Selene woke to warmth.
It wasn't the numbing cold of rain-soaked streets anymore, nor the metallic taste of blood filling her lungs. No, this was silk against her skin, and sunlight pressing against her eyelids, with the faint melody of birds beyond tall windows.
Her eyes snapped open.
For a long, trembling moment, she could only stare.
The canopy above her bed shimmered with gold embroidery. The crystal chandelier overhead gleamed, every cut facet scattering morning light across the ivory ceiling.
Beside her, on the nightstand, rested the same porcelain vase she remembered from her girlhood. It was filled with fresh lilies.
Her chest tightened. This wasn't possible.
She forced herself to sit up. Her hands were now small, and smooth. They were also unmarked, with no trace of the scar she got from Anne. She clutched at the sheets. Her reflection in the tall mirror across the room nearly stole the air from her lungs.
The face that stared back wasn't the broken woman who had stumbled, humiliated, and thrown into the street. It wasn't the fake heiress cast aside like trash.
It was her face a decade ago.
Eighteen. Young. Flawless. Her hair spilled around her shoulders in golden waves, untouched by rain, and untouched by ruin.
Selene pressed trembling fingers to her cheek. "This… this can't be real."
A sharp knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
"Young Miss?" A maid's familiar voice. "Breakfast is being prepared. Your father asks if you will join him in the study afterward."
Her father? Who? Richard?
Her throat constricted. Richard Sinclair, the man who had looked her in the eyes as he stripped her of everything, was asking for her, and calling her daughter again.
This can't be possible. What joke was the universe playing right now?
Her vision blurred with unshed tears.
"Yes," she managed, her voice unsteady. "Tell him… I'll be there."
By the time she was done, and left her room, the halls of the Sinclair mansion were exactly as she remembered them. Lavish rugs lining endless corridors, portraits of stern ancestors gazing down with painted eyes, and the faint scent of polished oak in the air.
Servants passed her with smiles and bows. They still adored her. There were no whispers of "fake heiress." And there were no averted eyes.
Her heels clicked softly as she descended the grand staircase. And there, waiting in the hall, was the man she had once called father.
Richard Sinclair.
The man who she now swore to take revenge on.
His hair was still peppered with gray, but his shoulders were broad, his eyes sharp, and his smile, oh, his smile, was warm. The same smile that had once made her feel like she truly belonged.
He looked so much younger, and more handsome. He looked so much like the man she grew up calling father.
"There you are," he said fondly, opening his arms. "My jewel."
The words cracked her chest wide open.
Selene staggered forward, clinging to him, and burying her face in his tailored suit. She inhaled the scent of his cologne. They were still rich, expensive, and familiar. Her hands trembled as they fisted into the fabric.
"Father…" The word rasped from her throat, thick with emotion.
He chuckled, patting her hair. "What's this? You act as though you haven't seen me in years."
If only he knew.
Selene forced herself to steady her breath, and to lift her head and meet his gaze. His eyes held only pride and affection. He didn't see her as a shame, didn't see her as a mistake.
Not yet.
"Come, let's eat," he smiled at her, pulling out a seat for her.
Selene took her seat, and the maids got to work. Soon, the family began to eat.
Breakfast was a dazzling affair in the Sinclair family. The long dining table gleamed with polished silverware. Her mother, elegant and composed, sat at the head, pouring tea with practiced grace.
Her younger brother, who was still a boy, and not yet hardened into the arrogant man he would become, grinned at her from across the table. "Sister! I heard you'll be visiting the Ashfords soon. Is it true?"
Her stomach clenched at the name. Damian.
Damian Ashford, the man who had humiliated her before all of society, and who had cast her aside like filth.
Does she want to get entangled with him again? She loves him, but she doesn't think it'd be worth going through what he did to her the second time.
Her hand tightened on the stem of her glass until her knuckles whitened.
"Yes," she said carefully, her voice soft but steady. "That's true."
Her brother beamed, oblivious. "I bet he'll fall for you right away! Who wouldn't? You're the most beautiful in the whole city."
The words that once would have made her blush now cut like glass.
She smiled faintly, hiding the storm inside her chest. "We'll see."
...…
After breakfast, her father led her into the study. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, catching on shelves stacked with leather-bound tomes. The air smelled of ink and old paper.
Richard gestured for her to sit. "Selene, my dear, it's time we talk seriously about your future. You turned 18 last week, and the Ashfords are powerful. Damian is ambitious. If things go well…"
Selene's lips trembled as she whispered the words she never got to say. "And if they don't?"
Richard blinked, surprised. "Then we'll look elsewhere. You are my daughter, Selene. No matter what, I'll see you settled as you deserve."
Her throat ached. He meant it now. He believed it now.
But in the years to come, he would turn his back on her without hesitation. He'd watch someone else hit her, and give her scars.
Selene smiled through the pain. "I'll think about it but for now, thank you, Father."
The rest of the day passed in a blur of familiarity. Every room, every face, and every laugh was a memory resurrected. However, Selene was not the same girl she had been.
When her mother fussed over her posture, Selene saw not affection but calculation. When the servants whispered in the halls, she strained to hear their words, knowing envy and greed hid behind their smiles.
And when the butler announced a visitor, Selene's heart nearly stopped.
"Miss Anne Carvil has arrived." He announced.
Her blood turned cold.
Anne.
She shouldn't have appeared this early. Not yet. In the future, Anne appeared about eight years later.
However, destiny had shifted, bending to Selene's vow in the rain. Selene's hands curled into fists at her side, and her lips curved into a cold smile.
"If fate wants to hasten up, I better move faster than it ever would." She murmured under her breath.