The air was thick. Damp. Cold. The scent of mildew and iron clung to her skin like chains.
A voice whispered in her ear—calm, measured, cruel.
"You're stronger than I thought, Countess. Let's see how long you last this time. Get the branding iron!"
Bettina gasped and jerked awake, limbs flailing as if still restrained. Her hand reached for something—anything—to anchor her to reality. Her chest rose and fell in ragged gasps as her eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight of the bedchamber.
Not dungeon walls.
Not blood.
No chains.
Just linen sheets. Silk curtains. And…warmth.
A weight shifted beside her.
Jason.
He whimpered, his little hands fisting the blanket, his face twisted in distress. Stuck in his own nightmares.
"No…no—don't hurt her," he mumbled, his small voice trembling.
Before she could reach him, Anthony stirred on her other side. In one smooth motion, he sat up, pulling both of them into his embrace.
"You're safe. Both of you," he said softly, kissing Jason's forehead and then the side of Bettina's face. "It's just a dream. You're not there anymore. I swear it."
Bettina clutched his shirt, even as she wrapped an arm around the boy, breathing in the familiar scent of parchment and cedarwood.
"I thought I was back there," she whispered hoarsely. "He—he was laughing again. I couldn't move—"
"I know," Anthony murmured, pulling her closer and kissing her once more. "I had the same dream. I've also had it every night since we brought you back."
Jason let out a soft sob and buried his face into Bettina's lap, his thin arms encircling her waist.
Anthony exhaled. "Alright, that's it. I'm calling for tea. Warm drinks all around."
He stood and called for the maid using the bellpull. Minutes later, steaming mugs of sweet chamomile and milk arrived, along with a small plate of lemon biscuits.
Anthony carried the tray himself and returned to the massive bed, climbing in with the familiarity of a man who had already accepted this as their shared sanctuary.
"Midnight milk and tea," he declared. "Doctor's orders. For bravery."
Jason sat up with a sniffle, still clutching his mother's hand. "What if I have bad dreams again?"
"Then you'll get another tea," Anthony said solemnly, "with double the biscuits and triple the snuggles."
That earned a tiny, tired giggle from the boy.
They sipped in silence for a while. The warmth seeped into their fingers and bones. The candlelight danced gently on the chamber walls. Jason leaned into Bettina's side while Anthony reached over to tuck a blanket over all three of them.
"You both walked out of those ruins like warriors," Anthony said softly. "Do you know what the people saw? They saw a countess bloodied and battered, but with her chin lifted like a queen. And a little boy who stood taller than half the grown men in the empire."
Jason blinked. "Really?"
Anthony grinned. "Absolutely. The whole empire was talking about it."
Bettina's smile was faint, but real. But when she noticed the matching dark pajamas of father and son, her smile widened at how cute they were. "It didn't feel that glorious when I had dried blood on my feet."
"And my coat was soaked in it," Jason mumbled, then added, "I didn't like that part."
"Neither did Mr. Clive when the stable boy sneezed into his coat trying to greet us," Anthony said, chuckling. "You remember? He stood there frozen in horror like someone had spat on a holy relic."
Bettina laughed softly. "I remember Jane tripping over the welcome mat because one of the maids placed a large pot of cookies on the floor by accident. It was the princess' gift to you," she nuzzled her nose to the little boy.
"She nearly impaled herself on a rose bouquet," Anthony added.
"And then berated the flowers," Bettina snorted.
Even Jason giggled now, hugging his mother tightly.
Anthony leaned in and kissed Bettina's temple. "We're back. And everyone's been waiting to make you feel at home again."
The candles flickered. The night stretched long and soft outside the windows, and for the first time in weeks, Bettina chest felt lighter.
She had survived.
Jason had survived.
And Anthony…was still here, still holding her hand as if he never intended to let go.
"Thank you," she whispered to no one in particular. Maybe the stars. Maybe the woman who used to be Bettina. Or maybe to herself.
They stayed like that—three battered souls huddled beneath one blanket, sipping tea, retelling their homecoming like a bedtime story. It wasn't just healing. It was belonging.
*****Two lives entwined, two paths equate*****
The morning sun bathed Whitman Manor in golden light, a soft glow gleaming off the manor's tall windows and warming the marble floors beneath. Bettina stirred in her bed, Jason nestled by her side like a small cat, his arms wound tightly around her waist. It had already been a few days since their return, and still, neither mother nor son could sleep through the night without at least one haunting dream pulling them from slumber.
But today was different. The warmth of morning brought a kind of fragile peace. Days have passed and they were still home. This wasn't a dream. It was real.
A gentle knock on the door broke the quiet. It was Mrs. Potts, the housekeeper, her usual briskness tempered with kindness. "Good morning, Countess, Master Jason. We've set up breakfast in the sunny breakfast room. Everyone's waiting to see you."
Jason blinked up, eyes still shadowed with sleep but clearer than before. "Are there scones?" he whispered, voice hoarse from recent nightmares.
Mrs. Potts smiled warmly. "Three kinds, love. Lemon, currant, and chocolate. Just how you like them."
With great care and help from Nanny Jones and two maids, they were guided to the breakfast room in their silk robes and slippers. Jason clutched her hand the entire way. As they went down, every servant that they passed by, from scullery maid to footmen, paused and gave a small bow or curtsy. Their eyes shone as they greeted the pair cheerfully.
The breakfast room had been transformed. Flowers filled every available surface, and a lace tablecloth draped the large table now laden with steaming dishes—eggs in cream, roasted tomatoes with cheese, fresh fruit, pastries, and even warm chocolate.
"Good morning, my lady," said Mr. Clive, standing tall beside Mr. Ferguson. "Everything is just as you both liked it. We hope it brings comfort."
"It's perfect," Bettina whispered, overwhelmed by the quiet, loving care. "Thank you. All of you."
Anthony was there, quietly watching over them, giving subtle nods to the servants as he regales Bettina and Jason with funny and mundane things that he saw and heard just a day or two ago.
After breakfast, Mr. Clive offered to show her something. "If I may, my lady… your study."
She raised an eyebrow. "My study?"
He opened the doors to the room formerly used for occasional correspondence and bookkeeping. Now, it overflowed with color and fragrance. Mountains of flowers, baskets of fruit, silk-wrapped parcels, and wax-sealed letters were stacked neatly in curated rows. Some messages were even marked with foreign crests.
Jason gaped. "Are those from the Eastern Kingdom?"
Clive nodded, beaming. "Indeed, Young Master. The Queen of Teryen herself sent her gratitude for your role in dismantling the smuggling network that's plagued their western ports for years."
Bettina brought a hand to her chest. For a moment, she felt like she was floating. It wasn't just survival. They were being celebrated for something that mattered.
Jason squeezed her hand. "You're a hero, Mama."
She smiled at him, then gently kissed his hair. "We both are."
"Young master, your gifts were all brought up to your bedchamber. It was so plenty that we had to put some of them in your playroom."
"Whoa!"
Despite the joyful atmosphere, Jason's small hand never left hers, his eyes occasionally darting toward the window or the door as if he expected danger to return at any moment. The staff noticed—but no one said a word. They simply adjusted. Nanny Jones read stories beside them. Mrs. Potts let Jason pick desserts from the kitchen. Even the gruff stable master built a wooden birdhouse for him to paint.
Later in the day, Anthony stepped into the breakfast room, fully dressed for court, looking regretful.
"I've put it off as long as I could," he said, crouching beside Bettina's chair. "The emperor wants a full report in person."
Jason's grip on his father's coat tightened.
Anthony hugged him. "I'll be back before dinner, alright? With news and sweets from the capital."
Bettina stood, leaning on his arm briefly. "Be safe. And…don't forget to tell them everything."
He gave her a small, warm smile. "I won't. They'll know the truth."
The emperor's audience chamber was quiet, but tense with importance. Anthony stood straight, reporting every detail—from their discovery of the illegal teleportation network, to Jason and Bettina's rescue, and finally the fate of the fallen prince. The Crown Prince listened closely, occasionally nodding. The emperor, older and sharp-eyed, rested a hand on the golden armrest of his throne.
"You have done this empire a great service, Earl Whitman," the emperor said solemnly. "Your wife as well. There will be commendations, compensations…and changes."
Anthony bowed low. "My only wish is that my family may rest now, Your Majesty."
"Of course. For as long as needed," the emperor said. "But once rested, the empire may have questions…for both of you."
Anthony's jaw tensed slightly, but he nodded. "Understood."
And when Anthony arrived home, Jason sprinted down the steps and leapt into his arms. "You're back!"
He laughed and caught him mid-air. "I promised, didn't I?"
Later, after Jason was tucked into a nap, Bettina pulled Anthony into their shared study and closed the door.
"He's not healing," she said, her voice low but clear. "Not really. He still wakes in the middle of the night. Still watches the shadows."
Anthony frowned, nodding slowly. "He's terrified we'll disappear again."
"We need help," she said firmly. "Someone who knows how to guide children through trauma."
He crossed to her and took her hands in his. "I'll find the best in the empire. Perhaps we can find a specialist who helped someone who had the same experience, maybe a gentle tutor. Someone who can come here."
Bettina nodded, eyes misting. "We need to show him—every day—that he's safe. That we're not going anywhere."
Anthony kissed her forehead. "And we'll do it together."
*****From sorrow's depths, from death's embrace*****
Many days have passed.
Bettina eventually re-immersed herself back to her daily duties and business responsibilities while Anthony also returned to his. They started small and eventually started going back to their original routines. Jason, as well, was gently and lovingly helped by everyone in the Whitman household.
It was a happy day indeed when the little boy slowly started to regain his old self.
Jason's laughter echoed faintly through the training yard.
"Watch this, Mother!" he shouted, raising his wooden sword as he charged toward the straw dummy.
Bettina smiled from her seat beneath the sun-dappled portico, her hands wrapped around a warm cup of chamomile. Nanny Jones sat beside her, knitting quietly but not missing a beat.
"Very good form, young master!" Mr. Clive called from nearby, his tone more paternal than proper.
Just weeks ago, Jason had barely let go of her skirts. Now he ran in the open, swinging a sword and arguing good-naturedly with his tutor about military stances. There was still a slight stiffness in his movements, a slight tension in his shoulders when someone approached him too quickly—but he no longer startled at shadows. And that alone was something to be proud of.
Anthony emerged from the manor with a self-satisfied smile. "Swordsmanship, riding, and three chapters of history this morning. If he keeps this up, our tutors might start demanding increased pay."
Bettina stood to meet him, letting him pull her close. "He's healing," she whispered, watching their son barrel toward a knight twice his size, who deftly caught him mid-air. "We all are."
"I have you to thank for that," Anthony said softly, pressing a kiss to her temple and wrapping his arms around her.
"I think you mean all of us," she murmured, her lips brushing his jaw.
Behind them, a maid passed with a tray of snacks and walked right into a pillar, blushing furiously. Two footmen nearly dropped a vase between them. It was a recurring event these days—the scandalized glances from staff whenever Lord and Lady Whitman's affection got too... vivid.
And then Jason came tearing toward them, grinning from ear to ear. "Mother! Father! I've made up my mind!"
Bettina bent down. "Oh?"
Jason puffed out his chest. "I want a little sister."
Anthony choked on his wine. Bettina's hand covered her own gasp.
"I'll train hard and study and become strong," Jason continued, perfectly earnest. "Then I'll protect both of you and my baby sister. Just like how Father protects us."
Anthony and Bettina glanced at each other, lips twitching.
"Well," Bettina managed, ruffling Jason's hair. "That's quite the announcement."
"I'll get right on it!" Anthony gave his son a mock salute, earning him a hard pinch on his side from Bettina, which he tried hard not to let show.
That evening, after Jason proudly took his first steps into his own bedchamber, announcing he no longer needed to sleep between them, the manor grew quiet. The comforting weight of routine was returning. Normalcy, hard-earned, settled into the Whitman household like a warm quilt.
Anthony didn't wait long.
The moment Bettina's bedroom door clicked shut behind them, he was on her.
They kissed like a dam had burst—weeks of fear, exhaustion, longing, and quiet devotion poured into every touch. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, and his fingers roamed reverently over the curves he'd almost lost. Kisses were given and received. Loud gasps and fevered breathing filled the chamber. They moved together with wordless understanding, the kind only trauma survivors and soulmates shared. He poured all his love into her and she reciprocated in the same fashion.
In the end, when Anthony finally whispered her name— "Bettina"—against her neck, she trembled beneath him, a woman undone and remade. Her heart, though, ached. Not just from love… but also from guilt. The love she could whisper back to him. The guilt, however, remained within.
Later, curled in his arms as the lights dimmed, she drifted into sleep…and the guilt finally took on a form….
She stood in a quiet glade.
The sky above shimmered, not blue but a soft, shifting ivory—like the surface of a still lake under moonlight. Flowers bloomed from frost, and snow fell gently but never melted.
She looked around, but there was nobody apart from her. She walked forward and noticed something strange.
Her footsteps were shorter than normal.
She looked down and noticed something strange.
Her clothes were different. Not the empire-cut gowns she just got from the boutique. Not even her silk bedclothes. Her clothes were rougher, more modern, more Earth-like. She was wearing her old denim jeans and woolen shirt.
Raising her hands, she grabbed some of her hair and brought it to her face. It was black. The skin of her hands was darker than the ones she'd just recently been used to.
"Hello."
She turned around at the angelic voice. The voice she's just been using.
Before her stood…Bettina.
The original.
Not tortured, not weeping. Just…calm.
Her long blond hair floated as if she were underwater, her smile faint but genuine.
"Is that…you?" Mary Jane asked, the words catching in her throat. When was the last time she heard her own voice? Her real voice?
The woman nodded. Still serenely smiling at her.
And a flood of emotions overwhelmed her. Guilt most of all.
"Bettina…don't you…hate me?" Mary Jane whispered. "I stole everything from you. Your life. Your family…Your love."
Bettina reached out, her fingers brushing Mary Jane's cheek.
"No... I thank you, Mary Jane. From the bottom of my heart…You gave me peace. You gave my parents justice. And you gave Anthony and Jason someone who they truly need."
"I don't deserve any of it," Mary Jane said, voice cracking, her head bowing down, tears falling freely due to the weight of her guilt.
"You deserve it, more than anyone." Bettina laid both hands on her cheeks to drive home her declaration. "Live on. Happily. Bask in the love of your new family."
"He doesn't even know the truth."
Bettina's smile widened slightly.
"You can always tell him, you know."
The wind whispered through the ethereal trees.
"Tell him. And if he still chooses you…then live. Fully. Freely. In my place. I'm happy now. I'm with my family. You should be too."
Mary Jane blinked—then gasped as the dream unraveled.
She awoke in Anthony's arms, his hand gently tracing circles on her bare shoulder in his sleep, as if subconsciously still reaffirming her presence beside him.
And for the first time in weeks, tears slid down her cheeks not from pain…but the weight of the love she now questioned if she truly had the right to keep.
She was not Bettina.
She was Mary Jane.
And it was time to tell him the truth…
But can she really do it?
The dream lingered like smoke after a fire—soft, hazy, impossible to grasp. And lingering as well was the advice that the original Bettina had given her.
Mary Jane stirred in bed, Anthony's arm heavy and warm around her waist, his breath slow and even against the back of her neck. But no matter how safe she felt in his arms, a knot tightened in her stomach.
She was not the woman he had married. Not truly.
Not the one whose name the empire cheered, whose image now adorned handkerchiefs, coins, and newspaper sketches. She was a woman from another world—one whose name no one here would know. If she told Anthony…, would he still hold her like this? Or would the light in his eyes dim?
She wanted to believe he would understand. But fear, that old wretched companion, whispered otherwise.
The next day, Anthony noticed it. He had never seen her quite like this before.
Bettina sat beside him in the carriage, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her face angled toward the passing trees outside the window. But her gaze wasn't following the scenery. It was far too still. Far too inward.
It was the same when they woke up and went down to breakfast. She was clearly distracted, but she tried so hard not to let it show.
Something gnawed at her.
He'd asked once—lightly—if she was thinking of the report she'd give the emperor, but she'd only smiled and squeezed his hand.
He knew her well enough now to see it: the way her shoulders were slightly tense despite the calm of her expression, how her breaths were slow, measured, unnatural. She was holding something back. Something that had nothing to do with the emperor nor the capital's whispers.
But he didn't press her. Not yet.
The doors of the audience chamber swung open with regal grace. Anthony adjusted the ceremonial sash across his chest, but it was Bettina who commanded the room.
The crown prince straightened. The emperor's expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker—perhaps approval—in his eyes.
Bettina bowed, perfectly. She looked every inch the noblewoman she had grown into—regal, resilient, radiant. She was so beautiful that he caught himself several times holding his breath. He could see the subtle shift in the assembled nobles around them, the flickers of awe, curiosity, and envy. He was so proud of her.
"My lords," Bettina began after the emperor welcomed them. "I come to present the full account of the Valmor incident and the fallen prince who orchestrated it."
And then she told the story.
With unwavering voice, she spoke of her and Jason's capture, the masked man's identity, the dungeon, the loyal guards corrupted by gold, the secret teleportation. Her words were clean but evocative—never self-pitying, but neither did she downplay what happened.
But when she got to the series of tortures she endured, even he gasped and reacted angrily, along with the crowd, at what that heinous man did to her.
The emperor asked sharply, "How were you able to hold out against Prince Darius's torture?"
"I had someone to protect, Your Majesty," she said, glancing meaningfully at Jason's name engraved on the pendant she wore. "That was reason enough not to break."
There was a pause before the Crown Prince leaned forward. "And how did the rescue succeed without sparking war among the border lords?"
"My husband's strategy ensured that," she said, her voice softening just slightly as her eyes flicked to Anthony. "His plan united the lords behind a cause larger than borders—loyalty to the Empire, and to justice."
The silence in the room then was heavy with something reverent.
Murmurs broke out as she and Anthony exited the chamber. One nobleman whispered to another, "No wonder the emperor's been favoring the Whitmans…that woman faced Valmor's vengeful ghost and didn't even cower."
At last, the ordeal was over. And there was no reason to linger in the palace so he escorted his wife back into their carriage, walking smoothly through the throng, quickly shaking hands with some of the lords, and bidding them goodbye.
And then she was quiet again.
Not from fatigue. Not from satisfaction either. There was something raw about the way she held her shawl close, the way her thumb traced an invisible line across her palm as if grounding herself.
"Bettina," he said gently.
She turned.
"Is it…the memories? Or something else? You don't have to carry it alone."
Her lips trembled slightly.
He waited quietly. He would wait until the world ended until she was ready to speak.
And then she whispered it—softly, brokenly:
"I've been lying to you."
The words fell like a stone, thrown into still water. He felt the ripple go through every part of him, bringing up a series of conflicting questions just that one sentence evoked.
She didn't look away this time. Her eyes met his—glassy with unshed tears, but resolute.
"I'm not who you think I am."
------000-----
A/N: Ah, we're almost there everyone! Mary Jane's story means so much to me, and I hope you're enjoying the ride along with me. =D
BTW, If you'd like to support me, you can buy me a coffee for just $1 on my Ko-fi page. I promise I will update my Ko-fi page with more images once I have more time hehe.:
https://ko-fi.com/villainessnerireyes