From the very beginning, Celine was different.
Not because she was beautiful or adored she was neither. She had an average face, the kind you'd forget in a crowd, and a quiet personality that made her easy to overlook. But she was smart. Brilliant, even.
While other children laughed in the playground, Celine sat under a tree with a book in hand, memorizing things most kids didn't even know existed. She wasn't popular, and she didn't mind. Popularity didn't win you medals, grades did. Friends? She thought they were distractions.
Her family wasn't close-knit either. They weren't cruel, but they were distant polite conversations over dinner, birthdays celebrated with store-bought cake, and love shown in the form of "study harder" and "make us proud."
And so she did.
She studied until the dark rings under her eyes became permanent. She topped every exam. She graduated high school with honors, earned a scholarship to a prestigious university, and crushed every competition that came her way.
But along the way, life became a series of checkboxes.
Graduate with top marks.
Get into a good company.
Earn a salary that could make her parents brag to relatives.
At twenty-eight, she was an assistant manager in a major firm, the kind of success story people envied from the outside. But what they didn't see were the empty evenings, the quiet apartment, and the takeout boxes piling on her desk.
She had no friends to call, no one waiting for her at home, no warm laughter to greet her after a long day. She was surrounded by people at work, yet completely alone.
That night, she stared at her computer screen, the blue light reflecting off her tired eyes. She was successful, yes… but in what? Money? Titles? Recognition?
Somewhere along the way, she realized she had built a life that was perfect on paper… and utterly hollow in reality.
And as the clock ticked past midnight, Celine pressed her hand to her forehead, a dull ache forming behind her eyes. Her body felt heavy, her mind foggy. She thought she was just tired but she was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
The first drop hit her desk with a soft, wet plop.
Celine blinked, staring at the small, red stain on the paperwork in front of her. She touched her upper lip blood.
"Huh…" she muttered under her breath, grabbing a tissue. She tilted her head back, pressing it against her nose. Her vision swam for a moment, the fluorescent lights above blurring into long white streaks.
Her eyes felt heavy, like they were refusing to obey her anymore. "Great. My own body's turning against me."
She sighed, pushed away from her desk, and left the office early for the first time in months.
The clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and old magazines. After a quick examination, the doctor frowned at her chart.
"You're severely overworked, Ms. Celine. Your blood pressure is unstable, and you're showing signs of chronic fatigue. You need to rest. Immediately."
Rest? She almost laughed. "I have deadlines, Doctor. Taking time off isn't"
"It isn't optional," he interrupted firmly. "If you keep pushing yourself like this, your body will make the decision for you."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't argue, but deep down, she already knew she wouldn't follow his advice.
That evening, she stepped into her apartment. It was big the kind of space people dreamed of but it greeted her with nothing but silence.
No lights on.
No smell of home-cooked food.
No sound of footsteps.
Just her heels clicking against the polished floor and the faint hum of the refrigerator.
She dropped her bag onto the couch and stood there for a moment, staring into the dark. Her reflection on the window looked pale, almost ghostly.
"Is this it?" she whispered to no one. "I worked my whole life… for this?"
Her chest tightened. The emptiness in her home wasn't just physical it had seeped into her bones, into her heart.
The next morning, she returned to work as if nothing had happened. The office buzzed with the usual chatter, but her desk was an island, isolated and untouched. She poured herself into her tasks, ignoring the occasional wave of dizziness.
Until it hit her all at once.
Her vision blurred, her hands trembled, and the air in her lungs felt too thin.
"Celine?" A co-worker's voice came from somewhere far away.
"I'm… fine" she tried to say, but the words caught in her throat. The world tilted, colors bleeding into one another, and the last thing she felt was the cold bite of the floor against her cheek.
The office erupted into shouts, but she didn't hear the rest.
Darkness claimed her.
A soft rustle woke her.
Celine's eyelashes fluttered open to find herself staring at a high ceiling not the white, cracked one of her apartment, but a smooth expanse of cream-colored plaster, its edges carved with intricate floral patterns.
She blinked again. The bed beneath her wasn't her cheap mattress from the discount store; it was massive, draped in silk sheets so soft she sank into them like a marshmallow. Light poured through tall windows framed by heavy velvet curtains, and the faint scent of lavender hung in the air.
Her gaze wandered. Golden candlesticks. A fireplace with a faint ember glow. Walls painted in a style she'd only ever seen in historical dramas.
She looked down.
A white nightgown flowing, delicate, and definitely not the oversized T-shirt she had been wearing when she… collapsed?
"…Huh."
Celine's brain was still loading when a thought popped in, uninvited:
Is this heaven?
She sat up slowly, pressing her palm to the ridiculously plush bedding. This is… kind of nice. Wow. So, dying comes with free luxury accommodations? Do they serve breakfast in heaven too?
Her lips twitched at the absurdity. Not bad. Ten out of ten for interior design.
The door creaked open.
An elderly woman stepped in, her posture perfectly straight despite her age, dressed in a crisp maid's uniform straight out of some aristocratic period. Her sharp eyes softened slightly when they landed on Celine.
"You're awake, Your Grace," she said, her voice firm but respectful.
Celine froze. Your… what now?
The maid continued, "You gave us quite the scare yesterday. The Duke"
"Wait. Hold up. Your Grace?" Celine interrupted in her head. Her eyes narrowed slightly, scanning the maid. She had never seen this woman in her life. And since when did anyone call her anything other than "Ms. Celine" or "Hey, can you finish this report?"
While the maid talked, Celine's mind spun in another direction entirely.
Okay, think. I was at work. I collapsed. Everything went black. And now I'm in… wherever this is. This is not my apartment. This is not my office. And that woman just called me "Your Grace" like I'm some noble lady in a drama.
Her gaze drifted to her hands. Smaller, softer, and… was that lace on her sleeves? She touched her hair longer, silkier, and not tied in the messy bun she used to survive workdays.
The pieces were clicking together too fast, too absurdly. And yet… she remembered. She'd read something like this before.
Her lips parted, eyes widening. "…Reincarnation?"
Her pulse spiked. No way. No. Freaking. Way.
And then, without thinking, she let out a very unladylike yell the kind that belonged more in a sports stadium than a noblewoman's bedroom.
"HELL YEAH!"
The maid froze mid-sentence, blinking at her like she'd just started speaking an alien language.
Celine sat there grinning like an idiot, heart pounding with a mix of disbelief and excitement, while the maid's expression shifted somewhere between shock and deep, polite concern.
"…Your Grace?" the maid finally said, her tone betraying just a hint of what in the world is wrong with you?
For a few moments, the room was silent, save for the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.
Celine finally blinked, snapping out of her triumphant daze. She coughed lightly, trying to act like she hadn't just screamed like she'd won the lottery.
The elderly maid tilted her head but didn't press. "Your Grace, I have already prepared your dress for the day. Shall I have the bath drawn?"
Without missing a beat, Celine nodded, somehow slipping into the role like muscle memory she never had. "Yes, please."
Wow. Look at me, syncing with the script already.
The bath was… well, calling it a "bath" felt insulting. It was a marble pool, steaming gently, big enough to fit her entire apartment's living room. Golden fixtures gleamed in the soft light, and the water smelled faintly of roses and honey.
Her jaw dropped. Okay, heaven or not, I could live like this forever. Move over, self-care Sundays. This is self-care every day.
She sank into the warm water with a sigh so blissful she almost moaned. "Ohhh… This alone was worth dying for," she muttered under her breath.
After what felt like the most luxurious soak of her life, the maid returned with two younger maids in tow. They bustled around her with practiced hands, drying her hair, bringing out layers of fine fabric in soft creams and golds.
Celine's brain short-circuited as they wrapped, buttoned, and tied her into what could only be described as wearable art. She ran her fingers over the embroidery, marveling at the tiny golden threads. This isn't a dress. This is a whole life upgrade.
Finally, they led her to a tall, ornate mirror.
She froze.
The woman in the reflection was… stunning.
Hair like molten copper spilled down her back, catching the light with every movement. Skin as pale as porcelain, dusted with the faintest blush. And her eyes deep, vivid red, the kind of color that could stop someone mid-sentence.
Celine's breath caught. That's… me?
Her fingers brushed the reflection's cheek. No her cheek. The realization sank in like an anchor. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't heaven's fancy lobby.
She had been given a new life.
Her lips curved upward slowly, her chest tightening in a way she hadn't felt in years.
This time… I'm going to live.
"I'll take back the life I missed," she whispered to her reflection. "The childhood I didn't enjoy… the moments I ignored… I'll be happy. Even if I have to fight for it."
For the first time in years, she smiled not a polite work smile, not a forced one for family photos but a real, bright, unapologetic smile.
And behind her, the maids exchanged curious looks. The old one arched a brow as if silently asking the others, Did our mistress always glow like that?
The dining hall looked like something straight out of a palace museum.
A long, polished table stretched so far she half expected it to have its own postal code. Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, scattering soft light over the glossy surface. At the center, an army of silver platters held foods she'd only ever seen in high-end magazines roasted meats glistening with herbs, fruit piled high in crystal bowls, breads steaming fresh from the oven.
Celine's eyes widened, her steps slowing as she took it all in. This is… this is insane. Do I… do I own this?
She slid into the high-backed chair at the head of the table, still staring at the feast. Her heart skipped with a strange thrill. Wait… am I? No, no way. Am I actually royalty? Is that why everyone's calling me "Your Grace"?
The thought made her grin despite herself. Royalty perks, huh? Keep 'em coming.
Just as she was about to sample a perfectly glazed tart, the doors to the hall opened with a smooth, practiced swing.
In walked a man in a perfectly pressed butler's uniform, his posture so upright it looked like a ruler had been sewn into his spine. His hair was neatly silvered, his expression the very definition of professional.
He approached, bowing slightly. "Your Grace."
Celine straightened in her seat, trying to look like she'd been born into all this and totally wasn't two seconds away from stuffing a pastry into her mouth like a starving raccoon.
The butler continued, "A letter has arrived from His Grace, your husband. He wished to inform you that he will be returning home soon."
The words hit her like a brick.
Her smile froze. "My… what?"
"Your husband, Your Grace," the butler repeated, unfazed.
Celine blinked. Once. Twice. I… have a husband? Since when? I've never even dated! My most romantic experience was when the coffee machine gave me an extra espresso shot for free!
She cleared her throat, forcing a shaky laugh. "Ah… right. My… husband. Of course."
But inside, her thoughts were screaming. HOLD UP. I just woke up in this new life, got a mansion, servants, and royal-level breakfast… and now you're telling me there's a man involved?
Her fork hovered over her plate as the reality hit her in waves. I'm married. I'm married to some stranger. And apparently… he's coming home soon.
She slumped back slightly, staring at the feast in front of her.
"God," she muttered under her breath, "when I said I wanted a second chance at life, I didn't mean a husband as part of the starter pack."