The laughter grew louder as they turned the curve of the rose garden.
Selene's pulse quickened, though her face remained untouched by the storm raging within her chest. She knew that sound. She had known it all her life, down to the precise cadence of each syllable, and the practiced brightness that always made people lean closer.
Anne.
Her steps faltered for only half a second, barely perceptible, but enough to remind her that this moment did not belong to the past.
This was not how it was supposed to unfold.
In her memory, Anne's first meeting with Damian had been a carefully orchestrated affair. Years from now, in a glittering ballroom, under chandeliers that blazed with firelight.
Anne had "accidentally" bumped into him while balancing a tray of wine glasses. She had feigned clumsiness, just enough to appear endearing, and Damian, cold, and disciplined Damian, had steadied her with a hand against her waist. Their eyes had met then, a spark striking between them, and the rest… the rest had been history written in betrayal.
But this, this wasn't the script she remembered.
Why now? Why so soon?
Selene's jaw tensed, though her lips softened into the picture of composure. Fate was no longer merely shifting; it was racing. And she could not allow herself to stumble.
"Selene!"
Anne's voice rang out like bells, melodic, and joyous, brimming with sisterly affection that made Selene's stomach churn.
Selene turned her head slowly. Her ivory gown caught the sunlight as if she were stepping out of a painting. She smiled, perfectly measured, as Anne approached.
Her steps were quick, and her pale pink gown fluttered around her ankles. Her hair was pinned with a cluster of pearls. Anne looked every bit the doted Sinclair daughter. Radiant, youthful, and beloved.
There was another twist in her memory. This morning, just before they left the car, her father had told her of his plans to adopt Anne. He gave her no reason why. He only said she was an orphan.
This wasn't in her memory. He never adopted Anne. She forced her way in, and the DNA tests backed her up.
Anne smiled, and to anyone else, it would appear as though the sisters shared the deepest bond.
To Selene, it was the entrance of a wolf into the garden.
"Anne," Selene greeted softly. Her voice was threaded with warmth that wasn't real. "What a surprise."
Anne laughed, clutching Selene's hand between her own, her eyes glimmering with feigned delight. "Father didn't tell me you would be here. I thought you'd run off without me!"
'Father?' Selene blinked.
Had he already adopted her? Also, what made her comfortable to already call him that? What's going on? Did she have amnesia on her way here?
"Of course not." Selene tilted her head gently, as if her head wasn't about to blow with questions. "You know I wouldn't dare."
The words slipped from her lips like honey, but they tasted of ash.
Because in another life, she had dared nothing. She had played the obedient daughter, the loyal sister, and the silent lover. And what had it earned her?
Nothing but ruin.
Anne finally turned her gaze toward Damian.
And there it was.
That flicker. That faint widening of her eyes, and the sudden stilling of her hands. Anne always knew how to perform, but in that instant, her mask nearly slipped.
Damian Ashford was not a man one could easily overlook.
Tall, broad-shouldered, cut from the sharp edges of authority itself. His dark gaze carried the weight of entire empires. Even young, even untouched by the years that would carve more ruthlessness into his face, he was already formidable.
And Anne, Anne, who craved power more than love, who thrived on the hunger of others, recognized it instantly.
"Mr. Ashford," Anne said breathlessly, curtsying just low enough to flatter without groveling. "It is an honor."
Selene's memory sharpened with painful clarity.
This wasn't right. Not yet. Not here.
Damian regarded Anne with cool curiosity. His eyes lingered, but only briefly, before they returned unflinchingly to Selene.
Selene's lips curved faintly, though her heart thudded with relief she refused to show.
Good. Good. This was still hers to control. The conversations seem to remain as it was in her memory.
"The honor is mine," Damian said politely. His voice was smooth, and though devoid of warmth. He inclined his head, nothing more.
Anne's smile flickered.
For the smallest fraction of a second, disappointment cracked through her flawless expression. She recovered quickly, stepping closer to Selene's side, with her hand looping around Selene's arm as though they were inseparable.
"I was just telling Father earlier," Anne continued brightly, "how Selene and I are like two halves of one soul. Wherever she goes, I follow."
Selene glanced at her sidelong. She hasn't even known this lady for days in this world, but here shebwas, lying. She parted her lip, her smile serene. "How fortunate for me."
Damian's gaze flickered, almost imperceptibly, between the two sisters.
Selene caught it. She caught everything.
This was her advantage. In her last life, she had been blind to the undercurrents until they dragged her under. But now, she saw every ripple. Every shift in expression. Every false laugh. And every shadow in the eyes of those who smiled too brightly.
They walked the path together, all three of them, with attendants trailing discreetly behind. Anne filled the air with chatter, about the roses, about the gowns in the city, and about the latest gossip from court.
Damian listened with polite disinterest.
But when Selene spoke. When she allowed herself a single, deliberate comment, soft and precise, his attention sharpened.
Anne noticed. Selene saw it in the stiffening of her posture, and the subtle tightening of her grip.
Selene smiled.
Because now she remembered exactly how this game would play out.
Anne, weaving her web with charm and cunning. Damian, standing aloof, and letting the world chase him. And Selene, the discarded piece in their story.
Not this time.
They reached the marble terrace overlooking the lake. The water glimmered in the sunlight, and swans drifted lazily across its surface.
Servants brought tea, setting the table with delicate china. Selene sat gracefully, Damian opposite her, while Anne slipped neatly into the space between as though she belonged there.
Selene let her speak. And also let her flutter her lashes and lean subtly toward Damian. She remembered something Anne didn't.
This scene had not existed in her past life, but the conversations might.
Anne had never sat at this table, never shared tea in this moment, and never attempted to charm Damian so soon.
And if the timing had changed, if fate had dared to alter its hand, then Selene had an opportunity.
One she would not waste.
"Mr. Ashford," Selene said suddenly, cutting through Anne's chatter. Her voice was calm, and melodic, yet it had grace. "I heard you've taken command of the Ashford stables yourself. Not many heirs would trouble themselves with such labor."
Damian's gaze shifted to her instantly. His gaze was sharp and focused.
Selene's heart beat steady. In her past life, she had been too timid to speak boldly, and too desperate to please him. But now, she wielded her words like blades.
Damian's lips curved faintly. "You are well-informed, Miss Sinclair."
"I try to be," Selene answered smoothly. "A household, after all, reflects its master. Even in the smallest details."
Damian's eyes lingered. "You believe the smallest details matter?"
"Don't they?" Selene countered softly, lifting her teacup with poise. "It is always the unseen threads that hold the strongest tapestries together."
A silence fell between them, heavy and deliberate.
Anne shifted uncomfortably. Her smile was brittle. She reached for her tea, her hand trembling almost imperceptibly.
Damian leaned back in his chair, with his gaze never leaving Selene. And when he smiled this time, it was not faint. It was sharp, intriguing, and dangerous.
Selene's pulse pounded, but she held his gaze.