Light stabbed through Seraphine's closed eyelids.
For a moment, she thought it was the afterlife.
The sensation was strange. Her body felt heavy, warm… alive. There was no freezing wind against her skin, no rough wood beneath her knees, no cold blade hovering over her neck.
Instead there was softness.
Silk.
The faint scent of lavender.
Seraphine frowned slightly.
The afterlife smells pleasant.
Slowly, she inhaled again.
The scent grew stronger.
Lavender… fresh linen… and something else.
Sunlight.
Her lashes trembled as she opened her eyes.
A golden beam of morning light streamed through tall windows, illuminating pale curtains that swayed gently in the breeze.
Seraphine stared upward at the ceiling.
White marble inlaid with delicate golden patterns.
Her breath caught.
She knew this room.
No…
That wasn't possible.
Her gaze snapped to the side.
A familiar bookshelf stood beside the wall, filled with the same neatly arranged novels she had collected over the years. Beside it was a vanity mirror with a carved silver frame.
And the bed she was lying in—
Her bed.
Her bedroom in the Lior estate.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
"No…"
Her voice came out as a faint whisper.
She pushed herself upright too quickly.
The world spun.
Long silver hair slid across her shoulders and down her back like a waterfall of moonlight.
Seraphine stared at it in shock.
Her hair.
In the days before her execution, it had been cut roughly to shoulder length during her imprisonment.
Now it flowed all the way down her back again.
Untouched.
Untangled.
Alive.
Her hands began to tremble.
This can't be real.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed.
The cold marble floor met her bare feet.
The sensation was so vivid it made her gasp.
Cold.
Solid.
Real.
Her heart pounded faster.
I'm not dead.
She staggered toward the mirror.
Each step felt unreal, like walking through a dream.
When she reached the vanity, she slowly lifted her gaze.
The reflection staring back at her made her breath hitch.
A younger version of herself stood in the mirror.
Her skin looked softer.
Her eyes brighter.
And the faint shadows of exhaustion that had haunted her during the final weeks of her life were gone.
She looked exactly as she had three years ago.
Seraphine pressed her hand against the mirror.
Cold glass met her fingertips.
"This… isn't possible."
But deep inside, a terrible realization was already forming.
Her chest tightened.
Slowly, she turned toward the small calendar resting on her desk.
Her legs felt weak as she approached it.
Don't look.
Please… don't let it be true.
But she forced herself to read the date.
The moment her eyes focused—
Her world tilted.
Three years earlier.
Three years before her execution.
Her breath left her lungs in a shaky gasp.
"I…"
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.
"I went back."
She had died.
She remembered it clearly.
The sword.
The cold air.
And Damian's voice.
I'm sorry.
Her chest twisted painfully.
Why did he apologize?
The question had haunted her even in her final moments.
Seraphine squeezed her eyes shut, trying to steady her racing thoughts.
Think.
Think carefully.
If she had truly returned three years into the past…
That meant everything that had happened after this date had not occurred yet.
The accusations.
The trial.
The execution.
None of it had happened.
Yet.
Her heart started racing again.
Which meant—
She could stop it.
She could prevent her death.
Seraphine staggered backward slightly, gripping the desk.
But with that realization came another thought.
A terrifying one.
Damian Vale.
Her stomach twisted violently.
The man who had condemned her.
The empire's executioner.
Even remembering his name made her chest tighten.
She remembered standing on that platform.
Remembered the cold weight of his gaze.
And the regret in his eyes.
Seraphine shook her head sharply.
No.
It doesn't matter.
Whether he regretted it or not…
He still ordered my death.
Her nails dug into her palms.
She could not allow herself to get close to him again.
In the previous timeline, their paths had crossed several times during court events and imperial gatherings.
She had spoken to him politely.
Respected him.
Trusted that he was a man of honor.
How foolish she had been.
This time would be different.
This time she would stay far away from him.
Far away from the imperial court.
Far away from whatever conspiracy had framed her.
Seraphine inhaled slowly.
Calm down.
You have three years.
Three years to figure out who betrayed you.
Three years to survive.
A knock sounded suddenly at the door.
Seraphine flinched.
"My lady?" a familiar voice called softly.
Her maid.
Elena.
Seraphine's throat tightened unexpectedly.
Elena had been the only servant who remained loyal to her until the very end.
The memory of Elena crying outside the prison gates flashed through her mind.
"My lady, are you awake?"
Seraphine swallowed.
"I'm… awake."
The door opened gently.
Elena stepped inside carrying a silver tray with tea and pastries.
Her warm brown eyes widened slightly when she saw Seraphine standing beside the mirror.
"Oh! My lady, you're already up?"
Seraphine stared at her.
Elena looked exactly the same.
Young.
Alive.
Unharmed.
Emotion swelled painfully in Seraphine's chest.
In the previous life, Elena had been dismissed shortly after Seraphine's arrest.
Seraphine had never seen her again.
Yet here she was.
Smiling gently.
Alive.
Seraphine forced herself to remain calm.
"Yes," she said softly. "I woke early."
Elena placed the tray on the table.
"The capital is lively today," she said cheerfully. "There will be many nobles arriving for the imperial winter ball."
Seraphine froze.
The winter ball.
Her heart dropped.
That event had been one of the first major gatherings she attended after this date.
And if she remembered correctly—
Her first significant interaction with Damian Vale had happened there.
Her chest tightened.
The image of him standing on the execution platform flashed through her mind again.
Cold.
Unyielding.
Dangerous.
Seraphine clenched her fists.
No.
Not this time.
This time she would avoid him completely.
Avoid the imperial court.
Avoid every event where he might appear.
She would stay out of his sight.
Out of his reach.
Out of his fate.
Her eyes hardened with quiet determination.
"I must stay away from Damian Vale."
The words slipped out before she realized she had spoken them aloud.
Elena blinked in confusion.
"My lady?"
Seraphine quickly composed herself.
"Nothing."
She walked toward the window, staring out at the bright capital city below.
People moved through the streets.
Carriages rolled across the stone roads.
Life continued peacefully.
Three years before the chaos that would eventually destroy everything.
Three years before her death.
Seraphine placed a hand against the glass.
This time will be different.
This time I will survive.
But far away, in another part of the capital—
Inside a dark, quiet manor—
A man suddenly opened his eyes.
His breathing was uneven.
Cold gray eyes stared at the ceiling.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Then slowly…
Damian Vale sat up.
His hand moved to his chest.
His heart was racing.
The memory of a silver-haired woman kneeling on an execution platform flashed violently through his mind.
The sound of a falling blade.
The warmth of blood.
And the unbearable weight of regret.
His jaw tightened.
"…Seraphine."
The name escaped his lips like a confession.
He swung his legs out of bed and walked to the window.
Snow fell softly over the capital.
Exactly the same as it had three years ago.
His gaze darkened.
"So… it happened."
He remembered everything.
The war.
The empire's collapse.
And her death.
Most of all—
Her death.
Damian closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them again, they were colder than winter.
This time would be different.
This time—
He would not let her die.