The morning sun filtered through pale pink curtains, warm and soft against Elena's skin.
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her trembling hands. They were smaller, smoother—hands untouched by the bruises of betrayal or the icy grip of death.
Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't an illusion.
She was truly back.
Elena stood, every step unsteady as though she walked on glass. The floor creaked beneath her, the old wooden boards of her childhood room. She crossed to the vanity, staring into the mirror once again.
A younger face stared back.
Not the broken bride. Not the woman mocked on her wedding night. But a girl three years before it all.
Her pulse quickened. She needed proof. Something concrete.
She turned to the desk, snatching the calendar pinned above it. The date hit her like a bolt of lightning.
Three years earlier. Exactly before her engagement had been finalized.
Her heart raced. The betrayal was still years away. Adrian didn't belong to her yet. Bianca hadn't stolen him yet.
She still had time.
Her lips curved into a bitter smile.
Fate has given me three years to prepare.
Her gaze drifted toward the wardrobe. She pulled it open, and sure enough, the dresses inside were the modest ones she had worn in her university days. Not the luxury gowns Adrian's name had bought her.
A knock at the door made her freeze.
"Elena!" A shrill, familiar voice. Bianca. "Are you awake? Don't tell me you're still in bed—it's unbecoming for a lady of the Cruz family."
Elena's nails dug into the wood of her vanity.
That voice—sweet as honey, sharp as venom. She remembered it too well. On the night she had died, Bianca had laughed as Adrian whispered her betrayal. Bianca had been there, standing beside him, smiling in triumph as Elena's world collapsed.
And now here she was, outside Elena's room, still pretending to be the perfect sister.
The door creaked open before Elena could answer, and Bianca stepped inside uninvited.
Her stepsister's beauty was undeniable—long dark hair, a delicate figure, lips curved into the practiced smile of an angel. But Elena saw past it now. She saw the serpent beneath.
"Still sleeping?" Bianca's voice dripped with false concern. "You'll never attract Adrian Vale that way. Men like him want women who are graceful, punctual… perfect. Not lazy little girls."
Adrian.
Even before Elena had been engaged to him, Bianca had already set her sights on him. The thought curdled Elena's stomach.
But instead of shrinking back as she would have before, Elena straightened her spine.
Her eyes met Bianca's in the mirror. And for the first time, Bianca faltered.
There was no meekness in Elena's gaze now. No innocence. Only a cold, knowing sharpness that hadn't been there before.
"Don't worry about me," Elena said softly, her voice steady. "I'll take care of Adrian Vale in my own way."
Bianca blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, her perfect smile wavered. Then she recovered, tilting her head with a laugh. "You? Don't be ridiculous. Adrian doesn't even notice you. He's—"
Elena turned, cutting her off with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Don't underestimate me, Bianca. You might regret it."
Something flickered in Bianca's expression—annoyance, confusion—but she quickly masked it. "Hmph. We'll see." With a toss of her hair, she swept from the room, her perfume lingering in the air.
When the door clicked shut, Elena let out a slow breath.
Her fists clenched.
Bianca. Adrian. Stepmother. Father.
This time, I will not be your pawn.
She walked to the window, staring at the city skyline in the distance. Her reflection glimmered faintly on the glass—young, unbroken, alive.
Her second chance had begun.
And her first move… would be to protect herself before anyone else could use her again.