The rain came softly that morning, falling in a patient rhythm against the wide glass windows of the Terania estate. It was not the bitter, relentless rain that had once beaten against the narrow panes of Mirabelle's prison cell. This rain was warm and alive, a silvery curtain that carried the scent of the earth after spring.
At first, she did not notice it. Her body stirred beneath layers of silk and linen, her mind drifting somewhere between dream and memory. In her sleep, she thought she heard the dull echo of footsteps in a corridor, the distant hum of city traffic, and the faint call of a maid's voice. When her eyes finally fluttered open, sunlight cut through the gauze curtains and flooded the room with gold.
She sat up sharply, her heart slamming against her ribs. The world around her did not make sense. The sheets beneath her fingers were not coarse and thin but smooth as water. The air was fragrant with magnolia, not the stale dust of confinement. A porcelain clock ticked gently on the bedside table, and beside it rested her old phone, polished and unscratched.
Her gaze darted toward the mirror across the room.
The girl staring back at her was one she had not seen in years. Her face was unlined and soft, her skin luminous, her hair tumbling in chestnut waves over her shoulders. She raised a trembling hand to her cheek as if afraid the reflection would disappear if she touched it.
"This can't be real," she whispered, her voice cracking in disbelief.
She reached for the phone, her hands shaking. The date glowed clearly on the screen: May 2, 20XX.
Her breath caught. She remembered this day. It was the week Noah Rolston had begun forming his boyband—the week she had begged her parents to arrange her engagement to him. It had been the start of everything: her first desperate attempts to claim his love, the long spiral of obsession, and finally, her ruin.
Mirabelle's knees gave out, and she sank to the edge of the bed, pressing the phone against her chest. Laughter and tears came together, rough and disbelieving.
"I got another chance," she murmured, her voice trembling. "I really did."
For several long moments, she simply sat there, letting herself breathe. The sound of rain softened against the glass. The scent of flowers drifted through the balcony doors. Outside, life went on as though nothing had changed. Yet everything had.
A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Miss Mirabelle?" came the familiar voice of her maid. "Your parents are downstairs. They're speaking with Mr. Rolston about his new music project you wanted to support."
Mirabelle froze. Her pulse stuttered. Noah.
He was here already—in the house, alive and unchanged—the same man she had once loved with blind devotion and destroyed herself for. The mere mention of his name filled her chest with equal parts longing and fear.
"I'll come down later," she said quickly, forcing her tone to remain even. "Please tell them I'm feeling a little dizzy."
The maid nodded with a sympathetic smile and closed the door quietly behind her.
Mirabelle stood motionless for several seconds after the footsteps faded. Then she turned toward the balcony and pushed open the doors. A rush of clean air greeted her. The rain had slowed to a mist, and the gardens gleamed with water like glass. Beyond the terraces and marble fountains, the skyline of the city stretched in the distance—silver and alive.
Her hands gripped the railing as her heart steadied.
"Noah Rolston," she whispered to the open air. "This time, I won't chase you. This time, I'll love you properly, even if it means from far away."
The words carried easily into the morning light, and saying them aloud made the vow feel real.
She lingered there for a moment longer, watching the faint shimmer of sunlight breaking through the clouds. From the drawing room below, she could faintly hear his voice—a rich, calm baritone explaining a concept, perhaps discussing melody structures or production plans. It was the same voice that had once made her pulse quicken with foolish hope. Hearing it now brought a different kind of ache: quiet, bittersweet, and strangely peaceful.
She turned back inside and faced her reflection once more. The young woman in the mirror no longer looked like the frightened girl who had clung to love as if it were oxygen. Her expression was calm, determined, and graceful.
She chose a simple ivory dress from her wardrobe and tied her hair back with a ribbon. When she stepped out into the garden, the world felt impossibly new. The cobblestones glistened from the rain, and the morning air wrapped around her in gentle warmth. Every color seemed brighter, every sound clearer—the laughter of the gardeners and the distant trill of birds.
The same story had begun again. But Mirabelle was no longer the same girl who had lived it before.