Chapter 1: A Life Rewritten
Death was supposed to be quiet.
Delary thought it would feel like falling asleep—gentle, slow, merciful. Instead, it was like the world had ripped her from existence and tossed her into nothingness. One moment, she was standing in her own small, cramped room, the hum of life around her, and the next… darkness swallowed everything.
And then came the light.
She gasped. Or tried to—but the sound that emerged from her lips was not hers. It was tiny, delicate, and startled the people around her. She opened her eyes to a world too vivid, too loud, too impossibly real.
"Look at her! She's crying so beautifully!"
Delary blinked. The voice was warm, feminine, filled with awe. She felt herself lifted into soft, delicate arms. Silk brushed against her skin, soft and fragrant. She tried to make sense of the voices, the warm light, the unfamiliar smells…
"Is she healthy, mother?" asked another voice, deep and commanding, yet gentle.
"Yes. Strong and beautiful," the first woman replied. "Our daughter…"
Daughter. The word hit Delary like a stone. Her mind spun, trying to catch up with the reality pressing down on her.
Daughter? I'm… a baby?
She tried to protest, to scream, but all she could do was make another small, fragile wail.
"It's okay, little one. We're here now," whispered the woman, as if she could understand the strange terror flooding the baby in her arms.
Delary's thoughts raced, memories of her past life flashing painfully. The dull, gray life she had left behind—exhausting, unremarkable, filled with long nights of loneliness and regret. Death had been an end, yes, but she had expected at least peace. And now she was here… reborn, swaddled in silk and velvet, her cries answered with awe and relief.
A man's voice spoke then, calm, measured, with a weight she instinctively recognized as power.
"She will do well," he said simply. "She has good blood. Strong will. Don't let her forget that."
Delary felt a chill. Something about his voice… it didn't belong to this world either. It was steady, unyielding, and somehow… familiar, though she had never heard it before.
Years passed—or at least, they seemed to, though time felt strange to her, even as a baby. She grew quickly, as if this world refused to let her linger in weakness. Tutors came and went, teaching her language, history, etiquette, and skills that children in her old life could only dream of. Servants attended her every need, her wardrobe expanded beyond imagination, and every wish she voiced—or sometimes didn't—was fulfilled before she could even ask.
And yet, as her mind sharpened and her body grew, she remembered the feeling that had followed her from the moment of birth: the pull, the tug of something—or someone—outside this perfect life.
It was the first time she saw him.
She was walking through the garden that morning, the sunlight sparkling against the fountain's water like diamonds, when she noticed a man standing at the far end, his back straight, hands clasped behind him. His dark hair glimmered with a strange luster under the sun, and the sharpness of his features made her pause.
He was watching her.
Delary's heart fluttered for reasons she didn't understand. She had never seen him before—at least, she thought she hadn't. And yet, something deep inside her stirred, as if a bell long forgotten had finally been struck.
"Who… is that?" she asked a passing maid, her voice hesitant.
"That is Master Spencer," the maid replied, bowing slightly. "He has come from the capital to discuss arrangements with your father."
Delary frowned, unsure why the mention of his name caused a ripple of anticipation inside her chest.
By noon, he had been introduced formally.
"Delary," he said, bowing low, but his eyes—sharp, calculating, aware—lifted to meet hers. "I've heard much about you."
She returned a bow, trying to steady her racing heart. "I… I am honored to meet you, Master Spencer."
The corner of his lips tilted slightly. Not quite a smile, but enough to make her stomach flip. "It seems you are as clever as they say." His gaze lingered, piercing, thoughtful, and impossible to ignore.
Delary felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I… I try my best."
He took a step closer, deliberately slow. "Do you?" His voice was low, rich, and somehow commanding, even in this garden of laughter and sunlight. "Or is it just what others tell you to believe?"
Delary swallowed hard, sensing a challenge in the question. "I… I do my best because I wish to learn, Master Spencer," she said, her voice firmer now, defiant in a way that surprised even her.
He studied her for a long moment, and she could feel the weight of his gaze. Then, unexpectedly, he nodded. "Good. You may go now, little one. But remember this—don't ever let others decide your worth. That is something only you may choose."
Her chest swelled with a strange mixture of fear and fascination. The man who should have been a stranger felt… different. Not just because of his demeanor, but because of the strange pull she had felt since birth—the one that had whispered through her consciousness, tugging at her, promising something she could not yet name.
As he walked away, Delary couldn't help but watch him. Something in the way he moved, deliberate yet effortless, made her pulse quicken. And when their eyes met just once more, she thought she saw recognition—though how could it be? They had never met before.
Later, that night, she lay awake in her enormous canopy bed, the silks soft against her skin, but her mind racing.
Why did she feel like she had known him forever? Why did it feel like fate had carved a path that led directly to him?
Her fingers traced the edge of the blanket, her thoughts drifting unbidden to the man she was destined to meet. Spencer—the one who did not belong in this timeline, yet had arrived at her life, at this moment, as if the universe itself had conspired to bring them together.
She did not yet know that meeting him would change everything. That her carefully curated life of riches and comfort was only the beginning. That the man with sharp eyes and a steady voice was a harbinger of a fate she could neither predict nor escape.
She closed her eyes, clutching her blanket as if holding herself together.
Tomorrow, she told herself, she would greet him again, with courage this time. But even as she whispered the promise to herself, deep down, Delary knew… the game had already begun, and she was no longer just a girl born into wealth. She was a girl reborn into fate—and the man who had walked into her life was already rewriting the rules.
And somewhere far away—or perhaps closer than she imagined—Spencer was watching, remembering, calculating, and waiting for the perfect moment to act.
Because neither of them belonged to this timeline.
And neither of them could ignore the pull of destiny.