The chandelier above the dining hall burned with a hundred golden lights, each flame reflecting off polished silverware and crystal glasses. The table stretched long enough to seat twenty, though only eight chairs were filled—enough to make the room feel both crowded and cold.
Liana sat at the far end, where the candlelight dimmed and the servants' shadows lingered. Exactly where Marisela wanted her.
"Sit straight," Marisela hissed under her breath as she passed behind her, the scent of roses trailing after her like poison. "And do try not to say anything unnecessary."
Liana's lips curved faintly. "Of course, Stepmother."
The words were soft, obedient—and hollow.
At the head of the table, Damian Vale greeted their guests with the warmth of a man performing for a crowd rather than hosting a dinner. His voice carried over the clinking of cutlery, polished and political. Beside him sat Marisela, her gown gleaming emerald, her laughter loud enough to fill the silence between conversations.
Then came the Fords.
Cassian entered last, tall, composed, his dark hair neatly combed and his posture effortless in that way only privilege could teach. He smiled politely as Damian welcomed him, but his eyes swept the room like he was already calculating what it was worth.
They landed on Liana.
For the smallest second, surprise flickered in his expression—then smoothed into mild indifference.
"Miss Vale," he said, voice silk wrapped around arrogance. "It's been some time."
"In this life," she almost said. Instead, she inclined her head. "It has, Lord Ford."
Her tone was calm, unshaken. His brow lifted slightly, as if something about her composure didn't fit the memory he had of the trembling girl he once knew.
Seraphine's laugh broke the moment. "Liana, don't be rude. Lord Ford doesn't remember small things easily."
Cassian's lips twitched. "Ah, I remember some things."
The table laughed. Liana didn't.
Instead, she studied him through the flicker of candlelight. His charm was practiced—every word, every smile, tailored to impress. He had been trained for this world of fine dinners and false sincerity. Once, she'd mistaken that polish for kindness.
Now, she saw the cracks beneath the gold.
As the meal began, she said nothing. She didn't need to.
She listened.
Every word exchanged between Damian and Lord Ford was a piece of information—about land contracts, trade routes, and future investments. It wasn't idle talk. It was a negotiation wrapped in courtesy.
And then—one name made her hand pause mid-air.
The Ashmoor Estate.
Her eyes narrowed. In her first life, that was the property Marisela had "gifted" to the Fords—a bribe disguised as a wedding dowry. That deal had sealed Liana's engagement to Cassian and her own downfall.
She exhaled quietly through her nose. So it begins the same way.
"Liana," Marisela's voice sliced through her thoughts. "You're awfully quiet. Don't you have anything to add about the Fords' generosity?"
The trap was obvious. Speak, and she'd be mocked for being bold. Stay silent, and she'd be called dull.
Liana smiled politely. "Only that generosity is such a rare virtue in this house."
The air tightened.
Marisela's fork clattered softly against her plate. "Watch your tone."
Damian frowned, but said nothing.
Cassian's eyes, however, had sharpened with a flicker of interest.
He was studying her now.
Good, she thought. Let him look closer. Let him wonder when the quiet girl learned to speak without fear.
"Forgive me," Liana said smoothly. "Perhaps the wine has made me careless."
"You don't drink," Seraphine snapped.
Liana tilted her head. "Then perhaps the air here has."
Seraphine's lips parted in disbelief, but before she could retort, Damian raised a hand. "Enough chatter. We're here for business, not bickering."
The room settled back into its rhythm of silver and silk. But the current had changed.
Cassian didn't look away again.
He watched her between sips of wine, his gaze thoughtful, measuring. It made Liana's skin crawl—not from fear, but from the memory of a noose and the audience that had once cheered her end.
When the last course was served, Marisela rose gracefully. "Lord Ford, would you and Cassian care to join me in the study? We can finalize the terms while the young ones enjoy dessert."
Cassian stood. "Of course."
His sleeve brushed Liana's shoulder as he passed. The contact was fleeting—but the words he murmured low enough for only her to hear were not.
"You've changed," he said. "Almost like someone else entirely."
Liana met his eyes, her voice soft but edged with steel. "Maybe you never bothered to see who I was to begin with."
Cassian paused, his expression unreadable, before following Marisela out of the room.
As the doors closed behind them, Seraphine leaned across the table, her perfect smile trembling. "What exactly are you trying to prove, sister?"
Liana reached for her spoon, stirring the untouched custard in front of her. The reflection of the chandelier danced across her eyes, sharp as glass.
"Nothing," she said. "You'll know when I do."