Greta jolted awake, gasping for air like she'd just outrun death itself. Her breaths were ragged, sharp, her chest heaving as if she'd been torn straight from oblivion. Eyes wide, she stared at the ceiling. It was familiar… yet strange. Dark wooden panels carved in simple patterns loomed above her, shadows of gently swaying curtains dancing in the cold draft from a tall window. The air carried the scent of old wood, melted wax, and dried flowers, forcing her body to adjust, fast.
She lay beneath a canopy, pale lace curtains draping softly around her, shielding her from the world beyond. Stone walls, ancient bookshelves, and a massive wooden chest tucked into the corner confirmed one undeniable truth: she was back in her childhood bedroom.
But the shock that seized her quickly morphed into a shiver. Her trembling hands shot up to her throat, fingers grazing the phantom pain still lodged in her memory. Faint, yet terrifyingly real, the memory of that noose tightening as the executioner pulled the lever. The wooden platform beneath her feet had dropped, and in mere seconds, the rope had clenched around her throat, silencing her life in a brutal choke.
She had died. Painfully. Without mercy. And yet, she was here. Alive.
Disbelief clawed at her, dragging her to her feet. She stumbled to the vanity, eyes locking onto the mirror as she inspected her neck with feverish urgency. Nothing. No bruises, no marks. But the ache? It still burned, raw and undeniable.
"Impossible…" The word rasped from her cracked throat.
Her eyes flickered with a storm of fear and shock, tracing the room, gold-threaded drapes, a cracked mirror against the wall, a small bronze bell perched on the bedside table. Everything was exactly as she had left it, years before she had been forced into marriage with Emperor Dietrich Maximilian.
"This can't be real… Am I truly alive again?" The thought spun wildly in her mind.
Her hands ran over her arms, her torso, everything was both familiar and foreign, light yet cold. Too cold for the living. Yet her heart still beat. She felt it.
A late-night breeze slithered in through a window slightly ajar, carrying whispers from a past left unresolved. Outside, the church bell tolled softly, marking midnight.
She hesitated, then yanked open the window. Below her, the rear garden of her parents' estate stretched out before her. Ehrenwald. The western province, the place she should never have been able to return to.
"It's a miracle, or a curse for me?" she murmured.
But as the night air curled around her, teasing the loose waves of her hair, Greta slowly sank onto the edge of the bed. She stared, watching herself, an existence that defied logic, a fate rewritten. Did she deserve this second chance?
All night, Greta wrestled with the thought, until dawn crept in.
The door swung open, and a maid entered, carrying a copper basin filled with water and a small towel. Her eyes widened the moment she saw Greta awake, perched at the edge of the bed, with the window gaping open, letting the crisp morning chill seep into the room.
A sharp gasp escaped the maid's lips before she hastily set down the basin, rushing toward the window. She slammed it shut, locked it, then whirled to glare at Greta.
"What is wrong with you?! You left the window open all night?!" she scolded. "Do you have any idea how valuable your body is? You must stay healthy! Do you even know the kind of effort we put in just to keep you in prime condition before your wedding to the Emperor? Stop making our lives harder!"
Effort? Two weeks?
Greta narrowed her eyes. Erna. One of Hellene's maids, handpicked to serve under her sister's iron rule. She remembered Erna well, the way she had loathed Greta, fed by Hellene's endless manipulation. And now? All this outrage, simply because Greta had left the window open? Clearly, she had just committed an unforgivable offense in Erna's book.
"Why are you still sitting there? Get up! I don't have all day to waste on you," Erna snapped, snatching a brush. "I'll fix your hair, but the rest? You handle it yourself."
One hand gripped the brush, while the other rested on her hip, thick with arrogance. Would Greta slip back into the role she had played before? Obedient. Silent. Unresisting. Or would she tear free from fate's cruel repetition?
She rose. Without protest, she let Erna fuss over her hair, ignoring the maid's endless muttering. She accepted the sharp tugs, the careless handling, until Erna yanked too hard, ripping through tangled strands with an unforgiving pull.
Pain flared. Greta's patience snapped. Her hand shot out, clamping down on Erna's wrist with unrelenting force. Then, with a swift motion, she ripped the brush from the maid's grip and hurled it to the floor.
Erna gasped, recoiling. "How dare you?!"
Greta's voice was like steel. "Why should I obey a maid like you? Are you paying me as much as my family pays you?"
"You—what—"
"Get out. I'll handle this myself."
Erna sputtered, fuming, before stomping toward the door. But Greta caught her murmur, the bitter promise that she'd report this straight to Hellene.
Greta's pulse thumped. She had feared Hellene's wrath once. But standing before the mirror now, staring into her own eyes, she vowed: Never again. This life was hers. And she would fight for it. She had returned for a reason. And she would find out why.
Despite the abruptness of the decision, the Emperor never objected. If Greta recalled correctly, the only person who had ever remained untouched by his influence, regardless of his actions, was Matthias Von Ignaz, the ruler of the frozen land of Eisthal. No matter how ruthless or reckless the Duke was, he had always been untouchable.
As Greta replayed those memories, an audacious idea sparked in her mind, a reckless, dangerous plan. If she could use the Duke, perhaps she could escape her fate. The fate of a discarded concubine, publicly executed without dignity, without honor.
Click.
The door swung open. Erna had returned, but this time, she was accompanied by Hellene.
Greta barely blinked as her sister stepped into the room, arrogance radiating off her like a second skin. Beautiful, manipulative, and utterly self-absorbed, Hellene had never once treated Greta with an ounce of respect, despite being the eldest daughter of the household. No greeting. No courtesy. Just entitlement.
"I'm honestly surprised you're sitting here so calmly," Hellene mused, lips curling. "Considering the Emperor is coming to claim you as his concubine."
Greta already knew the words Hellene was itching to say. She refused to engage. "We should stop wasting time. Breakfast awaits, doesn't it?" she said, brushing past Hellene.
She almost made it.
Hellene stuck out her foot.
Greta stumbled, her knees buckling, crashing onto the floor in an ungrateful fall. Laughter rang out. Hellene's smug amusement filled the room, echoed by Erna's snide chuckle.
Greta lifted her gaze, fixing Hellene with a glare sharp enough to cut steel.
"You're awfully childish for someone your age," Greta muttered.
Hellene's smile vanished.
"What did you just say?" she snapped.
"I said you're childish, Hellene." Greta's voice was measured, but unwavering. "Just because Father spoils you don't mean you can treat me however you like."
Hellene's expression twisted, fury bubbling beneath her flawless facade. She didn't argue. She struck.
Her fingers fisted in Greta's hair, yanking viciously, destroying the careful arrangement Greta had crafted that morning.
Pain flared across her scalp as Hellene tugged harder, cruelly ripping through tangled strands. Greta clenched her teeth, hands flying to her sister's wrist, attempting to pry her off.
Hellene merely sneered. "Did you forget how easily I can ruin you? How many times have I made your life miserable simply because you dared to defy me?"
The grip tightened. Greta winced. She wanted to scream, but she wouldn't. Not this time. No more weakness.
Summoning every ounce of strength, Greta's fingers locked around Hellene's wrist and squeezed. Hard. Hellene yelped. The maids rushed in, startled by the commotion.
Hellene snarled. "What are you idiots waiting for? Get this wretched girl off me!"
The maids hesitated. Greta slowly turned her gaze toward them.
"If any of you come closer, I won't hesitate to do the same to you," she warned.
Fear flickered in their expressions. As the first daughter of the prestigious Albrecht Von Meier family, Greta was no ordinary household member. Their jobs depended on keeping her satisfied. None of them dared to risk that.
One of the maids swallowed. "M-my lady, please, let go. We're sorry for what happened, but we beg you—"
Hellene snapped, her rage rising. "Why are you apologizing to her?!"
"But, my lady, we—"
Greta exhaled, slow, deliberately. "I'm done arguing. Consider this your only warning, Hellene."
And just like that, she released her grip.
Hellene recoiled, rubbing her sore wrist. Her rage boiled over as she rounded on the maids, scolding them for their incompetence.
Greta ignored the spectacle. She stalked toward the vanity, calmly fixing her disheveled hair, watching her reflection, determination burning in her eyes. Hellene could rant all she wanted. None of it mattered. Greta had spent a lifetime being crushed under others' whims. She wouldn't let it happen again.
Her father had loved Hellene more, doted on her as if she were the center of the universe, treating Greta like a mere afterthought. Hellene had basked in that favoritism, using it as a weapon, ensuring Greta's suffering.
And when the opportunity arose, they discarded her. Sold her off to the Emperor to elevate their status, to gain power. They had succeeded. Once, but never again.
"I don't have time for your whining," Greta announced, voice cool. "And the rest of you, have this room cleaned by the time I return from breakfast. Get rid of those dried flowers while you're at it."
She strode past Hellene, ignoring the furious curses thrown her way.
"Come back here, you insolent little wretch!" Hellene shrieked.
Greta didn't even glance back. She had no intentions of repeating the past. Not this time.