The moon had risen high above Blackthorn Manor, casting its pale glow over the sprawling estate like an unblinking eye. The celebration from earlier that evening had quieted, leaving only the soft hum of distant voices and the occasional clink of glass. Within, the grand halls lay in silence, their golden chandeliers dimmed, their ornate carpets muffling every step.
Elena Blackthorn stood by the window of her chamber, gazing out at the courtyard where shadows stretched long and thin. This is where the pieces move in silence, she thought, her fingers brushing the cool glass. Her heart beat steadily—not with fear, but with focus. Each day since her rebirth had been a calculated step, a subtle layering of seeds that would one day bloom into the downfall of those who had wronged her.
But tonight carried an unusual heaviness. The air itself seemed to whisper secrets.
She turned from the window, her coat still draped around her shoulders despite the warmth inside. On the desk lay the ledger she had retrieved earlier, its pages marked by her careful notes. Next to it sat her journal, opened to a fresh entry, words sprawled in her elegant script: Trust no one. Not even those who smile first. Especially them.
The words bled into her mind as she closed the book.
A knock sounded against her chamber door. Three sharp raps. Not the tentative tap of a servant nor the insistent pounding of someone impatient. This was deliberate, coded.
"Elena?" A voice, low and even, filtered through the wood.
It was Loran.
Her eyes narrowed. In her past life, Loran Blackthorn had played a quiet but pivotal role in her downfall. He had stood at Adrian's side often, whispering advice, offering financial strategies, pretending loyalty to the family while feeding information elsewhere. She had dismissed him as insignificant then—a mistake she had paid for dearly.
Now, she would not make the same error.
"Elena," Loran called again, softer this time. "I know you're awake."
She took her time, straightening her coat before opening the door. "Cousin," she greeted coolly, her eyes betraying nothing. "What brings you here at such an hour?"
He stepped inside, uninvited but calm, his sharp gaze sweeping across her chamber. Loran was tall, with neatly combed hair and an ever-calculating look in his eyes. He carried himself like a man who thrived in shadows.
"I could ask the same," he replied, noticing the ledger on her desk. "You've taken an interest in the family's records again."
Elena's lips curled faintly. "Curiosity is not a crime."
"No," Loran conceded, moving closer. "But curiosity, in this house, can be dangerous." He leaned against the desk, his eyes lingering on the journal as if trying to read it without touching. "You've changed, Elena. Since your return from the countryside, there's something… different about you."
If only you knew how different, she thought. Out loud, she merely chuckled. "Different? Perhaps I've simply grown wiser."
Loran studied her for a long moment, then smiled, though the expression never reached his eyes. "Wiser. Yes. That could be dangerous too."
The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. Elena let it linger, testing him, waiting to see if he would reveal his hand.
Finally, Loran broke it. "Adrian is becoming reckless," he said in a low tone. "Victoria is tightening her grip on the accounts, Melissa is whispering louder than ever, and yet… here you are, reading old ledgers. I don't believe in coincidences."
Elena tilted her head. "And what do you believe in?"
"Opportunity," he answered smoothly. "And alliances."
Her pulse quickened. So this is the angle he takes in this life. In her past, she had ignored his offers, dismissed his words as idle scheming. By the time she realized he had been the one fanning the flames of her enemies' plots, it was too late.
This time, she would play him differently.
"An alliance," she echoed softly, stepping closer. "With me?"
"Why not?" His smile widened faintly. "You're not as naïve as you once were. I see it in your eyes. You've stopped dreaming like a girl and started calculating like a player. I respect that. Together, we could… adjust the balance of power in this family."
Elena's mind raced. He was testing her. If she agreed too quickly, he'd see her as desperate. If she dismissed him outright, she might lose the chance to turn him into a weapon against Adrian.
"I'll consider your words," she said at last, her voice steady. "But alliances are built on trust, cousin. And I'm not certain you've earned mine."
Loran chuckled softly. "Fair. But remember, Elena—neither Adrian, Victoria, nor Melissa will give you an inch. I, on the other hand, might give you a mile. Think on it."
He turned to leave, pausing at the door. His gaze flicked once more to the ledger, then back to her. "Don't stay up too late. The dark has ears."
When he was gone, Elena let out a slow breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her fingers drummed against the desk as her mind turned over his words. Opportunity. Alliances.
In her past life, Loran had allied himself with Adrian. If she could sway him now, she might unravel their old network before it even solidified. But trusting him was dangerous; playing him was necessary.
She sat down and opened her journal once more, writing quickly. Loran: approach made. Motivation unclear. Possible ally or snake. Test him carefully.
As she wrote, the candlelight flickered, casting shadows that seemed to stretch across the pages. The silence deepened until another sound reached her ears—a faint rustle outside her window.
Elena froze. Slowly, she stood and crossed to the glass. Below, in the courtyard, a figure cloaked in dark fabric slipped along the wall. Too purposeful for a servant, too cautious for a guest.
Spies, she realized instantly. In her first life, she had been blind to their presence until it was too late. Now she saw them clearly—the invisible threads Adrian and Victoria had woven throughout the household.
This was her chance.
She extinguished her candle, plunging the room into darkness. Quiet as breath, she slipped on her boots and coat, then opened the hidden servant's passage at the side of her chamber. The narrow staircase carried her downward, bypassing the main hall until she emerged near the stables.
From the shadows, she watched the cloaked figure move toward the eastern wing, where Victoria often kept her private documents. Elena's lips pressed into a thin line.
So that's your game, Victoria. Sending spies into your own house to guard secrets even Adrian doesn't know.
Elena followed, her footsteps muffled on the damp ground. She kept her distance, her mind already cataloging every movement, every gesture. The spy slipped into a side door, and Elena crouched low, listening. Snatches of hushed voices drifted through the crack—Victoria's name mentioned, alongside phrases like fund transfers and untraceable routes.
She smiled in the dark, her heart racing with the thrill of discovery.
This was proof. Proof of Victoria's schemes, proof she could one day wield like a blade.
As the spy departed, Elena melted back into the shadows, returning to her chamber unseen. She did not sleep that night; instead, she wrote until dawn, her pages filled with names, suspicions, and future moves.
The game was quickening. The whispers were growing louder. And Elena Blackthorn was no longer their victim—she was the storm waiting to be unleashed.