She had gone from being a tempered blade—razor-sharp, unyielding—to a fragile porcelain egg that could crack at the slightest touch.
The indignation clawed through her veins, setting her blood alight. How could she, Cassandra Feng, once feared across continents, now be forced to crawl in such a weak, powerless shell?
Her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms as a violent urge rose within her. She wanted to tear this cursed fate apart, to smash someone's smug face into the floor that dared defy her strength.
But all she could do was seethe. Seethe, and resign herself to the cruel irony of being alive—yet stripped of everything that once made her formidable.
She had not escaped death. She had been sentenced to a worse fate.
Cassandra Feng realized that she was now in the body of Cassandra Bolton, and if she wanted to survive in this strange new world, she would have to wear that mask convincingly.
Unfortunately, Cassandra Bolton was not just anyone. She was the infamous youngest daughter of House Bolton—grounded, despised, and loathed by none other than her own mother.
First Madame Karmilla Visent Bolton, the mighty and dignified first wife of Ragnos Renatus Bolton, held the household in an iron grip. Her word was law, and her presence could silence even the most ruthless underworld killers. To the outside world, she was the untouchable queen of House Bolton. To Cassandra, she was a towering shadow that pressed down with suffocating authority.
But instead of warmth or protection, First Madame reserved for her daughter only disdain and disgust. Her unconditional love was poured into her son—the Eldest Young Master—leaving Cassandra as little more than a shameful burden in her eyes.
And shame was exactly what had ignited her fury this time. Cassandra Bolton had gone to fight the Ninth Young Miss, Jessica Bolton, daughter of Third Madame—her mother's most bitter rival—and not only lost but been beaten and tossed into a pond like a stray dog. The humiliation cut deeper than the bruises, and for Karmilla, her daughter's disgrace was intolerable.
Now locked away in confinement, Cassandra sat on the bed, her face pale but her mind racing. The words of the guard echoed in her ears:
"…until the Eldest Young Master returns…"
Her stomach sank. The Eldest Young Master—her so-called brother, the only person tied to her by blood. From Cassandra Bolton's inherited memories, she knew him well enough to shiver. He was a cruel, heartless man who carried the authority of House Bolton as easily as one carried a dagger. He never spared his only sister a glance, let alone kindness. To him, she was just an embarrassment that even his mother disdained.
"When will my villainous big brother return?" Cassandra murmured with a heavy sigh, irritation pooling in her chest.
Two days crawled by since Cassandra Feng awoke inside the frail body of Cassandra Bolton. She had sworn—sworn with blood and fury—to lock away her past, to bury the betrayal, the heartbreak, the unforgettable cruelty of her Master who had shattered her dantian and her life with one merciless strike. She told herself it was nothing but a nightmare, a phantom stitched from pain, one she would never drag into this new existence.
But forgetting was a lie she told herself.
Every moment, every breath reminded her of what she had lost. The way her weak fists trembled when she clenched them, the helplessness of her fragile body, the fever simmering through her veins—it all pulled her mind back to what she once was: a blade sharpened by blood and discipline, not this pitiful porcelain doll in a viper's nest.
Living in the Bolton House was no different from being caged in a pit of serpents and wild beasts. One wrong move, one careless glance, and fangs would sink into her throat.
And still… she could not forget.