The garden was a masterpiece of artificial beauty. Manicured hedges, rare lilies and marble fountains created an illusion of peace that Evelina knew was a lie. As she walked, she began scanning the environment.
Belladonna in the north corner. Foxglove near the fountain. Hemlock disguised as wild parsley, she noted. This isn't a garden; it's a pharmacy of death. My step-mother has been busy.
As she approached the breakfast pavilion, she saw them: Minister Silas, Lady Elena and Isabella. They were laughing. Isabella was daintily peeling a grape for her father, the picture of filial piety. It was a scene of a "perfect" family that relied entirely on Evelina's absence and eventual death.
As she stepped onto the marble tiles, Evelina felt a sharp, sudden pain in her chest—a phantom echo of the original soul's trauma. It felt like someone had poke her with thousands of needles, she thought, pressing a hand to her heart. The girl who lived here before loved them. She begged for their affection and they killed her for it. Not once, but twice.
She intentionally stepped on a dry twig. Snap.
The three of them looked up. The laughter died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, heavy tension.
"Morning, Father," Evelina said, her voice like cool mountain water. She turned her gaze to the woman in the flamboyant silk dress. "Morning, Aunt Elena. Morning, little sister."
Lady Elena's face turned a violent, blotchy shade of red. The title "Aunt" hit her like a physical blow. She had spent years forcing the household to recognize her as the true Matriarch, the "Mother" of the house. By calling her "Aunt," Evelina had reminded everyone that Elena was merely the second choice—the woman who took the seat of the deceased first wife but never the legal title in the eyes of the high nobility.
"Evelina," Elena hissed, her fingers clawing at the expensive lace tablecloth. "You... you seem to have forgotten your manners in your long sickness. I am your mother now."
"On the contrary, Aunt," Evelina replied, pulling out a chair and sitting down with a poise that made Isabella's practiced etiquette look clumsy and fake. "Since my mother is currently resting in the family crypt, it would be deeply disrespectful to her memory to call anyone else by her title, wouldn't it? I'm sure a woman as concerned with 'manners' and 'tradition' as you are would agree. Unless, of course, you wish to insult my mother, the first wife's soul?"
Minister Silas cleared his throat, his eyes sharp and calculating. He didn't care about the women's bickering; he cared about the political leverage the Valerius family brought.
"That's enough," Silas barked. "Evelina, you look... better. Which is fortunate, because we have a matter of great importance to discuss before General Valerius's son, Lucius, arrives. He might as well be at the gates as we speak."
Elena chimed in, her voice dripping with fake, sugary honey. "Evelina, dear, look at yourself. You are so delicate, so sick. The General's son is same as his father a man of war, a man of fire and blood. He has spent years and will spend rest of his time in the trenches. He needs a wife who can stand by his side at royal galas, who can run a massive ducal estate, who can give him healthy, strong heirs. Do you really want to subject yourself to such a grueling life? It would kill you within a year. We only want to save you from that pain."
Isabella reached out, grabbing Evelina's hand with a grip that was far too tight to be affectionate. Her nails dug into Evelina's skin. "Sister, we are only thinking of your health. I have been practicing my etiquette, my dancing and my management. I am strong. I can take this 'burden' of the Duchess title from you. We've already talked to the General's representatives... they just need you to sign this small document stating that you are too ill to fulfill the contract and wish for me to take your place for the sake of the family's honor."
Evelina looked at Isabella's hand on hers, then slowly looked up at her father. Her gaze was as cold as a glacier from her era.
"So, let me summarize," Evelina said, her voice echoing in the quiet garden. "You want me to give up the marriage contract my grandfather from mothers side worked hard to secure, the one that connects us to the most powerful military house in the Empire, so that Isabella can become the Duchess of Valerius?"
"It is for the good of the family!" Silas insisted, slamming his hand on the table so hard the teacups rattled. "Lucius's father is a war hero. He is returning with more power than half the council. If his son marries a sick girl who dies in the first month, our connection to him is severed forever. But if his son marries Isabella... our family's future is set for generations."
"And what about my future?" Evelina asked softly.
"We will take care of you, dear," Elena said, a predatory glint in her eyes. "A quiet villa in the far countryside. Fresh air. No more stress. No more medicine. It's what you've always wanted, isn't it? A peaceful end."
Evelina let out a short, dry laugh. The "quiet villa" was code for a tomb. She knew from the original memories that the "villa" was where she had been sent to be quietly poisoned to death in the first life.
"It's a tempting offer," Evelina said, leaning back and crossing her legs. "Except for one small, legal detail."
"And what is that?" Silas asked, his patience wearing thin.
"The contract," Evelina said, her eyes flashing with a lethal, modern intelligence. "My mother's family—the Great House of Sterling—didn't sign a contract with the Minister of Finance. They signed a contract with the Valerius House specifically for the 'Eldest Daughter.' If I step down and Isabella takes my place, the contract is technically voided. Furthermore, the dowry—the vast northern lands and the silver mines from my grandfather—remains with me personally, not the house. If I don't marry Lucius, you lose the silver mines. Unless, of course, you were planning to steal those from the Emperor's tax records too?"
The silence that followed was so heavy it felt like the air had been sucked out of the garden. Silas turned a pale, sickly white. He had forgotten that Evelina, while "sick," was still the legal sole heir to her mother's massive Sterling fortune. Without her marriage, he was just a Minister with a beautiful, but poor, second daughter.
"You... you would hold your own sister back for the sake of greed?" Elena shrieked, her mask finally slipping to reveal the monster beneath. "You ungrateful brat! We have fed you, clothed you and paid for your expensive medicines for years!"
Evelina countered, her voice rising in power, drowning out the step-mother. "The 'clothes' that are Isabella's hand-me-downs? The 'medicine' that makes me sleep for sixteen hours a day? Aunt Elena, let's not play this game anymore. You want the title and Father wants the General's influence. But neither of you actually has the power to move me from this seat."
Evelina stood up straight, her thin frame suddenly looking as immovable as an iron mountain.
"I will not sign anything," she said, her voice ringing across the garden, causing the servants in the distance to stop and stare. "If Lucius wants to break the engagement, he can tell me to my face. But until then, I am the future Duchess of Valerius. And Isabella?"
She looked at her younger sister, who was now trembling with a mixture of rage and fear.
"You can stop practicing your dancing," Evelina said. "I think you'll find that I am perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet. And I don't need a sister to 'carry my burden'."
Just then, a servant ran into the garden, breathless and red-faced. "Master! The General's son! He's here! The Valerius carriage has entered the courtyard! He didn't wait for the guards—he's walking in right now!"
Silas scrambled to his feet, adjusting his robes in a panic. Elena frantically smoothed Isabella's hair, whispering for her to "look pretty and sad."
Evelina simply stood there, her heart racing not with fear, but with a hunter's anticipation. Lucius is here, she thought. The man I'm supposed to save. The man who ended a ten-year war but died the very next day of his return.
She turned toward the entrance, a cold, expectant smile on her lips. The hunt was about to begin. She felt the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots approaching—a pace that didn't sound like a typical eighteen-year-old noble. It sounded like a soldier who had marched through hell and back.
A young man stepped into the garden. He was eighteen, his face youthful and handsome, but his eyes... they were the eyes of a man who had seen the world burn…. Maybe.
Lucius stopped dead in his tracks. He ignored the bowing Minister. He ignored the sobbing Isabella and the fuming Elena.
His gaze locked onto Evelina.
For Lucius, time seemed to stop. This is the girl who saw me take the last breath, he thought, his hand twitching toward his sword. The one with the crescent moon birthmark. But she... she isn't looking at me like a victim. She's looking at me like a commander.
"Lord Lucius," Evelina said, curtsying with a grace that felt like a challenge. "You're early. I hope the road wasn't too... treacherous."
Lucius took a step forward, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "The road was fine, Lady Evelina. It's the destination I'm interested in."