Clara Lancaster sat in the backseat of the black Rolls-Royce, her fingers grazing the silk hem of her blush-colored dress. Her reflection in the car window mirrored calmness, but beneath that poise was a whirlwind of secrets, strategies, and bitter resolve.
Beside her, Damien glanced at her briefly, then returned his attention to his phone. The silence between them was heavy, yet expected. They were headed to the Lancaster estate for a family brunch—something that would have excited her in her past life. But now, Clara had returned with knowledge her enemies didn't realize she carried.
She turned her head and studied the man beside her—Damien Evans, her husband in the previous timeline. Her murderer's accomplice. Her betrayer. Yet here she was, barely engaged to him in this lifetime, smiling prettily, hiding her loathing behind fluttering lashes and gentle touches.
"Pretend until it no longer serves you. Then burn every bridge necessary," she reminded herself.
The car pulled up to the grand Lancaster estate. The wrought iron gates swung open, revealing a mansion that belonged more in royal fantasies than reality. Lush gardens trimmed to perfection, ivory marble steps gleaming in the morning sun, and an army of servants awaiting their arrival—it was all hers, once. And this time, she would never give it up.
Not for love.
Not for marriage.
Not for Damien Evans.
"Clara!" Her grandmother, Lady Eleanor Lancaster, stood at the top of the steps, regal as ever in her lavender gown and pearl choker. Despite her advancing age, she carried herself with the poise of a queen.
Clara smiled, slipping into the role of the affectionate granddaughter. "Grandma," she said warmly, embracing the woman who'd always treated her more like a fragile flower than a fierce heir. She had once accepted that role. This time, never again.
As they stepped inside, the brunch was already in full swing. Laughter and music echoed through the grand dining hall, and every face turned to greet them.
The Lancaster family was filled with polished smiles and carefully veiled ambition. Her uncles, aunts, and cousins—each one was a player in the twisted game of inheritance, alliances, and appearances. Clara knew which of them had supported stripping her of her shares in the past. She remembered every backhanded compliment, every poisoned smile.
"Not this time," she whispered inwardly. "I know how this ends."
Damien's hand slid around her waist as he introduced her to a few unfamiliar guests. She allowed it, even smiled when he brushed his lips against her cheek in public. She saw the approving glances from her relatives, especially her father, who had always valued appearances over sincerity.
She played her part—gracious, beautiful, loving fiancée.
But underneath it all, Clara was watching. Listening.
Later that afternoon, as most of the guests scattered across the gardens, Clara found herself seated beside her grandmother on the veranda, sipping afternoon tea.
Lady Eleanor studied her with an expression that only the truly wise could wear—curious, unreadable, sharp. "You seem different, my dear," she said quietly, her eyes scanning Clara's face. "Calmer. Colder. More… aware."
Clara smiled softly. "I suppose pain has a way of waking people up."
Her grandmother raised an eyebrow. "Has Damien hurt you already?"
Clara tilted her head, then laughed. "No. But I've realized that love without clarity is dangerous. I want to focus more on myself, on the family, and on the business."
Now that made Lady Eleanor's eyes twinkle with approval. "About time," she murmured. "I always knew you were born for more than ball gowns and piano recitals. Perhaps you're finally ready."
"Ready for what?"
"To take your rightful place. To stop being everyone's pawn and start being your own queen."
Clara's heart surged. In the previous timeline, she'd never had this conversation with her grandmother. By the time she'd woken up to the betrayal around her, it was too late—Lady Eleanor had passed, and Clara had no support left.
But now…
She reached out and took her grandmother's hand. "I want to learn everything, Grandma. No more distractions."
"Then listen carefully." Her grandmother leaned in. "Your inheritance is being watched. There are vultures within the family who think you're still that naive girl who gave up her shares for a fairytale marriage. Don't trust anyone—not even your father. He's more interested in appearances than your safety. Use Damien if you must, but never give him everything."
That evening, Clara and Damien returned to his penthouse. The air between them was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Damien poured them both a glass of red wine and joined her on the couch.
"You were… impressive today," he said, swirling the wine in his glass.
"Thank you," she replied simply.
He watched her carefully. "I expected more resistance. You always used to shy away from family matters."
Clara took a sip of wine, meeting his gaze. "People change, Damien."
He chuckled. "Apparently." He reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I like this new version of you. Stronger. Mysterious."
Clara smiled, but her eyes didn't soften. "Then you'll love what's coming."
He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her face slightly so his lips brushed her cheek instead.
Not yet. She needed to keep him interested—invested—but not too close. The moment he believed she was completely his, he'd tighten the chains again.
Over the next few weeks, Clara began subtly reclaiming her space.
She requested access to her old accounts under the guise of "reorganizing before marriage." She began reviewing board reports, financial statements, and family business projections. Her father, surprised but pleased, granted her limited access.
"Just to keep you busy until the wedding," he had said.
But Clara knew the game. And she was already five steps ahead.
She met with lawyers, revived old contacts, reached out to a few loyal former employees from her past life, and began sowing the seeds of a private legal strategy to secure her shares.
She also began attending business events alongside Damien—not to support him, but to observe. She took mental notes of every powerful figure in his circle, analyzing them like chess pieces. In her last life, she had been blinded by love. This time, she was armed with foresight.
At one such gala, a sleek, dark-haired man approached her near the bar. He wore a suit so finely tailored it whispered wealth, and his smile was both lazy and razor-sharp.
"You must be Clara Lancaster," he said, offering his hand. "I've heard of you."
Clara raised a brow, accepting the handshake. "That's strange. I haven't done much worth remembering—yet."
The man smirked. "You will. I'm sure of it. Callum Hayes, CEO of Hayes International."
Something in his eyes made Clara pause.
In her past life, she remembered Hayes International going head-to-head with Evans Corporation in a legal battle that nearly bankrupted Damien.
Back then, she had ignored all business talk. Now, every detail was a weapon.
"Pleasure to meet you," she said smoothly. "We should talk sometime."
"Oh, we will," he replied, eyes glinting.
That night, back at the penthouse, Damien frowned as he loosened his tie. "You were too friendly with Callum Hayes."
Clara looked up from her book. "He introduced himself. I was polite."
"He's our competitor, Clara."
"Our?"
Damien hesitated. "You know what I mean."
She smiled faintly. "I'm just your fiancée, remember? Not your business partner. Unless… you want that to change?"
Damien stared at her, unsure of how to respond. She had never asked for such things before. But now, the glint in her eyes unsettled him.
"Let's talk about it later," he muttered.
Clara nodded, satisfied.
The seed was planted. Now let it grow.
In the privacy of her bathroom that night, Clara stared at her reflection.
Gone was the girl who once dreamed of fairy-tale weddings, who gave up her legacy for stolen kisses and broken promises.
Now, she was a woman of silent strength, steered by purpose and driven by revenge.
She would reclaim what was hers. She would expose every liar, every traitor.
She would protect her grandmother and shield her rightful inheritance from the vultures circling.
And as for Damien?
He would never see it coming.
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