Chapter 3 – The Morning That Shouldn't Have Existed
A woman's voice, low and melodic, echoing in the void between death and waking.
"Do you accept the cost?"
Augustus's answer had been yes. Without hesitation. And now… the price was coming.
He didn't know when. He didn't know how.
But the goddess had smiled in a way that was not entirely kind.
...
When Ophelia's eyes fluttered open, she expected to feel the cold stone of the goddess's temple beneath her, the scent of incense and Augustus's desperate voice calling her name.
Instead, she was lying in a soft bed.
Her bed.
The lace canopy above her was familiar — too familiar. The faint smell of lavender soap clung to the air, the one she used as a girl. Outside, morning light streamed through the tall windows, filtered by pastel curtains she hadn't seen in years.
Her breath caught.
She sat up slowly, her heart pounding against her ribs. A small handmaid rushed inside, barely older than herself.
"My lady, you're awake. It's almost time for your embroidery lessons," the girl said cheerfully, as though nothing in the world was wrong.
Ophelia's lips parted, but no sound came. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the polished mirror on her dressing table.
The face staring back at her was soft and unlined, framed by hair that fell in loose, silky waves. Sixteen. She was sixteen again.
Her stomach churned.
The memories came in slow, crushing waves.
Augustus's golden hair in the sunlight. His patient smile. His arms around her in the dark. The cruel words she'd once thrown at him, not knowing the whole truth. The poison. The antidote. His tear-streaked face as she died.
And then the rest.
Her so-called father's cold voice echoing in her mind.
"If you truly care for your mother, you'll do exactly as I say."
At the time, she hadn't known the truth — that her mother had been nothing more than a pawn in his obsession with Augustus's mother , 'Sylvia Virelion'. He had wanted her and, when spurned, vowed to destroy the Vengourlus family she chose instead.
Ophelia had been the perfect weapon.
And she had been too blind to see it.
Her chest tightened. "I… helped him hurt Augustus," she whispered to herself, her voice breaking.
And yet… even knowing she had been used against him, Augustus had still looked at her like she was the only thing worth loving in his world.
Her eyes burned. He never told me. He never blamed me.
The door creaked open again, this time revealing the tall, lean figure of her father. His eyes were as sharp and calculating as she remembered.
"You're awake early," he said, his voice cool. "Good. We have a dinner with the Duke's family in four days'. Remember, you must make a good impression."
Two years. That was all the time she had before he would marry her off to Augustus — before she would ruin the man she loved all over again.
Her fists clenched beneath the covers.
No. Not this time.
If Augustus's life could be happy without her in it, then she would make it so — even if it meant breaking her own heart.
She swallowed hard and forced a smile at her father. "Of course, Father."
But inside, her decision was already sealed.
I'll run. I'll disappear before the wedding. I won't let my love destroy him again.
And somewhere deep inside, a faint, traitorous whisper rose:
Even if I never see you again, Augustus… I will always love you.
.....