For a few hours, Cassandra Feng decided to do anything to wake up to reality.
Like banging her head, pinching herself, slapping herself, pouring the cold water over her head. And with a heavy mind realized that she was already dead. Or her original body was already dead. Only her soul or consciousness remained and now she was inhabiting the body of a girl who died after being drowned by her step siblings.
Through the strange flood of memories that weren't hers, she realized with mounting disbelief who these people were. The Boltons—rulers of the underworld, their name whispered like a curse in the Rowan Empire. A clan of villains who fed on blood and fear, cloaked in elegance but rotting with cruelty. And she… she had reincarnated into the body of their weak and bullied youngest miss.
Her breath caught In her throat. Did she… turn into an evil ghost? After dying so wretchedly, did her soul crawl into the body of a stranger?
The thought was absurd. Insane. Completely unscientific. Yet here she was, alive inside a body that was not hers, surrounded by memories that tasted of smoke, blood, and crime.
Cassandra Feng's mind reeled. I escaped one dungeon only to wake up in hell itself.
Her chest tightened, the bitterness suffocating. Even death offered her no release. What kind of twisted fate was this? What rotten luck chained her to misery across lives?
Rage, grief, and disbelief coiled in her chest until her delicate new frame shook. Her beautiful borrowed face distorted into something almost feral as her aura turned sharp and bloodthirsty, vengeful enough to chill the air.
A raw scream tore out of her throat as she hurled her fist at the marble floor. The sound cracked like thunder. A thin spider-web fissure appeared beneath her knuckles… yet the ground held firm.
She froze, staring.
What the hell?!
In her old body, that punch would have shattered stone like glass. But here—barely a scratch.
Cold realization struck like lightning.
This wasn't her body. Not her strength. Not her qi. There wasn't even a flicker of energy flowing through her veins.
"No…" she whispered, trembling, horror widening her eyes.
She had gone from being a tempered blade, a great cultivator unmatched among her peers to now a commoner- to a fragile porcelain egg that could crack at the slightest touch.
The indignation clawed through her veins, setting her blood alight. How could she, Cassandra Feng, once feared across continents, now be forced to crawl in such a weak, powerless shell?
Her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms as a violent rage rose within her. She wanted to tear this cursed fate apart, to smash someone's smug face into the floor that dared defy her strength.
But all she could do was seethe. Seethe, and resign herself to the cruel irony of being alive—yet stripped of everything that once made her formidable.
She had not escaped death. She had been sentenced to a worse fate.
Cassandra Feng realized with urgency that she was now in the body of the weak, bullied and helpless Cassandra Bolton, and if she wanted to survive in this strange new world, she would have to wear that mask convincingly.
Unfortunately, Cassandra Bolton was not just anyone. She was the infamous youngest daughter of House Bolton—grounded, despised, and loathed by none other than her own mother. And watched by many eyes.
She was no longer Cassandra Feng. She has become Cassandra Bolton.
First Madame Karmilla Visent Bolton, the mighty and dignified first wife of Ragnos Renatus Bolton, held the household in an iron grip. Her word was law, and her presence could silence even the most ruthless underworld killers. To the outside world, she was the untouchable queen of House Bolton. To Cassandra Bolton, she was a towering shadow that pressed down with suffocating authority.
But instead of warmth or protection, First Madame reserved for her daughter only disdain and disgust. Her unconditional love was poured into her son—the Eldest Young Master—leaving Cassandra as little more than a shameful burden in her eyes.
And shame was exactly what had ignited her fury this time. Cassandra Bolton had gone to fight the Ninth Young Miss, Jessica Bolton, daughter of Third Madame—her mother's most bitter rival—and not only lost but been beaten and tossed into a pond like a stray dog. The humiliation cut deeper than the bruises, and for Karmilla, her daughter's disgrace was intolerable.
Now locked away in confinement, Cassandra sat on the bed, her face pale but her mind racing. The words of the guard echoed in her ears:
"…until the Eldest Young Master returns…"
Her stomach sank. The Eldest Young Master—her so-called brother, the only person tied to her by blood. From Cassandra Bolton's inherited memories, she knew him well enough to shiver. He was a cruel, heartless man who carried the authority of House Bolton as easily as one carried a dagger. He never spared his only sister a glance, let alone kindness. To him, she was just an embarrassment that even his mother disdained.
"When will my villainous big brother return?" Cassandra murmured with a heavy sigh, irritation pooling in her chest.