Prologue
It was raining the day I died.
Not in a poetic or tragic way—just plain rain tapping on the hospital windows. I remember the beeping machines, the stale air, and the heavy silence when my heart stopped. My name is Mirelle Graysen. I was 34, never married, and stuck in a job I hated. Everyone I trusted betrayed me.
And yet, the thing I remember most clearly…
…was not the death.
It was the moment I opened my eyes again.
The scent of old wood and lavender hit me first. Then warmth. A feather pillow beneath my head, a rough wool blanket across my legs. I blinked against the sunlight spilling through an arched window.
And I realized I wasn't in the hospital anymore.
I wasn't even in my own body.
I sat up too quickly, dizzy, gasping—only to be met with a reflection in the glass pane beside the bed.
A girl. Barely eighteen. Skin as pale as porcelain, with long silver hair that curled around her waist like moonlight. Eyes large, amber-gold. Lips soft, pink. Fragile. Ethereal. Almost… unreal.
I was beautiful. Too beautiful.
More beautiful than I had ever dared to imagine in my life.
I gripped the windowsill, trembling, trying to make sense of it—when the door creaked open.
"Evelise, you're awake…" a frail voice whispered.
I turned. A woman, thin and pale, stood in the doorway. Mid-thirties, maybe, with dull gray hair, yet traces of her beauty still clung to her. Her hands trembled as she reached for me.
Her eyes—red from weeping—filled with relief.
"Mother…?" I whispered, the word escaping before I could stop it.
She nodded, lips trembling. "I was so afraid you wouldn't wake up… I told everyone that you wouldn't be able to attend the funeral... your fever was so high."
Her voice broke, and with it, the truth settled in my chest like a slow-burning fire.
This wasn't a dream. This wasn't a hallucination.
I'd died. My old life that I knew was gone and now I have been reborn in this girl's body as Evelise. That is her name, my name now.
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Over the next few days, Evelise's memories slowly surfaced, revealing the story of her life—one that was nothing like mine. That's when I realized the truth: I wasn't just in a new body… I was in another world. A world that wasn't mine.
Evelise and her mother had once been commoners, living quietly until fate intervened. Her mother caught the eye of a grieving noble—Lord Mondego—a widower of noble rank. Moved by her gentleness, he took her in as his second wife, bringing Evelise with him. They lived peacefully and in luxury for a years in his estate. It felt like a dream for two women who had known only poverty.
Then, everything fell apart.
Lord Mondego died suddenly. Heart failure, they said. Quiet and fast. But he left behind a son—from his first marriage—and the estate, by law, belonged to him now.
Lord Rael Mondego.
Twenty-four. A war veteran. Cold, distant, and already married—to a noblewoman of equal bloodline.
Now, he is the master of this house.
He arrived two days ago with his wife. He didn't cry. He didn't look at us.
His gaze paused on me—brief, unreadable—then moved on. His expression was as still as his voice was low; his gaze was sharp.
And when I saw him for the first time, something in me went still.
He was nothing like I had imagined.
He was tall and broad-shouldered. His frame showed quiet strength, like a flawless male model from a magazine. He commanded attention effortlessly. He stood straight and poised. Every move showed his discipline.
His face was handsome—but not the kind that stole breath. The kind you'd glance at and think, yes, he's attractive, then forget—until you looked again and couldn't look away. There was something composed about him. Balanced. Too still.
Blond hair fell neatly across his forehead, just tousled enough to seem unbothered. His features were clean and symmetrical. He had high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a defined jaw. But there was no warmth in his expression. He wasn't beautiful. He was... precise.
But it was his presence that struck me the most.
He radiated intelligence and quiet authority. His emerald-green eyes were cool and unreadable. They held a focus that made people shrink without a word. Distant. Unshakable. Cold.
He gave the impression of someone who didn't speak unless necessary. And when he entered a room, everything stilled—not out of fear, but because his aura left no room for frivolity. No noise. No nonsense.
He carried himself like a man born for command—noble not just in title, but in every measured breath.
His wife, in contrast, was forgettable.
Even with the fine silk gown and shining jewels, her face was plain—easy to forget moments later.
Her long brown hair was styled in stiff waves. Her face had heavy makeup, as if beauty could be forced to appear.
Her light brown eyes were dull in hue but sharp in disdain. She looked at my mother and me with open contempt, as if our very presence offended her.
Then, without a word, she followed her husband like a silent shadow.
The servants said they got engaged at age five. It was a political union of two noble houses. Four years of marriage, and still no child.
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"Why is he so cold?" I asked once, sitting at my mother's bedside.
She brought the handkerchief to her lips and coughed, a dry sound quickly stifled by the cloth.
"He was always like that," she whispered. "But I knew he loved his father… but hated that he remarried beneath their station."
Her voice cracked again.
"He'll… likely ask us to leave soon. We don't belong here anymore."
I said nothing. But inside, my hands curled into fists.
"Where will we go… if we're forced to leave, Mother?" I asked, my hands curling into fists as I looked at her pale face.
Mother just sighed and did not answer. It was clear, based on her reaction, that we didn't have a place to go.
Not again.
In my last life, I was betrayed, discarded, and humiliated. I died with nothing. Forgotten.
Not this time.
I stared at my reflection in the basin. My skin looked flawless, my hair shone brightly, and my golden eyes sparkled like rare jewels.
This face was a weapon.
And I would use it.
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The funeral came. Dozens of nobles attended—most of whom had never set foot in this house until then. They whispered as I passed, some curious, others cruel.
But then I saw him.
A man in his twenties. Striking in a way that feels dangerous—youthful but sharp-edged, like a blade hidden in silk. His messy blond hair fell over his forehead, creating a carefree look. It brushed against dark brows that framed his steady, unblinking gaze.
Emerald green eyes. Vivid, almost too bright—like polished stones catching the sun. They burned with something between mischief and defiance.
And I noticed… they were the same eyes. That same rare shade as Rael's. Like the late Count Mondego's.
He looked at me—not with judgment, but with desire. As if he'd been waiting for this moment. I pretended not to see it.
Beside me, my mother stayed quiet. Her body felt fragile under the layers of borrowed mourning cloth.
Then Rael stood before the altar and spoke in a voice that held no grief.
He spoke like an actor reciting lines—emotionless, detached. Not as a grieving son, but as an heir fulfilling his duty.
After the service, we received the notice.
We were being moved to the west wing. The servants' quarters.
No explanation. No kindness.
Just distance.
I knew what it meant. We were being erased—politely, quietly.
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That night, I went to the office that once belonged to the late Count—now the office of his son, the new Count, Rael. Two knights stood guard at the door and announced my visit.
There was a pause; then a deep voice said, "Enter."
I stepped inside, clutching a handkerchief in my hand, pretending to be nervous.
He looked up from his desk. "Yes?" he said, flatly.
I didn't speak right away. I stood in the doorway, letting the light catch my pale face, the long white hair tumbling over my shoulders. I let my eyes shine with unshed tears.
"I… I came to thank you," I whispered.
His brow twitched. "For what?"
"For letting us stay… even just a little longer." My voice broke. I looked down at my feet. "I know… we're a burden. I know you didn't ask for us. But my mother is ill. And I…" I swallowed, just enough to make it believable. "I don't know where we'll go if we're cast out."
I took a shaky step forward. "I remember Lord Mondego's kindness. He treated us like family. He loved my mother. He…" I wiped my eyes slowly. "He was the only man who ever looked at her with kindness."
Rael watched me. Silently.
So I kept going. My voice was softer, like I was ashamed of my own plea.
"I won't cause trouble. I'll stay out of your way. I'll be quiet. Invisible, if you want." I looked up at him, eyes glistening. Please… just let her stay. Let her rest. That's all I ask.
He looked at me for a long time—not with lust, not with anger, but with calculation.
Then he leaned back in his chair.
"She can stay," he said at last. "Until her condition improves."
I bowed my head low. "Thank you, my lord."
But inside, I smiled.
He pitied me. Good. That was the first step.
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Outside his office, I paused in the hallway. The corridor was empty. Quiet.
I reached for the wall, steadying myself. Not from weakness—but from exhilaration.
He had given me time.
Time to weave the web.
Time to make him look again.
Time to turn his pity into curiosity… then desire.
This house is no longer my prison.
It would become my stage.
And Rael Mondego—cold, powerful, untouchable—
…would become mine.