The grand dining hall of the Luxenberg estate was nothing short of a palace. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting soft, golden light on the marble floor. Everything sparkled silver cutlery, porcelain dishes, even the polished surface of the long mahogany table. And yet, as I sat there at one end of the table, I couldn't help but feel like a prisoner rather than a guest of honor.
He entered without a word.
Sebastian Alexander Vale.
My supposed fiancé.
His presence was like ice piercing through velvet refined, elegant, and chilling to the core. He didn't glance at me as he walked towards the seat opposite mine. Instead, he handed his coat to the butler, adjusted his cufflinks with meticulous precision, and sat down gracefully, like he owned the air around us.
Of course, he did.
He was a billionaire, a future CEO, a man bred from generations of power and ambition. And I was... well, reincarnated.
I stared at him, trying to reconcile the face I'd seen in magazines, on social media, and now, in the flesh. Tall, lean, dressed in a tailored navy suit with a silver tie pin, he looked more like a prince carved from ice than a man made of flesh and blood.
"You're late," he said, finally acknowledging me.
His voice was smooth, deep, yet completely devoid of warmth.
I flinched, more from the coldness than the accusation. "I'm sorry. I didn't know there was a specific time."
He looked at me, finally, and in that moment, I felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs.
His eyes sharp, calculating, gray like a winter storm stared into mine. No kindness. No curiosity. Just... evaluation. As if he were trying to decide if I was worth the trouble.
"You should know. We've been engaged for a year."
Right. That's what the newspapers said. That the heiress of the Rothwell family, Celestia Rothwell, was engaged to the reclusive heir of the Vale empire.
The problem was, I wasn't the original Celestia. I had died. And now I lived in her body.
I clenched my fists under the table. I couldn't afford to panic. Not here. Not in front of him.
"I guess I've had a lot on my mind lately," I replied, trying to sound casual.
He didn't respond. Instead, he poured himself a glass of wine and began eating in silence. I followed suit, trying not to let my fork clatter against the plate from my shaking hands.
For a while, only the sound of silverware and the ticking of the antique clock filled the room.
He broke the silence. "You look different."
I froze. My heart skipped a beat.
"Different?"
He studied me again, tilting his head slightly. "You used to wear bright lipstick. Gold jewelry. Now you dress like a nun."
I glanced down at my ivory blouse and long skirt. They were modest. Practical. And nothing like the old Celestia, who favored bodycon dresses and designer heels.
"I just... had a change of heart."
He sipped his wine. "I see. A personality transplant, perhaps?"
I almost choked on my food.
He smirked. It was slight barely there but enough to send a wave of irritation through me.
"You're not exactly charming, are you?" I muttered under my breath.
"I don't believe in wasting charm on someone I don't trust," he replied coolly.
Ouch.
My pride stung, but I bit my tongue. If I snapped now, I'd only confirm whatever low opinion he already had of Celestia or me.
"I see the feeling is mutual," I said instead.
"Good," he said simply. "Then we understand each other."
God, he was infuriating.
But he was also painfully handsome. And I hated that my new body reacted to him. My cheeks warmed. I looked away, pretending to study the art on the walls.
After dinner, he stood abruptly. "Follow me."
"Where?"
"We need to talk in private."
I hesitated. "Why? Are you going to interrogate me again?"
He didn't answer. He just walked out.
I cursed under my breath and followed.
He led me to a study massive, dimly lit, with towering bookshelves and a fireplace crackling softly in the corner. The moment the door closed behind us, he turned to face me.
"I don't like games, Celestia," he said.
I raised a brow. "Then stop playing one."
His jaw clenched. For a moment, his expression cracked something flashed in his eyes. Was it anger? Frustration?
"Where have you been the past month?" he asked.
So that's what this was about.
The original Celestia had disappeared for nearly thirty days before I woke up in this body. No one knew where she went. Not even him.
"I told you. I was... dealing with something personal."
"Don't insult my intelligence. You vanished. No phone calls. No texts. Then you reappear and act like a completely different person."
I swallowed. "Maybe I wanted to change."
"People don't change overnight."
"No. But they can wake up and realize they've been living the wrong life."
He stepped closer. Too close.
My breath hitched.
"You think I'm going to marry a stranger?" he said lowly. "Someone who looks like Celestia Rothwell but doesn't act like her?"
I lifted my chin. "Maybe that would be better for you."
He narrowed his eyes. "Explain."
"The old Celestia didn't seem to care about this engagement. She was always in the tabloids, always causing drama. Maybe you'll prefer the new one."
His eyes scanned my face. "That depends."
"On what?"
"Whether this version is any more useful than the last."
God. He really didn't hold back.
I crossed my arms. "So I'm just a pawn to you?"
He didn't deny it. "This marriage was never about love, Celestia. Don't pretend otherwise."
"Then what was it about?"
He looked away, toward the window, where the moonlight spilled across the floor. "Mergers. Power. Protection. And legacy."
Typical.
"And what about me? What do I get out of this arrangement?"
He turned back to me. "The life of a queen."
"Trapped in a golden cage?"
He didn't answer.
We stared at each other for a long moment. Silence stretched between us like a blade.
And then, something strange happened.
He stepped back.
His voice softened just a little. "You don't have to like me. But you do have to understand that this engagement affects more than just us."
I frowned. "Like what?"
"Our families. The board. The investors. We're not just people, Celestia. We're brands."
I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch him. But instead, I laughed.
It wasn't funny, not really. It was desperate and bitter and filled with everything I couldn't say.
"Then maybe I should start acting like a brand," I said through gritted teeth. "Smile for the cameras. Wear designer clothes. Pretend to adore you."
He stepped closer again. His eyes locked on mine.
"Pretend long enough," he whispered, "and it might become real."
Was that... a challenge?
Before I could
reply, he turned and walked away.
Leaving me alone in the room, heart pounding, mind spinning.
This was going to be a battle of wills.
And I had no intention of losing.