Before the cup could hit the floor, a hand caught it in midair with perfect precision.
Time seemed to freeze in that instant.
Livia—who had been standing a full two meters away from the bed—was now right there, her figure a blur from the sudden movement. In one fluid, near-effortless motion, she caught the glass and placed it gently back on the table. The entire sequence was smooth, sharp, and impossibly fast—without spilling even a drop of water.
After it was done, she let her gaze fall slightly. Her fingertips still carried a tremor from the momentum, but her face remained as composed as ever—serene, calm, almost indifferent.
"…!"
Elias stared in disbelief, unable to process what he had just witnessed. He had always known Livia was intelligent, composed, and possessed a keen intuition beyond most. But this—this reflex, this precision—was something else entirely.
Why would she reveal such a skill in front of Marcellus?
Had he seen it wrong?
But Marcellus was just as stunned—utterly speechless. He had seen trained warriors before, but Livia—gentle, soft-spoken, frail Livia—how could she possibly move like that? Who had she become? Or more chillingly… how long had she been this person?
Could it be… everything she said earlier—was true?
Elias opened his mouth, ready to question her or press for answers—but Livia turned to face Marcellus before he could speak.
Her earlier sharpness was gone now, replaced by a quiet fatigue and something more elusive—regret, perhaps.
"Elias," she said softly.
He froze.
"Would you mind stepping out for a moment?" Her voice was gentle, yet firm—leaving no room for refusal. "There's something I need to say to Marcellus. Alone."
The room stiffened. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
Elias hesitated. But in the end, he nodded. He understood: this wasn't his moment to intervene. He gave Marcellus a look—then glanced back at Livia, his expression unreadable—as he stepped quietly out of the room.
The door closed behind him with a soft click. And in that moment, it felt like the rest of the world had been shut out. All that remained were two people—and the truth that had waited far too long to be spoken.
Elias stood outside for a few seconds, lingering by the door. But eventually, he walked away. No matter how deeply he cared, he was an outsider to this. This was a truth only they could face—one that belonged only to them.
He let out a quiet sigh, one that dissolved into the sterile hallway air like dust falling to the floor. Almost silent. Almost invisible. And yet, heavy with resignation.
Inside the room, it was silent. Only the rain remained, tapping at the glass like a countdown echoing from some faraway place.
Marcellus sat rigidly, his brows furrowed, eyes locked on Livia—or rather, on the person he thought was Livia. He was waiting for something. A confession. A confirmation. Or perhaps… something he wasn't ready to hear at all.
She stood by the window, her back to him, looking out at the storm-gray sky. It wasn't clear whether she was hesitating or searching for a way to begin. But finally, she turned around.
Her expression had changed. Gone was the warm, gentle figure of the past. In her place stood someone steady. Tired, yes—but resolute. Clear.
She spoke, her voice low but unshakably clear:
"…Actually, in my previous life, my name was Alia."
The words fell like a stone into still water. For a moment, everything stopped.
She paused, her eyes briefly meeting his—no shame, no flinching, just quiet resolve. She continued:
"I knew Jim in that life. He was my teacher—my master, in a way. That's why I know everything about him—his methods, his ambitions, the cruelty behind his strategies. I once tried to escape him. But I knew him too well. I knew… he'd never let me go."
She took a breath, like dragging something buried deep within her lungs into the open air.
"He taught me everything I know. How to move in darkness. How to hide. How to fight. How to survive. He was never kind. But everything he taught me… it kept me alive."
Her voice softened. "I don't like him. I don't miss him. But I owe him my life. And I owe it to myself to face him one last time."
Her head lifted again, eyes shining not with tears, but with clarity.
"When I was brought back in this life, I began training immediately. Every single day. Because I refused to let the same fate catch up to me again. Not as Livia. Not as Alia. I refuse to become a tragedy a second time."
As she said this, her voice trembled—not from fear, but from the weight being lifted. From finally telling the truth.
"So those reactions you saw—those skills—they're not Livia's. They're mine. Alia's. Learned the hard way, for one reason: to survive."
She looked straight at Marcellus. He was still reeling, still drowning in shock and something deeper—something he hadn't dared to name.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. But every word struck like iron:
"I'm not Livia… I never was."