The morning came draped in velvet light.
Selene opened her eyes slowly, allowing the warmth of dawn to seep through her lashes. Her heartbeat was steady, and unhurried.
The nights of sleepless agony, and the nights of replaying betrayals like broken reels, were long behind her. Now she woke to the gentle glow of sun bleeding through luxurious curtains and the faint scent of lavender rising from silk sheets.
Her body felt light, strange, and almost fragile in its youth. She'd forgotten what it was like to be eighteen, when every joint and muscle held no ache, when beauty came without effort, and when the world believed you were unshakable simply because you were still young enough to play the part.
She sat up, pressing her hand to her cheek as she looked at her reflection in the tall mirror across the chamber.
Golden hair, loose and shimmering from her pillows. Eyes that still carried innocence if you didn't look too deeply. A face flawless, untouched by grief.
For a moment, she hated it.
Because this was the face Damian had once admired before scorning. This was the body her family once paraded proudly before they cast it away like trash.
But hate was useful. It reminded her of her vow.
"Never again," she whispered to the girl in the mirror.
A knock came, sharp and polite. The maid's voice followed. "Young Miss, your car will be prepared within the hour. Mr. Sinclair has requested you be ready to visit the Ashford estate."
Selene's lips curved. The Ashford estate. So soon?
The girl she had once been would have trembled in nervous anticipation at the prospect of meeting Damian Ashford. She would have fussed over her curls, her perfume, and every detail of her gown. She would have prayed for his smile, for the faintest touch of affection.
But Selene was no longer that girl. She knew what he was capable of, both his charm and his cruelty. She knew the way his words could slice through her skin deeper than any blade, and the way he had watched her shatter without blinking.
Still, she couldn't simply refuse. The alliance between the Sinclairs and the Ashfords was political, and powerful. She needed to play her role carefully. Carefully enough to shift the fate that had once destroyed her.
"I'll be ready," Selene answered.
Her maids swarmed her chamber soon after, fluttering around her like doves, bringing fabrics and jewels for her to choose. They still adored her. They hadn't yet been poisoned by whispers of "fake heiress."
"Young Miss, this one highlights your eyes." one said, smiling.
"No, no, the blue silk. Mr. Ashford is said to favor refinement." Another chimed in, disagreeing.
"Oh, she would dazzle in anything. Look at her hair, like sunlight!"
Selene let them chatter. Her gaze was fixed not on the mirror but on the lilies in the vase by her bedside. She remembered them vividly. They were the same flowers she would later see shattered on the marble floor, and scattered beneath Anne's heels when her world collapsed.
She chose the gown herself.
Pale ivory silk, simple yet radiant, with embroidery fine enough to catch light but not ostentatious. She had learned the art of subtlety. Too much beauty drew envy. Too much humility drew dismissal. She needed balance, just enough to command attention, but not enough to appear desperate for it.
When the maids pinned her curls and draped a pearl chain along her collarbone, she smiled faintly. Yes. This was the armor she would wear today.
By the time the car wheels clattered onto the gravel path of the Ashford estate, Selene had steeled herself.
The estate loomed as grand as she remembered. Tall columns, marble steps, and manicured hedges shaped into spirals. The Ashfords' wealth had always been unmatched, and their pride was carved into every stone of their mansion.
Her heart tightened despite herself.
Damian.
She hadn't seen him since the night he broke her in her last life. She still remembered his gaze.
Sharp, black, merciless. She remembered the way it had stripped her bare, and left her trembling before a crowd that laughed behind champagne flutes.
Would he look the same now? Younger, yes. But would those eyes already carry that cruelty? Or had he once truly been capable of warmth before Anne sharpened him against her?
The thought gnawed at her as she descended the car, with her gown whispering against the stone.
Inside, the grand hall stretched wide and tall, servants lined like statues. The air smelled faintly of cedar and polished silver.
And there he was.
Damian Ashford.
He stood at the base of the stairs, dressed in black tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders
His presence was commanding without effort. He looked every bit the heir of a dynasty. Impeccable, untouchable.
His gaze locked on her instantly.
Selene's breath stilled. He was younger, yes. His jaw sharper without the faint shadow of age. His hair was darker, without the strands of brown that would appear later. But those eyes, those eyes were the same. Dark, piercing, and capable of stripping flesh from bone.
And yet.
There was something different.
In this life, when his eyes fell on her, they didn't slide past her indifferently. They lingered. Curious. Assessing. As though he were seeing her for the first time. Not the Selene he would humiliate, but a young woman worth examining.
Selene dipped into a perfect curtsy, her smile serene. "Mr. Ashford."
Damian's lips curved, faintly, almost lazily. "Miss Sinclair."
His voice was low, and smooth, threaded with command. It pulled at something in her chest she had buried deeply.
She steadied herself. She remembered the blade beneath that velvet.
Richard Sinclair, her father, stood beside her, beaming with pride. "Damian, my boy, I present my daughter Selene. I trust you've heard much about her."
Damian's gaze didn't waver. "Indeed."
He took a step closer. Selene's skin prickled, though her smile never faltered.
"Much," he repeated softly, almost as though testing her with the weight of the word.
The introductions dissolved into pleasantries. Richard and Lord Ashford retreated to a study to discuss business, leaving Selene and Damian to walk the garden path together, accompanied only by the distant presence of attendants.
The air was crisp, carrying the scent of roses and wet earth.
Selene walked with poise, her gown brushing the gravel, and her hands folded neatly in front of her. Damian walked beside her. His stride was measured, and his eyes were ever-watchful.
"You're quieter than I expected," he said suddenly.
Selene tilted her head, her smile faint. "Is that a complaint, Mr. Ashford?" she held her smile, remembering how radiant her eighteen years old self was.
He looked at her sidelong, something sharp glinting in his gaze. "An observation."
She hummed softly, eyes fixed on the roses ahead. "Observations often reveal more about the observer than the subject."
For a heartbeat, silence lingered between them. Then, unexpectedly, Damian's lips curved.
It was not a cruel smile. Neither was it the cold smirk that would later humiliate her. It was faint, and intrigued. "Interesting."
Her chest tightened. This was different. This wasn't in her memory.
In the past, he had barely noticed her in their early meetings. He was too consumed by his own ambitions. He hadn't smiled at her. Not once.
Why now?
Selene forced her expression to remain calm, though her thoughts churned. Fate was already shifting. She couldn't rely on her memory alone.
As they turned the garden path, the faint sound of laughter reached them.
Selene's spine stiffened instantly.
She knew that voice.
Anne.
Too soon?
Too soon. Why too soon? What was going on?
Anne should not be here. In the past, her first encounter with Damian came much later, and carefully orchestrated. Yet now, Anne's voice floated through the air.
Selene's lips curved faintly, masking the ice spreading through her veins.