Cold.
That was the last thing Lyra remembered—the river swallowing her whole, its darkness crushing her lungs as she struggled to breathe.
Someone had pushed her.
Someone had laughed as she sank.
Someone had watched her drown.
A desperate voice had shouted her name just before everything went black.
Then—nothing.
Until now.
Lyra gasped awake.
Warm air rushed into her lungs. Her fingers clutched the thin sheets she hadn't felt in years. Her heartbeat pounded viciously, like she had fought her way out of death.
She knew this room.
The faded floral curtains.
The cracked dresser.
The chipped lamp Kira had shattered during a tantrum.
The little hook where Mira's pendant once hung.
Her childhood room.
Three years before her death.
She had gone back.
Returned.
Reborn.
Lyra pushed herself to her feet, legs trembling as she approached the mirror. A younger face stared back—rounder cheeks, softer features, untouched by the weight of betrayal.
She didn't recognize that girl anymore.
Memories struck her like knives—
Kira sneering, calling her mother's belongings "trash."
Claudia ripping her mother's necklace away.
Mr. Vance selling her mother's paintings behind her back.
Cassian choosing Rhina without hesitation.
Rhina pushing her into the freezing river.
Cold water choking her lungs.
Darkness swallowing her.
Lyra gripped the edge of the table, grounding herself.
In her first life, she clung to this family because she believed she had no one else. Her mother died young, and Lyra—desperate for affection—accepted the cruelty, the neglect, the humiliation.
She had been so painfully, heartbreakingly naïve.
A glint of silver caught her eye.
Her breath stilled.
There, on the bedside table, lay a small pendant.
Her mother's pendant.
The one Claudia hid.
The one Mr. Vance claimed was lost.
The one Mira—her mother's name in the Vance household—wore until the day she died.
Lyra's hand trembled as she reached for it.
The metal was cold—
Then warm.
Then burning.
A surge of images tore through her—
Smoke.
Running through the dark.
Her mother holding her close.
A cry.
Fear twisting Mira's voice.
Shadows.
Silence.
Lyra gasped, clutching the pendant tightly.
The vision faded, leaving the metal pulsing in her palm—alive, almost breathing.
Supernatural.
A relic.
Something deep inside her stirred.
She pressed the pendant against her chest.
"Mom…"
They took everything from her mother.
Her home.
Her artwork.
Her dignity.
Her legacy.
Her daughter.
Not again.
A sharp click echoed outside her door.
Then it opened.
"Why are you still upstairs?"
Claudia's irritated voice cut through the room. She stepped inside in a silk robe, hair immaculate, annoyance etched across her face.
"No wonder everything moves so slowly in this house," she snapped. "You were expected downstairs already. Don't waste my morning."
There it was—the real Claudia.
Cold.
Dismissive.
Entitled.
Lyra let her fingers rest on the pendant hidden against her palm.
Claudia's eyes narrowed.
"Where did you get that? I told you to stop holding on to your mother's useless junk."
Lyra straightened slowly.
She turned toward Claudia, her voice steady—colder than she ever dared in her first life.
"I'll come down when I'm ready… Claudia."
Claudia blinked, startled.
Lyra had never spoken to her like that—calm, unshaken, utterly unaffected.
"What did you just say?" Claudia demanded.
Lyra's lips tilted faintly.
"You heard me."
For a brief moment, Claudia's expression flickered. Something like unease.
Then she scoffed sharply, regaining her usual cold arrogance.
"Fix yourself and come downstairs. And don't test me today."
She turned and left without waiting for an answer.
When the door shut, Lyra released a long, trembling breath.
Her fingers curled tightly around the pendant.
Warm.
Alive.
Awake.
Her second life had begun.
This time—
she wouldn't bend.
She wouldn't beg.
She wouldn't break.
She would reclaim everything her mother lost.
And she would tear the Vances down, piece by piece.
No matter the cost.