In a private lounge overlooking the skyline of Silverpalace, a man lounged in his seat, lazily flipping through the morning edition of the Silverpalace Gazette. The headlines were the usual—petty crimes, noble gossip, market fluctuations—until one caught his eye.
"Thieves Foiled in the Dead of Night — Unknown Lady Turns the Tables at the Infamous Mountain Manor!"
His hand stilled.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"So she bought that infamous manor?" he murmured.
He leaned back, letting the newspaper rest on his chest as a flicker of amusement danced in his crimson eyes.
"That place is practically a death trap for anyone stupid enough to move in… but not her. Of course not."
He didn't need a name in the article. He already knew.
"Seraphina Vaelcrest… You're full of surprises."
There was a glint of admiration in his gaze now—tinged with curiosity.
Zephriel, the man once deemed a villain by the empire, chuckled softly to himself as he looked toward the window.
"I like her even more."
Without knowing that Zephriel's eyes were already fixed on her, Seraphina continued her quiet life atop the mountain in the infamous manor that now bent to her will. The days were calm, her routines steady—maintaining the magical barrier, training, reading, and restoring the manor to a livable state. It was peaceful. Or as peaceful as a cursed manor could be.
But peace never lasted long.
One morning, a royal courier arrived on horseback, bearing the unmistakable seal of the imperial family.
She stood by the gate, elegant and poised, her expression unreadable as the courier handed over the letter. Only when the rider disappeared past the horizon did her fingers curl tightly around the envelope.
Her violet eyes scanned the crest. Her stomach turned.
She looked at the letter in disgust, but quickly hid her expression—there could be eyes watching. Always.
She turned on her heel and entered the manor with calm grace, only letting her mask fall once she closed the heavy door behind her.
Seraphina (muttering):
"What do they want from me now?"
She didn't open it immediately. She stared at it for a moment on the table, her jaw tight. The same people who once condemned her now dared to send her a letter?
The flames of her past flickered behind her eyes.
She had already left that life behind. She had no interest in playing their games.
But still… ignoring a royal summons came with its own consequences.
She sighed, pulling the letter closer and slicing it open with the edge of a silver letter opener.
"Let's see what trap they've laid this time."
was stated in the royal letter that a grand ball would be held soon — a celebration for the Crown Prince's new engagement to none other than Lady Liliana.
Seraphina scoffed, her expression souring.
Seraphina: "Are they asking for trouble?"
Her voice was laced with quiet fury as she tossed the letter onto the nearby table.
Seraphina (muttering): "How dare they invite me after casting me aside... I'm not even a noble anymore. Do they wish to see me humiliated before the very people who gossiped behind my back?"
As if fate were mocking her, a knock echoed through the hall. Another letter had arrived.
She groaned, massaging her temples. The headache was already forming — now this?
She unsealed the envelope with a sigh... then immediately regretted it.
Seraphina: "Oh, perfect. Of course it's from him."
She facepalmed, recognizing the bold signature at the bottom.
Zephriel.
This was the first time Zephriel had ever shown the slightest interest in her.
In all five of her past lives, he hadn't even spared her a glance. He was always a shadow lurking in the distance — cold, calculating, and dangerous. Their paths barely crossed, and when they did, it never ended well.
Seraphina (thinking): Why now? What does he want from me?
Her mind retraced recent events. The power she used... Could it be that? But no — that power freezes time itself. No one caught within it should even remember anything, let alone sense it.
Which means... he shouldn't know it exists.
She let out a frustrated sigh and unfolded the second letter, already dreading what she might find.
—
Dear Seraphina,
You've likely received a letter regarding the upcoming royal banquet — a celebration of the Crown Prince's new engagement to Lady Liliana.
I imagine you're considering not attending. But you know as well as I do: declining a royal invitation has its price.
And should you attend, you also know what awaits you — the sneers, the whispers, the humiliation they so desperately crave to see.
So... how about this?
Attend the banquet as my partner.
—Sincerely,
Zephriel
Her fingers clenched, crumpling the letter on instinct.
Seraphina: "Sincerely, my ass."
She hurled it to the fireplace, watching it bounce off the stone instead of landing in the flames.
Seraphina: "That scheming fox!"
After hours of pacing, groaning, and tossing pillows across the room, Seraphina finally sat at her desk, dipped her quill into ink, and began to write.
Her brows furrowed slightly, her mouth curling into a cold sneer.
Seraphina (thinking): I've got no one left by my side. No allies. No name. No shield.
So why not take the devil's hand?
My reputation's already in ruins. What's one more scandal? At least this one will be on my terms.
—
To Lord Zephriel,
Your audacity truly knows no bounds.
I did, in fact, receive both letters — and yes, I considered burning them both.
But after much thought (and a headache), I've come to a decision.
You're right. Declining a royal invitation is foolish.
And attending alone would be even more so.
So, as ridiculous as it sounds — I accept your offer.
I'll attend the banquet as your partner.
But let me make one thing clear:
Don't expect me to smile sweetly and bat my lashes like some simpering debutante.
If you intend to use me, be prepared to be used in return.
Sincerely,
Seraphina Vaelcrest
(the disgraced one, in case you forgot)
She folded the letter neatly, sealed it with a press of her signet — faded though it was — and handed it to a courier.
As the door shut behind him, she leaned against the frame, smirking to herself.
Seraphina: "Let the court have its drama. I'll give them a show they'll never forget."
Two weeks. More than enough time to prepare.
At least, that's what Seraphina told herself as she stood before the door of a dilapidated little dressmaker's shop tucked into one of the quieter corners of the capital. Faded signage. Cracked glass. A lonely bell above the door that jingled with an almost apologetic sound when she stepped inside.
Dust danced in the shafts of sunlight seeping through torn curtains. The place looked as though it hadn't seen a proper customer in months — or perhaps years.
There was only one person inside.
A young woman hunched over a sewing machine in the far corner, her back turned. Her dark hair was unkempt and hastily tied up, her dress threadbare and smudged with fabric dye. Her eyes — when she looked up — were ringed with exhaustion. Dark shadows sunk beneath them, giving her a haunted appearance. But her hands never stopped moving.
Seraphina approached the counter, brushing aside a pile of unused thread spools with the back of her glove.
Seraphina:
"Does this shop accept requests?"
There was a pause. The girl blinked, as if unsure if the question was real.
Then she gave a small nod. "If you can pay," she muttered, voice hoarse from disuse.
Seraphina raised an eyebrow, gaze sweeping over the shop once more.
Seraphina (thinking):
She looks like she hasn't eaten in days. But there's determination in her fingers... they haven't stopped once.
She's not broken. Just forgotten.
Seraphina studied the girl a little longer. Her face was gaunt, but not unpleasant. She had the kind of look that would bloom if someone just gave her a little sunlight.
Seraphina:
"What's your name?"
The girl blinked again, caught off guard. She hesitated before answering softly.
???:
"…Elira. Elira Vance."
Seraphina nodded. "Okay, Elira. I have a design I want you to make."
She pulled out a folded piece of parchment from her satchel — modern and clean. She placed it gently on the table, then unfolded it with care. It revealed a sleek and elegant gown: a dramatic off-shoulder silhouette with a corset-style bodice, an asymmetrical layered skirt with cascading sheer overlays, intricate lace embroidery around the neckline, and a hidden slit for easier movement. The color scheme was a gradient of midnight purple fading into smoky silver, complete with a pair of elbow-length gloves and delicate black heels.
Something that would look right at home on a red carpet in her past life — bold, defiant, unforgettable.
Elira stared.
Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened, then closed again. She stepped forward as if in a trance and lightly ran her fingers over the sketch, as if confirming it was real.
Elira:
"I… I've never seen anything like this. The shape, the flow, the contrast in the fabrics — it's so unconventional, yet elegant."
She looked up at Seraphina, almost in disbelief.
Elira (softly):
"How… How did you come up with this?"
Seraphina gave a small, knowing smirk, her gaze distant for a moment.
Seraphina:
"Let's just say… I've seen things from a different world."
Seraphina:
"I want it in two weeks. Is that possible?"
Elira's face fell. She shook her head slowly, brushing her tangled bangs behind her ear.
Elira:
"It's not possible. I… I don't have enough equipment to make another dress right now. I barely have enough thread for patching clothes."
Seraphina:
"Is money all you need?"
Without another word, Seraphina reached into her satchel and placed a small, heavy pouch onto the counter. The soft clink of coins echoed in the quiet shop as the bag settled.
Seraphina:
"Here. For the dress."
Elira's eyes widened at the sight. She quickly peeked inside — and immediately shook her head, stepping back in alarm.
Elira:
"I—I can't accept this! This is too much… even just for thread!"
Seraphina:
"Then take how much you need to make the dress. I do not mind."
Elira hesitated, her lips trembling slightly before she carefully reached into the pouch and took only five gold coins.
Seraphina raised a brow.
Seraphina:
"That little?"
Elira blinked, almost confused by the question.
Elira:
"Ma'am… dresses usually cost fifty silver coins. Five gold is already far too expensive for one. I only charged that much because your design requires special thread from overseas."
Seraphina tilted her head slightly, an amused smirk on her lips.
Seraphina:
"Fifty silver coins?"
"You do know that the capital's dressmakers charge nearly sixty gold coins for a single custom dress?"
Elira's mouth parted in pure disbelief.
Elira:
"What?!"
Seraphina:
"I wasn't joking."
There was silence. Elira looked down at the coins in her palm, then back at Seraphina with something between awe and quiet resolve.
Elira:
"But… I won't charge people more than the dress is actually worth. That's just not right."
Seraphina paused.
Her sharp eyes softened as she looked at the frail girl with messy hair and dirt-stained gloves. Yet behind that worn exterior was a rare kind of honesty — unpolished, but brilliant.
"This girl…"
"She's kind… and she won't cheat people, even when she could. Even when she clearly needs it."
For the first time in a while, Seraphina's cold heart warmed just a little.
After a pause, she asked, "Would you like to work with me in the future?"
Elira immediately shook her head. "I… I can't. I'm already in trouble. I borrowed money to open this shop. I still have debts."
Seraphina smiled. "How much did you borrow?"
Elira hesitated again. "…A hundred gold coins."
Seraphina reached into her satchel and took out another pouch. She placed it in front of Elira.
"Then take this. And if you still don't want to work under me afterward, you're free to decline."
Elira's hands trembled as she stared at the gold. Her eyes glistened.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why are you helping me so much?"
Seraphina's voice was quiet but firm.
"Because I see someone with talent who deserves a better chance. That's all."
Two weeks later...
The soft chime of the bell echoed as Seraphina stepped into the dress shop once more. The space still bore the humble, cluttered charm of a struggling boutique, but this time, it felt warmer—brighter. On the dress stand near the window, the final product was displayed: a breathtaking gown, like nothing this world had ever seen.
A sleek, modern silhouette hugged the waist, cascading into layers of soft lavender and pearl-white silk. Fine embroidery shaped like blooming sakura and trailing ivy adorned the bodice and hem, whispering elegance and quiet power. The sleeves were translucent, fluttering like gossamer wings, and a delicate sash draped behind her like a comet's tail.
Elira stood beside it, beaming with pride, though her eyes shimmered with disbelief.
Elira: "It's done... I can hardly believe it. Your design—it came alive."
Seraphina smiled, running her fingers over the edge of the fabric.
Seraphina: "You've done an exceptional job, Elira. You're very talented."
Elira flushed lightly, brushing back her hair.
Elira: "You're too kind, my lady. I simply followed your vision."
Seraphina turned to her with a small, sly smile, eyes gleaming with purpose.
Seraphina: "So... have you thought about it? My offer still stands. If you work with me, I'll give you more designs in the future—exclusive ones."
There was a pause. Elira looked down at her hands, fidgeting slightly—then up again, her expression calm but resolute.
Elira: "I have been thinking about it... and I accept, my lady."
Seraphina extended her hand with a refined grace. Elira took it without hesitation, sealing their partnership.
Seraphina: "Glad to be doing business with you, Elira."
As they shook hands, a silent understanding passed between them—two women, once worlds apart, now aligned by ambition, kindness, and perhaps fate.
And somewhere far away, a certain villain named Zephriel was preparing for a banquet, unaware that his proposal had set into motion something far greater than a mere alliance.
Night fell, blanketing the city in stars.
Her manor stood quiet, save for the rhythmic click of heeled boots approaching the front steps.
Zephriel had arrived.
He wore a midnight-black coat lined with deep crimson, his shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar in defiance of courtly fashion, and a single dark rose tucked into his lapel. His aura—cold, powerful, unreadable—sent the servants retreating to the shadows. But as Seraphina emerged from the mansion, his usual indifference faltered.
She was radiant.
The gown shimmered under the moonlight, its pearlescent tones shifting subtly with each step. Her hair was elegantly pinned with silver combs, a few soft waves framing her face. Her expression was calm, composed... untouchable.
Zephriel, with a raised brow:
"You certainly know how to make an entrance, Seraphina."
Seraphina, stepping into the moonlight with a soft smirk:
"I'd say the same to you, but then again, your reputation does most of the work for you."
He chuckled—low and amused—as he extended his arm.
Zephriel:
"Shall we make tonight a little more... interesting?"
Seraphina, accepting his arm with elegant poise:
"Let's."
At the Grand Banquet Hall…
The moment they stepped inside, all chatter ceased.
Heads turned. Fans paused mid-flutter. Goblets hovered mid-air.
There he was—the infamous Zephriel D'Aragon, the villain whispered about in every noble court. And at his side, walking confidently in heels that didn't falter once on the marble floor… was her.
People couldn't decide what to focus on.
Her poised demeanor? Her serene beauty? Or that dress—a design unlike any noble lady had ever dared to wear. The silhouette was bold, modern, even slightly otherworldly. The layered silk shimmered like stardust, and the embroidery—flowers blooming like they were alive—seemed to whisper secrets as she moved.
A hush fell over the hall like a spell.
Whispers floated through the crowd:
"Who designed that gown…?"
"She's with him? Why?"
"That style... it's not from here, is it?"
Even the duchess known for her biting critiques leaned over to her husband.
Duchess (quietly):
"…I want the name of her dressmaker. Immediately."
Zephriel leaned down slightly toward Seraphina, lips curved in a knowing smirk.
Zephriel:
"Look at them. They're more afraid of you than me tonight."
Seraphina, eyes ahead, unbothered:
"As they should be."
They walked further in, hand-in-arm, the crowd parting as if compelled by gravity itself. The villain and the lady who tamed him. Or so they thought.
In a lavish corner of the ballroom, hidden behind silk curtains and surrounded by her hand-picked entourage, Lady Liliana seethed.
The banquet was meant to be hers—a celebration of her engagement to the Crown Prince, an announcement to dazzle society and secure her place as the next empress. And yet…
All eyes were on Seraphina Vaelcrest.
Not her grand decor.
Not her imported string quartet.
Not her glittering sapphire necklace from the Royal Vault.
No, it was Seraphina's dress—Seraphina's companion—Seraphina's presence that dominated every whisper.
Liliana, clutching her champagne glass too tightly:
"Why is she always the center of attention?! She was discarded, a fallen noble—she has no place here!"
A sharp crack rang out as her glass splintered in her hand, a droplet of blood trickling down her glove. One of her ladies-in-waiting gasped.
Before any could fuss, the Crown Prince Caelum Aurelian stepped in smoothly, taking her hand with a rehearsed tenderness.
Caelum, voice low, eyes fixed on Seraphina across the room:
"Let them talk. It won't matter soon."
Liliana, biting her lip:
"…You're sure?"
Caelum:
"Absolutely. She's just a commoner now. Her little stunt will backfire before the night ends. I've made sure of it."
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
They both turned their gazes toward the pair gliding effortlessly across the marble—Zephriel, the infamous villain, and Seraphina, the woman who had once rejected her fate, and now walked like she owned the ballroom.
Liliana's nails dug into her fan, rage simmering beneath every elegant gesture.
Liliana (through gritted teeth):
"She'll regret ever stepping foot in this hall."
As Seraphina and Zephriel made their way through the crowd, whispers trailed behind them like a second shadow. All eyes were drawn to the radiant woman in the uniquely crafted dress and the man feared by nobles and politicians alike.
They stopped before the emperor's dais, where the aging ruler sat with a regal air that commanded silence.
Zephriel bowed deeply.
Zephriel: "Your Majesty."
Seraphina followed suit, curtsying with graceful ease.
Seraphina: "It is an honor to be invited to your esteemed banquet."
The emperor's gaze rested on her for a moment, curious yet warm.
Emperor: "So you are the infamous young woman who walked away from the royal engagement with her head held high."
His tone wasn't mocking. If anything, it was amused.
Seraphina met his gaze calmly.
Seraphina: "I only followed what my heart believed was right, Your Majesty."
The emperor chuckled.
Emperor: "Rare to see honesty in a court so full of masks. You're welcome here, Lady Seraphina. Make yourself at home."
Just then, Crown Prince Caelum stepped forward with Lady Liliana on his arm, a smile too polished to be sincere.
Caelum: "Your Majesty, I simply thought it strange that a woman of common birth—who willingly gave up her title—should be allowed to stand among nobility tonight."
Liliana added with a sweet, venom-laced voice:
Liliana: "It's certainly bold to arrive in such... peculiar company. And that dress—how quaint."
Murmurs began to ripple through the crowd, nobles leaning in, waiting for drama.
The emperor's smile vanished.
Emperor: "I invited her."
A hush fell across the hall.
Emperor: "Are you questioning my judgment, Caelum? Disappointed me once, and now you challenge my right to extend a personal invitation to my own guest?"
Caelum paled.
Caelum: "N-no, Your Majesty, I only meant—"
Emperor: "Enough."
He turned his gaze to Seraphina, then glanced meaningfully at her dress.
Emperor: "That gown... I dare say it's finer than anything I've seen from the capital's seamstresses this year."
Zephriel smiled faintly, eyes glinting with amusement as he leaned closer to Seraphina.
Zephriel (lowly): "Seems the wolves just got a taste of their own trap."
Liliana's face twisted, but she curtsied quickly, masking her rage behind forced politeness.
Liliana: "Forgive us, Your Majesty. We spoke out of turn."
The emperor waved them off with visible disappointment, before raising his goblet.
Emperor: "To bravery. In heart, in speech... and in fashion, it seems."
Glasses clinked around the hall—many unwillingly—while Seraphina and Zephriel exchanged a glance. Victory was subtle, but it was hers tonight.
The grand banquet had ended, but its echoes lingered—murmurs of scandal, admiration, and shock hanging thick in the summer night air. As nobles spilled from the palace, the clatter of carriages and the fading music followed them like ghosts of the evening.
Seraphina stepped down the palace steps gracefully, her violet eyes gleaming beneath the soft glow of the moonlight. Just ahead, Lady Liliana stormed toward her carriage, her jaw clenched, barely keeping up appearances.
Zephriel waited by their own carriage, leaning casually against it as if the entire ballroom hadn't been watching their every move. When he saw Seraphina approach, he opened the door and extended his hand with exaggerated courtesy.
Zephriel: "My lady."
Seraphina gave a sly smile and accepted his hand, stepping up into the carriage.
Seraphina: "Thank you, Your grace, Duke Zephriel."
Zephriel raised a brow as he followed her in, the door closing behind them with a soft click.
Zephriel: "So formal all of a sudden? I was beginning to enjoy your usual sharp tongue."
She adjusted her gloves and glanced out the window, where Lady Liliana was still fuming while her footman struggled with the door.
Seraphina: "Well… I got to witness something very satisfying tonight."
Zephriel chuckled, eyes gleaming in amusement.
Zephriel: "Watching Liliana and the Crown Prince trip over their own arrogance?"
Seraphina turned to him, smiling faintly.
Seraphina: "More like watching justice wear silk and a smirk. You should try it sometime."
Zephriel laughed louder this time, the sound rich and unbothered.
Zephriel: "Remind me never to cross you."
Seraphina: "You'd never make that mistake."
The carriage pulled away from the palace, rolling into the night as the grand halls behind them faded into silence—leaving behind the fractured pride of royalty and the quiet rise of a woman once cast aside.
The real game had begun—and Seraphina was no longer playing by their rules.
The rhythmic creak of the carriage wheels and the gentle sway of the interior lulled the ride into a false sense of peace. Outside, the moon glowed cold and bright, casting silver light over the dense trees lining the forest road.
Suddenly, the carriage jolted to a halt.
Coachman: "We're blocked—!"
The snap of reins and the panicked whinny of horses followed. From outside, gruff voices barked orders, blades were drawn, and shadows began to surround them.
Knight (outside): "Stay inside, Lady Seraphina!"
Zephriel stood and opened the door calmly, stepping out as if he'd merely arrived at a dinner party. Sword in hand, the moonlight caught its edge—gleaming, noble, and razor sharp.
Zephriel: "Just wait here, my lady."
Seraphina, peering out the door, narrowed her eyes at the figures emerging from the darkness.
Seraphina: "I can help, you know."
Zephriel gave her a brief, knowing glance, smirking.
Zephriel: "But you wouldn't want that beautiful dress of yours drenched in red blood, would you?"
She returned his smirk with a soft smile.
Seraphina: "Then I'll take your offer, Your Grace."
With that, she stayed seated—watching.
Outside, the scene turned violent quickly.
Six bandits emerged from the treeline, weapons drawn, confidence in their numbers. But they hadn't expected the Duke of Elarion to be part of the escort.
Zephriel stepped forward, sword raised in one hand, coat billowing behind him. The knight at his side—Sir Harwin—took position with military precision.
Bandit Leader: "Hand over the woman! You can walk away alive."
Zephriel: "You've made two grave mistakes tonight. One—thinking you can touch her. Two—thinking I'd let you live for trying."
Without another word, he struck.
Steel flashed.
One bandit lunged, only to fall instantly, his throat opened in a single arc. The knight engaged two more, blades clashing violently. Zephriel danced between enemies, his movements sharp and elegant—each strike precise, calculated, lethal.
Another tried to strike from behind—Zephriel spun, driving his sword cleanly into the attacker's chest before pulling it free in one fluid motion.
Three more bandits fell within seconds. The last one, shaking, tried to run—but Sir Harwin disarmed him with a blow to the leg, forcing him to the ground with a cry of pain.
Blood soaked into the forest floor. The sounds of fighting faded.
Zephriel wiped his blade clean and turned back toward the carriage.
Zephriel: "It's over."
Seraphina stepped out gracefully, her expression calm despite the carnage.
She glanced at the trembling survivor.
Seraphina: "You left one alive."
Zephriel (smirking): "Of course. Wouldn't be fun if we didn't ask who sent them."
She looked at the blood-stained road, then at the bandit who now cowered before them.
Seraphina (coldly): "Let's see if he values his tongue more than his pride."
Elsewhere — Deep within the Capital
In the dimly lit chamber of a lavish yet secluded estate, a single candle flickered on a marble table. The scent of rare incense clung to the air—sweet, almost cloying—masking something fouler beneath.
A figure stood by the tall window, silhouetted by the moonlight that filtered through gauzy curtains. The sound of soft footsteps approached—rushed, uneven, anxious.
The door opened.
A man in dark travel-stained clothes entered, bruised and breathless. He knelt.
Messenger: "They failed. All of them—slaughtered. Only one survived... but he's been captured."
Silence followed. The figure by the window didn't turn.
Messenger (quivering): "The Duke was there. Zephriel of corven. He personally—"
A soft, lilting laugh cut through the tension. Neither amused nor enraged—it was something in between. Cold. Patient. Calculating.
???: "I see… So, the Ghost of the East still knows how to draw blood."
The messenger didn't dare raise his head.
???: "No matter. Let him play the hero. Let them think they've won."
A pause.
Then the figure finally turned. Their face was hidden beneath a half-mask of silver, etched with arcane runes that shimmered faintly in the dark. Their voice dropped into a whisper—deadly and low.
A pause.
Then the figure finally turned. Their face was hidden beneath a half-mask of silver, etched with arcane runes that shimmered faintly in the dark. Their voice dropped into a whisper—deadly and low.
???: "He protected her tonight. But what will he do… when the threat comes from within the manor?"
They reached into their robe and pulled out a blood-red envelope sealed with wax—an insignia no longer used in polite society. It was pressed into the messenger's trembling hands.
???: "Deliver this. And make sure the maid opens it... before midnight."
The candle flickered violently.
Outside the estate, the wolves howled.
– To Be Continued –