For the first time since waking up ten years in the past, Lethea felt something dangerously close to happiness.
The city looked unfamiliar—taller buildings, brighter lights, streets she had once passed through without noticing. Everything felt sharper now, as if the world itself had been wiped clean and handed back to her.
I really came back, she thought, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. Ten years.
The realization made her chest ache.
She stepped into the grocery store, the soft chime of the automatic doors echoing like a promise.
She hadn't planned to come here.
But the thought struck her suddenly—clear, urgent, impossible to ignore.
I want to cook for him.
In her previous life, she had never once prepared a meal for Erick.
To her then, "husband" had been nothing more than a title—a condition written neatly into her grandfather's will. A signature on paper. A requirement to inherit the empire she believed she deserved.
She had treated Erick like furniture in her life: present, useful, and invisible.
Her throat tightened.
She remembered him sitting across from her at the long dining table, quietly eating whatever the staff prepared. Remembered how she never asked if he liked it. Never noticed that he always finished his plate. Never noticed that he always waited for her to eat first.
Never noticed him.
She had only learned his favourite food after the divorce.
After she lost him.
Stir-fried beef with broccoli.
His favourite.
Thea pushed her cart slowly down the aisle, memories trailing behind her like ghosts.
After her father and grandfather died, everything collapsed at once.
Lethea did destroy the La Roche building. In her madness, she wanted to erase the empire that had abandoned her. She wanted the building gone—nothing more.
She never planned to kill anyone.
But explosions do not care about intention.
The building collapsed.
And with it, her father and grandfather lost their lives.
Before the smoke even cleared, she was arrested. The world did not ask what she meant to do—only what had happened. Though there was no direct evidence linking her to the deaths, the charge of attempted murder followed her like a curse.
Five years in prison became her punishment.
Those years stripped her of everything.
Her name meant nothing behind bars. She learned to keep her head down, to eat quickly, to stay silent. She slept on a thin mattress in a crowded cell, listening to curses, cries, and laughter that never reached the morning.
When she was finally released, no one came for her.
No family. No money. No home.
The only help she received was a small allowance and an address from a social worker—a slum at the edge of the city where criminals, ex-convicts, and forgotten people lived side by side.
The alley was narrow and always damp. The smell of rot clung to the walls. Even rats avoided certain corners.
Her room was barely big enough to lie down in.
Cold in winter. Suffocating in summer.
The only place that hired her was a small Chinese restaurant hidden deep in the alley. An elderly couple ran it. They paid her little—but they fed her.
They scolded her when she was slow. Taught her how to hold a knife properly. Showed her how to control the fire, how to season food patiently instead of desperately.
She burned her hands more times than she could count.
But she endured.
That was where she learned how to survive without pride.
That was where she learned regret.
Lethea opened her eyes.
That life is over, she told herself. I came back to change everything. She sighed.
Her gaze lifted to the refrigerated section.
Beef.
Her eyes lit up.
One pack.
The last one.
Perfect.
She reached for it—
Another hand grabbed it at the same time.
"What the—!"
Thea spun around, irritation flaring instinctively.
"Do you have any manners?" she snapped. "I was clearly here first!"
Her voice came out sharp, fast—fueled by panic more than pride. It was late. She knew the shelves wouldn't be restocked until morning.
This mattered.
She lifted her head, ready to fight—
And the world tilted.
Her breath caught violently.
Tall.
Broad shoulders hidden under casual clothes that couldn't mask discipline. Long legs. Strong hands. Raven-black hair falling slightly into sharp eyes that had haunted her dreams for years.
Erick.
He looked… unfairly handsome.
Not the stiff general from the news. Not the silent man she ignored at home.
Just a man—real, close, breathing.
Her heart slammed so hard it hurt.
"E-Erick…"
The name slipped out in a whisper before she could stop it.
He frowned slightly.
"Miss?"
His voice—deep, rough, warm—sent a tremor down her spine.
It was the same voice that once whispered her name in the dark. The same voice she had ignored when he asked if she was tired, hungry, lonely.
She staggered back a step.
For a moment, she thought she might cry.
I neglected you, her mind screamed. I humiliated you. I threw you away.
She remembered pushing him aside at banquets. Mocking his background. Treating his devotion like an inconvenience. Pretending she didn't see the way his hands clenched when she spoke cruelly.
Her chest tightened unbearably.
Erick had only come to the supermarket because his fridge was empty. That was all. He hadn't expected to be yelled at—nor to find himself standing in front of a woman staring at him like she was about to collapse.
"Are you… okay?" he asked, unsure.
She looked like she might cry.
He panicked.
"I—I'm sorry," he blurted, words tumbling out too fast for a man who rarely spoke at all. "I didn't see you earlier. If you want it, you can have it. I'll check if there's another—"
Before she could answer, he turned and strode away.
Thea stood frozen.
This isn't supposed to happen today.
They were supposed to meet tomorrow.
Was fate already shifting?
Erick returned moments later, disappointment flickering across his face.
"They won't restock until morning," he said. Then, without hesitation, he held out the beef. "Here."
She blinked.
"You don't need to cry over groceries," he added awkwardly.
Compose yourself, she scolded silently. This is the first time he's meeting you.
She accepted it carefully, her fingers brushing his for a second too long.
Her skin burned.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"What will you cook now?" she asked, forcing herself to breathe.
"I'll manage," he replied, scratching the back of his head. Then hesitated. "You seem… very determined. Is it for someone special?"
Her face brightened instantly.
"Yes," she said. "My grandfather invited a guest tomorrow."
He smiled.
"I'm sure they'll love it. You went shopping yourself—that already says a lot."
"I hope so."
Without realising it, he began walking beside her cart.
"So," he asked, "what are you cooking?"
"Stir-fried beef with broccoli."
Her cheeks flushed.
Not because of the food.
Because her mind betrayed her—dragging her back to their first night together. Heat. Strength. Pain mixed with unfamiliar want. The night she panicked, poisoned him, and nearly destroyed everything.
She bit her lip and looked away.
"That's… my favourite," Erick said, surprised, noticing her red cheeks.
Her smile widened.
"What a coincidence."
He chuckled softly.
"Seems like it."
At the counter, Erick felt strange.
In the past, his colleagues had introduced him to countless women—beautiful, confident, eager. Some clung to his arm too tightly. Some laughed too loudly. All of them felt the same.
Empty.
But the woman beside him now—
She made his thoughts stumble.
His heartbeat refused to steady.
"So…" he blurted, "is the special someone your boyfriend?"
The words surprised even him.
Is this flirting? he wondered, alarmed.
She stopped walking.
Looked at him.
Is Erick always this honest? Thea thought, startled. How much didn't I know about you?
"No," she said calmly. "My fiancé."
The word struck him harder than expected.
"I want him to taste the first dish I ever cook."
Something twisted in his chest.
"That's… lucky," he said quietly.
"No," she replied, voice soft and sincere. "I am."
They reached the parking lot.
Erick helped her load the groceries.
"Drive safely," he said.
She nodded, then paused.
"Thank you, sir."
He hesitated, then asked the question burning in his chest.
"May I know your name?"
She turned slowly.
Smiled.
"I'm sorry," she said gently. "I respect my fiancé too much to give my name to a man I just met."
Then, with a playful glint—
"But… if we meet again… maybe."
She drove away.
Erick stood there, stunned, heart racing for reasons he couldn't understand.
Inside the car, Thea burst into laughter.
"In this lifetime," she whispered, gripping the steering wheel, eyes shining, "we'll fall in love properly."
Her smile sharpened—sweet and dangerous.
"And I won't let you slip away again."