I died with his name on my lips and his child in my womb.He kissed my forehead… right before he gave the order.And now? Now I'm back.Back to burn him alive.
The sound of silk tearing was the first thing I heard.
I jolted upright—gasping, heart hammering, lungs choking on perfume and candle smoke. My hands clutched fine satin sheets. No chains. No blood. No screams.
I was in my bed. In my old bed.
No pain.
No screaming servants. No fire in the east wing. No crown sliding off my head as I bled out on marble.
Only silence.
It took a second to breathe. Then another to stand.
The air smelled of roses and beeswax candles. Familiar. Too familiar.
I stumbled to the mirror—and froze.
The face staring back at me was mine, but younger. No bruises. No crown. Just wide gray eyes and long black hair, tangled from sleep. And the silk nightgown clinging to my body…
The same one I wore the night before the imperial wedding.
My hand flew to my belly. I held my breath. Still. Silent. Waiting.
Then—A flutter. A flicker.
Life. Inside me.
The baby… still there.
My knees buckled, and I collapsed before the mirror, shaking. A dry sob escaped my throat. I pressed both palms to the cold floor.
This wasn't a dream. Not a hallucination. Not hell.
It was two weeks before the wedding.
Two weeks before he slid a blade through my womb and called me traitor. Two weeks before he took my crown, my child, and my last breath.
My heart beat faster.
No. Not again. Not this time.
Last time, I had loved him.
This time, I would destroy him.
A knock broke through the haze.
"Your Ladyship?" The voice was soft, hesitant. Lira. My maid.
Still alive.
My throat felt tight. I forced myself to stand.
"Enter," I called.
Lira entered, bowing. She carried the crimson gown I had worn the night of the engagement banquet. The same one he had complimented, just hours before handing me over to the executioner.
"The Emperor requests your presence in the western gallery," she said.
Of course he did.
I nodded and turned away from her.
As she helped me dress, I stared at the floor. At my bare feet. At my fingers curled into the fabric of the gown.
I was breathing in the past. But I was not the same woman.
He thought I was still Elowen Virelle, Countess of Seraphen. Obedient. In love.
Let him believe it.
I would be the lie he swallowed whole.
I walked through the palace with deliberate grace, every step calculated. I kept my head high as I passed guards who once looked away when the noose was tightened around my name.
The gold trim of the hallway shimmered in candlelight. Velvet curtains whispered with the wind. And somewhere deep inside the palace, I heard laughter.
A sound I hadn't heard in months.
No one knew yet that their empress-to-be had come back from the dead.
And this time, I wasn't here to be crowned.
I was here to burn them all.
I paused before the door to the western gallery, fingers grazing the cold brass handle.
Beyond this door was him.
Caelum Thorne. The Emperor. My betrothed. My executioner.
My husband, in another life.
I pushed the door open.
He stood by the arched window, wine in hand, back turned, draped in a black cloak lined with crimson. He didn't need a crown. Power clung to him like shadow.
His presence filled the room the same way it had the night he first kissed me. The night I thought I loved him.
The night before everything ended.
He turned slowly.
His eyes locked onto mine—sharp, calculating. But then, a pause.
A flicker of confusion. A question he didn't speak.
"You're late," he said, voice velvet-wrapped steel.
"I was dead," I replied.
His brow arched.
"Excuse me?"
I walked toward him slowly, deliberately.
"Isn't that what you wanted?"
He tilted his head, examining me like a puzzle that didn't fit.
"You look… different."
"I am."
He crossed the room, his steps measured.
"You've changed."
"You haven't."
We stood face to face now, inches apart.
The scent of bergamot and oak drifted off his skin. I remembered how it had lingered on my neck. On the sheets. On my body when I bled.
He handed me the wine.
I didn't take it.
He smiled faintly. "Still pretending to be brave?"
"Still pretending you aren't a killer?"
His smile faded.
"Careful," he said.
"You first."
He reached for me. Not roughly. Not gently. Fingers around my wrist, cool and firm.
"You used to tremble in front of me."
"And you used to matter to me."
His grip tightened.
The tension between us cracked like thunder behind stained glass.
Then, without warning, he pulled me into him—and kissed me.
There was no tenderness in it.
His mouth devoured mine, teeth grazing lips, tongue hot and demanding. I kissed him back harder, pressing my body against his like I meant to cut him with my skin.
His hands slid down my back, gripping my hips. My gown slipped down one shoulder. He didn't wait—he yanked it lower until the fabric spilled like blood across the floor.
"You came here like this… for me?" he whispered, voice rough.
"No," I said, breath catching. "For revenge."
He didn't stop.
He spun me, pressed me against the wall, hands pinning mine above my head.
"You think I won't take what's mine?"
"Try," I hissed.
He shoved my legs apart with his knee.
His hand cupped my throat—not tight, just enough to remind me he could.
But I wasn't afraid.
He lowered his mouth to my breast, tongue hot, breath harsh. My moan escaped before I could stop it.
He bit, marking me.
"You're still mine."
"You were never mine."
Then he entered me—hard, sudden, relentless.
Every thrust was a memory.Every groan a lie.Every gasp a weapon.
He buried his face into my neck, his body moving with desperate hunger. I clung to him—not from need, but from rage.
He didn't know it, but I was winning.
He was breaking.
When I cried out, it wasn't from pleasure.
It was from power.
He cursed, losing rhythm, fingers digging into my waist.
"You're mine," he breathed again.
"You're my mistake," I whispered.
When it ended, he was breathless, jaw clenched, body still trembling with the last of his lust.
I stepped away before he could speak.
Naked, flushed, unafraid.
He stared at me like he didn't know who I was anymore.
Good.
I knelt, picked up the gown slowly, tied it with practiced hands.
Then I met his gaze.
"You killed me, Caelum.And now I'm going to kill everything you love."
I turned, walked barefoot to the door, and left him standing alone in the silence.
Let him wonder.
Let him break.
Let him burn.