My name is Gene Roxanna Armini Yoit—but everyone calls me Gray. It fits better than they'd like to admit.
And I'm having a spectacularly shitty afternoon.
Again and Again.
The tea in my hands is lukewarm, the scones are stale, and the conversation is precisely the same one I had a thousand years ago—down to Aunt Morgan's smug little twitch at the corner of her mouth.
I've been reborn.
Again and Again.
You'd think that winning against the devil would feel good. You'd think bending reality to escape damnation would bring satisfaction. No. All I got was a recycled body, my powers duct-taped together, and the warm, cozy knowledge that I alone remember how the world ended.
Spoiler: It was my cousin Diana's fault.
"Oh, you're scowling again," Aunt Selene says in that voice that sounds like a lullaby dipped in arsenic. "That always means you're thinking."
"God forbid," I mutter.
Aunt Belladonna slides a napkin under my elbow like I'm five and about to make a mess. "We wanted to have the talk again."
I sigh and blink hard at the ceiling. "Is this really necessary? I'm twenty-five."
"In body, perhaps," Morgan says. "But in experience…"
"You're not going to say 'infinite soul,' are you?"
Morgan smiles. "I was going to say 'tragic virgin,' but yours is better."
Selene snorts into her tea.
"I'm going to die," I say flatly. "You're actually going to kill me. Right here at the kitchen table. Death by embarrassment."
"You'd survive. You always do," Belladonna says sweetly, which is code for: we know you're hiding something and we're going to poke until it bleeds.
I scrape jam onto a dry piece of scone just to do something with my hands. I should've stayed in bed. No, scratch that. I should've let the world burn the first time. I could've avoided all of this.
"I'm not bonding," I say abruptly.
Morgan raises a brow. "You say that like it's a choice."
"It is. For me. I made it one."
Selene leans back, swirling her tea. "Because of Diana?"
Because of Diana. Because the last time I lived this life, she bonded six men to her soul like they were decorative earrings. Because she was the Beloved—fated, worshiped, adored, and ultimately, the center of a magical implosion that cracked the veil between worlds and triggered the Second Collapse.
But they don't know that. No one does. Not yet.
"I just prefer a quiet life," I say. "Tea, books, antiques. Maybe a knife collection."
"Your mother said the same," Morgan murmurs. "She still ended up married to the devil."
"Noted."
Belladonna reaches across the table and places her hand gently on mine. "You know we love you, Gray."
"Do you?" I smile without showing teeth. "Or do you love the version of me that keeps her mouth shut and doesn't interfere with golden Diana's life?"
Morgan stiffens. Selene looks amused.
"She's not golden," Morgan says. "She's... open-hearted."
"She's a liability with good hair."
Selene sighs. "She's meeting someone tonight."
My stomach twists. Here we go.
"Who?" I ask, even though I know.
"There's a gala at the Silvershade Club. She's been invited by the ambassador of the fae court. Seems like a diplomatic formality." Belladonna, bless her, says it gently. Like I won't notice the earthquake hidden under the velvet glove.
That gala was the first step. That's where Diana met her first mate—Laziel, Prince of the Twilight Veil, emotionally unstable and beautiful enough to make statues weep.
Two weeks after that gala, she bonded him by accident.
Three months later, his court went to war with the blood mages in Rivenmarsh, tearing open the ley lines that bound our world to its core.
So yes. That gala matters.
"Does she know?" I ask. "That the ambassador has a reputation for matching powerful heirs with unstable humans?"
Morgan blinks. "You're implying Diana is unstable."
"I'm implying she's a love addict with the magical sensitivity of a jellyfish."
Silence.
I drain my tea and stand. "I need to go."
"Where?"
"To work."
"You don't have a job."
"I do now."
They don't stop me. That's how I know they're planning something. If Morgan wanted to interfere, the walls themselves would grow legs to stop me from walking out. But she lets me go, and Selene just raises her cup in a mock toast.
"Do be careful," she says. "The ambassador has an eye for rare things."
I pause at the threshold.
"I'm not rare," I say, not turning back.
"No," Morgan replies. "You're irreplaceable."
—---
My apartment is exactly where I left it—in the underground vault of an old 1920s bank that I bought during my first loop through time. The enchantments are active, the mirrors humming faintly, the protective runes glowing just under the paint. It's more home than the manor ever was.
The Chippendale mirror winks at me as I step through.
Min is gone, thank hell. Probably off ruining someone's life at a bar downtown. I throw my coat over a chair, grab the amber crystal from my desk drawer, and breathe on it until it flashes green.
The vision comes fast and hot. It coils behind my eyes like steam through bone.
I see Diana in red. The dress. The heels. The flushed cheeks. I see Laziel's silver crown. His hand reaching for hers. The soft glow of magic around their fingers.
I cut the vision.
"I'll kill him first," I say aloud. "If I have to."
It's not a threat. It's strategy.
I can't go to the gala. That's too obvious. The Council watches events like this. If I interfere openly, I'll trigger alarms, inquiries, maybe even a summons.
No. I have to sabotage this quietly.
I open the case under my bed. It clicks open with the scent of rosewood and blood iron. Inside are dozens of charms, amulets, spell vials. Most are illegal. All are priceless.
I select a thin sliver of obsidian etched with the binding rune of forgetfulness. It's designed for short-term interference—emotional haze, blurred memories, disassociation from attractions.
Perfect.
Next, I need a delivery system. Diana won't drink anything I give her, but she's weak to sweets. Always has been.
I pull the cupcake tin from the enchanted cabinet. Vanilla bean, laced with powdered willowroot and just a trace of powdered obsidian. Harmless. Unless you're trying to form a magical bond through soul attraction.
I smile as I spoon the batter.
"Try falling in love with that in your system, princess."
I make the delivery personally. Diana's apartment is a glittering mess of blush tones, faux-fur throws, and scattered shopping bags. She's not home yet. Good.
Her roommate, Rina, lets me in with a cheery wave. "Ooh, cupcakes?"
"Yup."
"Bless you, Gray. You're the best."
No, I'm not.
I place the box on the counter with a note. Break a heel tonight. G
That should buy me two days. If the obsidian takes hold, Laziel won't remember why he was interested. Diana will chalk it up to nerves. The gala will pass without a bond.
One down. Five to go.
I'm halfway to the mirror when I hear it. That sound—light, bright, unmistakable.
Diana's laugh.
Too late. She's early.
I duck into the hallway as the front door opens. I press my back against the wall, holding my breath.
She walks in wearing the dress. The one that's red like fresh cuts. Her hair is pinned with silver combs. Her magic is buzzing, innocent and excited and dangerous.
I look at her from the shadows and feel nothing but terror.
If I fail… she becomes the Beloved again. If I succeed… I destroy her heart before anyone else can.
Either way, she'll never forgive me.
"Cupcakes!" she squeals. "Gray is the best."
From my position in the hallway, half-shadowed and feeling morally bankrupt, I resist the urge to whisper poisoned, just to mess with her.
Instead, I mouth the words silently, like a polite curse.
She tears open the box with the glee of a five-year-old on a sugar high, humming some aggressively cheerful pop song under her breath. I hear the rustle of tissue paper, the soft gasp when she sees the note. A dramatic pause.
"Oh my gods," she says. "She even wrote me a good-luck curse. That's so sweet."
Bless her golden little heart—she really can't tell the difference.
"I should put her on payroll," she mutters. "Cupcake delivery witch. Mood enhancer. Wardrobe consultant."
That's fair. I once saved her from a cursed corset that would've fused to her ribcage. I didn't even charge her.
"She's so thoughtful," Diana says, and I can hear her biting into one, chewing thoughtfully like she's on some bakery judge panel. "Is that nutmeg?"
Nope. It's crushed willowroot and a binding charm designed to kill sexual tension like a bucket of ice water to the soul.
"Delicious," she mumbles around the second bite.
I resist the urge to pop out and tell her she's about to go on the most boring date of her life. Instead, I inch backward, keeping to the wall, and slip out the back like a guilty raccoon.
Once I'm outside, I breathe again.
I've just hexed my cousin's libido.
In a cupcake.
With love.
Honestly, if I survive this lifetime, I'm giving myself a raise.