Chapter 2

When the old Baron Wynthor died and Theron’s family fortunes dwindled under his uninspired leadership, the once-proud House Wynthor grew desperate. That’s when they latched onto the might of House Blackwood, hoping to salvage their crumbling status through a marital alliance.

In my previous life, Theron petitioned my uncle, the King, relentlessly for our betrothal decree. His performance of devotion fooled my uncle into granting his consent, gifting us a pair of matching signet rings as a symbol.

At the time, I was far away, training in isolation at Solitude Peak. When the rings arrived, I was shocked. But my uncle had a good eye for character, and Theron’s reputation as a handsome, competent young lord was widespread.

Imagine my devastation when I returned home to find Theron wrapped around Mirabelle, my so-called foster sister, showering her with affection.

For the first time, I ignored my brothers’ warnings and secretly revealed my true identity to Theron, hoping he’d set things right.

But he flew into a rage. He ran straight to my brothers, who, terrified Mirabelle’s deception—and their own complicity—would be exposed before our parents returned, decided on a permanent solution.

They beat me to death with cudgels beyond the city walls. My body was left unburied, torn apart by scavengers by morning.

After my death, the King was furious. Theron, ever the actor, knelt before the throne with tears on his face, swearing he’d always loved me, that he’d been deceived by villains.

Such a man… a liar and a coward. Not the husband my uncle had envisioned.

Mirabelle, the fool, thought marrying into the Barony meant endless wealth and status, blind to the fact Theron’s house was already on the brink of collapse.

What a joke.

Now, in this life, the crowd stood firmly on Mirabelle’s side. She shot me a fleeting, triumphant glance before demurely lowering her gaze. Her voice, sweet and soft, carried just the right note of heartbreak:

“Elara, I’ve always thought of you as a sister. How could you betray me like this? Pretending to be me just to marry Theron… Don’t you care how much this hurts?”

She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, her face a masterpiece of betrayed innocence. Her act was so convincing a wave of sympathetic murmurs swept the room.

“Sister?” I sneered, my voice icy. “You think you’ve earned that title?”

I stepped forward, my gaze sharp as a honed blade.

“From the day you were brought into this house as a foster daughter, you’ve coveted everything that belonged to me. And every time, I let you have it. My dresses, my jewels, my books—whatever you wanted, I gave it. Even when you mistreated the staff, I covered for you, afraid my brothers would send you away if they knew.

“And how do you repay me, Mirabelle? By stealing my betrothed?” I laughed coldly, the sound cutting through the whispers. “Your greed has no bottom.”

Tears welled in Mirabelle’s eyes. She bit her lip, trembling like a leaf in a storm. The sight made the spectators’ hearts soften further.

“Mirabelle, you’re too kind for your own good,” Leo said soothingly, patting her shoulder. “That’s why vipers like her think they can take advantage.”

Three pairs of furious eyes locked onto me, their combined anger a palpable force.

Theron, emboldened by their support, stepped forward and declared, his voice ringing out bold and clear: “I, Theron of House Wynthor, would never stoop to marry a creature like her! I swear, my heart belongs only to Mirabelle, and I will never take another woman as my wife—not now, not ever!”

His words drew gasps of admiration.

“Such devotion!”

“Lord Theron is a man of principle! A true love story!”

“And that shameless girl dared to interfere? Ridiculous!”

I let out a soft, mocking chuckle, my eyes fixed on Theron’s face.

“Are you sure?” I asked, my tone light, almost teasing. “You’re choosing her? Over me?”

Theron shot me a look of pure disgust, as if my presence soiled the air. “You? A low-born wretch like you dares to ask? Even the stable boys at Wynthor Manor are above you. Marry you? Don’t make me laugh.”

Laughter erupted around us, the crowd pointing and jeering.

“Good,” I said quietly, my smile widening. “Your choice is made. No regrets?”

“None,” he spat, his voice firm.

“Perfect.”

At that moment, hurried footsteps echoed. My eldest two brothers, Edmund and Julian, arrived, completing the cast.

The sight of them brought back the memory of my previous life, of the day they stood over me, faces cold as they condemned me to death.

‘You dare defy us and expose Mirabelle? You thought you could steal her fiancé? You’ve gone too far!’

‘Nothing but trouble since we took her in. Cut out her tongue.’

‘The tongue isn’t enough. She can write. Better to finish it. Let the dogs have her. We’ll tell Father and Mother she ran away.’

‘Yes. With her gone, Mirabelle can truly be the only daughter of House Blackwood.’

The memory sent a chill down my spine, but I clenched my fists, forcing calm.

Now, everyone was here.

And it was time to end this charade for good.