Ekaterina hoisted her suitcase and duffel bag, the familiar weight a comforting presence. The attic door creaked shut behind her, sealing her off from the escalating drama below. As she descended the narrow staircase leading away from the mansion, she felt a sense of liberation wash over her—a feeling she hadn't experienced in what felt like an eternity.
The air outside was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. She paused at the wrought-iron gates, taking a moment to survey the sprawling estate—a monument to wealth and power that held no allure for her.
"Farewell," she murmured softly, a hint of disdain coloring her tone.
As she stepped out onto the cobblestone path leading away from the mansion, Taotao zipped ahead, transforming into a miniature whirlwind of crimson fur.
The plush interior of the Rolls Royce offered a temporary respite from the chaotic drama she'd just left behind, but even the luxurious comfort couldn't fully dispel the exhaustion that clung to Ekaterina. The lingering effects of her rebirth, coupled with the sudden surge of memories and power, were taking their toll. Her narcolepsy, a frustrating condition she'd struggled with in her previous life, was rearing its head with alarming intensity.
She sat rigidly in the back seat, a face mask strategically covering half her face – a practical measure to conceal her identity and ward off unwanted attention. Her gaze was fixed out the window, observing the blur of scenery as the car glided smoothly through the manicured grounds of the Wilson estate.
The driver, a seasoned professional named Mr. Davies, glanced at her in the rearview mirror. He was a man of few words, trained to observe and anticipate his passengers' needs without being intrusive. He noticed the subtle signs of fatigue etched on her face, the slight slump in her shoulders, the almost imperceptible tremor in her hand resting on her lap. He recognized the telltale signs of narcolepsy, a condition he'd been briefed about regarding Miss Ekaterina.
"Miss," he began tentatively, his voice a low rumble that barely disturbed the quiet luxury of the car.
"There is a choice for you. Do you want to go to an empty villa, or do you want to go to the main estate?" Mr. Davies asked.
He knew it was anything but. He'd been instructed to present this choice, and he understood its significance. It was a test, a subtle assessment of character disguised as a simple logistical decision. He'd been briefed on the history of this test, the disastrous outcome for Miss Ekaterina's half-sister, Jennifer, in a previous iteration of this reality.
Ekaterina felt utterly drained. The weight of her past lives, the sudden influx of memories and responsibilities, pressed down on her like a physical burden. Her narcolepsy was intensifying, blurring the edges of her perception and threatening to overwhelm her senses.
She desperately wanted nothing more than to find a quiet space, to retreat from the swirling chaos and simply rest. The empty villa offered precisely that – seclusion, anonymity, a temporary escape from the scrutiny of the Wilson family.
The villa, however, represented something more than just respite. It was a siren's call to isolation, a path that would inevitably lead to marginalization within the Marchetti family.
In the previous iteration of this reality, Jennifer had chosen the villa, lured by the promise of undisturbed luxury. But her decision had been interpreted as a blatant display of greed and a lack of ambition. It had alienated her from the core of the Marchetti family, branding her as an outsider and undermining her credibility.
The elders, particularly the formidable matriarch Nonna Isabella, had viewed it as a sign of weakness – a refusal to embrace the challenges and responsibilities that came with belonging to such a powerful lineage. Jennifer's arrogance in believing she could thrive in isolation had only amplified their disapproval.
Ekaterina's didn't even care where she stays as long as her mother is there she will be there.
But Ekaterina was different. Her motivations were singular, uncomplicated by ambition or a thirst for power. She cared for one thing, and one thing alone: her mother. The thought of being separated from her, even by the short distance to a separate villa, was unbearable.
It wasn't about proving herself to the Marchettis, or earning their approval; it was about being close to the one person who had consistently shown her unconditional love and acceptance in both her previous and current lives.
The exhaustion threatened to consume her, blurring her thoughts and clouding her judgment. But beneath the fatigue, a steely resolve remained. She wouldn't succumb to the lure of easy comfort if it meant sacrificing her connection to her mother.
"Main estate," Ekaterina replied, her voice barely a whisper, laced with a weariness that belied the strength of her decision.
The moment the words left her lips, a wave of overwhelming fatigue crashed over Ekaterina. Her vision blurred, her limbs grew heavy, and the world tilted precariously. She fought against the encroaching darkness, desperately clinging to consciousness, but it was a futile effort.
Before Mr. Davies could react, Ekaterina slumped forward, her head falling onto the plush leather seat with a soft thud. She passed out cold in the car, completely oblivious to the subtle shift in Mr. Davies' expression as he registered her response. A flicker of surprise, quickly followed by a knowing nod, crossed his face. He understood now – he understood that this young woman was unlike anyone he'd encountered before.
Unaware to Ekaterina, her choice had just passed a critical test – a test that Jennifer had failed spectacularly in the previous iteration of this reality.