--
Chapter 2 – The First Move
The morning air carried the faint scent of jasmine as sunlight spilled into the Vale mansion's dining hall.
Serena walked with measured steps, her silk slippers gliding over polished marble. Every detail of the house was familiar—the golden chandeliers, the sprawling mahogany table, the velvet curtains framing the French windows. She had grown up in these halls, and yet for years she had lived as a stranger within them.
In her past life, she had come down to breakfast meekly, eyes lowered, swallowing every insult and barb her so-called family threw at her. She had thought patience was strength, that enduring humiliation would one day earn her their acceptance.
What a fool she had been.
Today, reborn, she lifted her chin high. Her eyes were cold but calm, every step radiating a quiet authority.
At the table, Isabella Vale, her father's second wife, sipped delicately from a porcelain teacup. She wore a soft pink dress, her hair arranged in elegant waves. To outsiders, Isabella was the picture of refined grace, a gentle mother who raised another woman's child as her own.
Serena knew better.
Behind that smile lurked poison.
Sitting beside her was Clara, Serena's stepsister. With honey-blonde hair and doe-like eyes, Clara carried herself with feigned innocence, always playing the victim when convenient. To society, she was a sweet angel. To Serena, she was a snake dressed in silk.
The moment Serena entered, Clara's lips curved into a mocking smile. "Sister, you're finally awake? You overslept again. Father says Damian doesn't like tardiness. You wouldn't want him to be displeased, would you?"
In the past, those words would have pierced Serena like thorns. She would have stammered an apology, embarrassed and guilty.
But not anymore.
Her gaze slid to Clara, calm and unbothered. "Better late than never, don't you think? After all… Damian already tolerates you breathing in the same room as him. Isn't that enough grace for you?"
The smile froze on Clara's face. Isabella's teacup paused mid-air, her refined fingers tightening just slightly.
Serena walked past them, her gown whispering against the marble, and took her seat with queenly poise. She picked up her fork and began eating as if nothing had happened.
The silence that followed was thick. Clara's face flushed red, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, but no words came. Isabella recovered quickly, setting her cup down with a soft clink.
"My dear," Isabella said smoothly, her smile sweet but her eyes sharp. "We only remind you because we care. Damian is a man of high standards. As his fiancée, you must try harder not to embarrass him."
Serena dabbed her lips delicately with a napkin, her gaze as cold as the silver cutlery in her hand.
"In that case, stepmother," she said softly, "perhaps you should remind Clara. After all, she's the one who always tries to linger around him, isn't she?"
The words landed like a whip. Clara stiffened, her eyes widening in shock. Isabella's smile cracked, just slightly.
In her past life, Serena had been too blind to notice Clara's endless schemes to draw Damian's attention, too meek to defend herself. But reborn, she remembered everything—the way Clara "accidentally" spilled wine on Damian just to make him notice her, the way she whispered poison into his ears about Serena's supposed incompetence.
Never again.
"Y-You're imagining things," Clara stammered, forcing a laugh. "I only respect Brother Damian—"
"Respect?" Serena's voice was velvet over steel. She set down her fork, her gaze pinning Clara like a dagger. "Then keep it at respect. Because if you overstep… next time, it won't be words I use to remind you."
The threat, soft yet unmistakable, sliced through the air. Clara's face paled, her lips trembling.
For the first time, Isabella's composure faltered. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, studying Serena as though seeing her for the first time.
This wasn't the submissive girl she had manipulated for years. This Serena was different—colder, sharper, dangerous.
At that moment, heavy footsteps approached the hall.
Damian Cross entered, his presence commanding, his tailored suit emphasizing his broad shoulders and long legs. His expression was as cold and unreadable as ever, but his sharp gaze immediately fell on Serena.
She didn't look away.
Instead, she met his eyes steadily, her face calm, her aura unshaken.
Something flickered in Damian's gaze—curiosity, perhaps, or something he himself didn't recognize.
"Are you ready?" he asked, his deep voice resonating across the room.
Serena rose gracefully, smoothing her dress. "Always."
Clara's lips parted, as if to protest, but Damian's indifferent gaze swept past her without pause. It was as though she didn't exist.
Serena walked toward him, her steps confident, her chin lifted. She could feel Clara's burning glare and Isabella's cold calculation at her back, but she didn't falter.
For the first time in her life, Serena Vale wasn't the prey in this house.
She was the hunter.
As she reached Damian's side, her lips curved faintly. In her past life, she had wasted years begging for scraps of affection. This time, she would never beg.
Damian's eyes lingered on her for a brief moment longer than necessary before he turned away.
"Let's go," he said.
She followed, but inside her heart, flames of determination burned.
This was her second life. Her chance.
And her first move would be to protect her mother's legacy—the shares of Vale Corporation that Gregory had stolen from her so easily last time.
Not this time.
Not ever again.
Her enemies thought she was still the naive Serena Vale.
They were about to learn that the girl they once crushed was gone.
In her place stood the hidden heiress who would one day make the world bow.
---