers clutching her skirt — and held him as the beam collapsed.
They died together, her body curled around his.
Her last thought was not of Julian’s betrayal. It was: _I failed you._
Then — cold water on her face.
Clara gasped awake. Silk sheets. Lavender scent. Her 21 -year-old hands, unscarred. Outside her window, wedding bells were being polished.
Three days. Her wedding to Julian was in three days.
“No,” she whispered, clutching her flat stomach where Leo should have been. Tears fell fast. “Please, not again. I can’t — I can’t lose him again. What if I can’t change it?”
Her hands shook. In her last life she had been obedient. She had married Julian despite the rumors. She had borne his heir only to watch him murder them both for Rosalind.
What if fate was fixed?
Across the capital, in the Royal Palace, Prince Theo woke up choking on wine.
He sat up in his bachelor chambers, 33 again, his head pounding — not from drink, but from memory. In his last life, he had married Rosalind. The beautiful, perfect Rosalind.
And then he’d caught her. On his wedding night. In Julian’s arms, laughing: _“The fool prince actually thinks the child is his.”_
Theo had challenged Julian to a duel. He’d died with a sword in his gut, a cuckold prince.
“Never again,” Theo growled, throwing the wine bottle against the wall. It shattered. “I’d rather marry a teahouse girl than that cheating witch.”
He didn’t know why, but his mind kept flashing to a woman he’d barely noticed before: Clara Bennett. Julian’s doomed fiancée. The one who’d died in a fire with her son.
This time, he thought as he dressed, _this time I’ll watch her first._
And this time, Clara thought as she tore up her wedding veil, _I will not marry Julian._
She quickly write a letter to send to the palace hoping for a miracle.
"Hurry send this to the palace."
