The first thing Arthur Vance felt was the rope.
It bit into his skin with a patient cruelty, the rough fibers grinding against the pulse in his throat as if trying to memorize the rhythm of his dying heart. Rain poured from a black, indifferent sky, soaking his hair and sliding down his face. It tasted of iron, salt, and smoke—the bitter flavor of an end he never saw coming.
The courtyard of Blackgate Penitentiary was crowded, yet a haunting silence hung over the stone walls. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the snap of the wood.
Arthur did not shiver from the cold. He shivered because she was there.
Up on the observation balcony, shielded from the downpour by a silk umbrella, stood Isabella. His wife. The woman he had once believed was softer than dawn and brighter than any star. For seven years, he had carved an empire out of sleepless nights and ruthless negotiations just to lay it at her feet. He had built a throne for a queen, only to realized he had been feeding a viper.
Now, she watched him from above as if he were a distant fire—interesting to look at, but not worth getting burned for.
Julian stood beside her. Julian, the "brother" who had toasted with Arthur the night they secured their first billion-dollar contract. Julian, whose hand now rested on Isabella's waist. Not gently. Not supportively. But possessively.
Arthur felt something in his chest fracture. It wasn't a loud break; it was a quiet, jagged crack—like ice giving way under the weight of a thousand lies.
"Arthur Vance," the Magistrate's voice echoed, hollow and bureaucratic. "For treason against the state, for embezzlement of council funds, and for conspiracy in the deaths of senior officials... you are hereby sentenced to execution by weighted noose."
Weighted noose. A method designed for agony, not mercy.
"Do you have any final words?"
Arthur didn't look at the Magistrate. He didn't look at the crowd of onlookers. He kept his swollen, bloodshot eyes fixed on the balcony.
"Why, Bella?" he asked.
The question carried through the rain, sharp enough to cut the air. Isabella stepped forward, the yellow light catching the delicate, flawless line of her jaw. She was beautiful in a way that hurt to look at. Untouched by mud. Untouched by guilt.
"You were always too sentimental, Arthur," she replied softly, her voice melodic and cold. "You believed love could protect you from power. You thought our marriage was a home. To me, it was just a long-term investment. And today... I'm finally cashing out."
Arthur swallowed hard. His throat burned. "I believed in you."
Her lips curved—not cruelly, but knowingly. "That was your first mistake. And your last."
The rain intensified, drumming against the gallows like a funeral march. Julian leaned down, whispering something into her ear that made her smile—the same smile Arthur used to wake up to.
I would have given you the world, Arthur thought as the black hood was pulled over his face. I already did.
CLANG.
The trapdoor vanished.
For a split second, there was nothing but weightlessness. Then—the jerk. The rope caught. The pain was white and blinding. Fire erupted in his lungs as his body jerked violently, instincts clawing for air that would not come. Above the roar of his blood, he heard the faint sound of thunder... or was it her laughter?
Darkness swallowed him whole.
Arthur gasped.
Air rushed into his lungs like a miracle, cold and sweet. He stumbled forward, his hands frantically gripping something solid. Cold glass.
He was standing in front of a gilded, full-length mirror.
A crystal chandelier shimmered above him, casting a warm, golden glow over marble floors. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and expensive sandalwood. No rain. No rope. No blood.
His reflection stared back—shaken, pale, but very much alive. He was wearing a charcoal-grey tuxedo, tailored to perfection.
"Arthur? Darling, are you alright?"
The voice hit him harder than the noose. He spun around, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Isabella stood there.
But this wasn't the executioner from the balcony. This was Isabella from five years ago. She was a vision in white lace, her hair falling in soft, innocent waves. Her eyes held warmth—or at least, the perfect illusion of it.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said, stepping closer. "Are you nervous?"
Nervous? Arthur wanted to scream. Instead, he looked at his hands. They were smooth, no longer calloused from the prison mines.
"Where are we?" he managed to whisper.
She laughed, a sound that used to be his favorite music. "The bridal suite at the Grand Astoria, silly. Arthur, don't tell me you've forgotten our wedding day?"
Wedding day. He glanced at the clock on the mantle. Ten minutes until the ceremony. Ten minutes before he signed the papers that would give her legal control over his estate. Ten minutes before he walked into the trap.
He was back.
Isabella reached up, her fingers warm and soft as she touched his cheek. "You're shaking. It's just a ceremony, Arthur. After today, our families are united. The company expansion is secured. We'll be unstoppable."
Unstoppable. He studied her face, searching for the viper beneath the lace. He saw it now—the subtle calculation in her gaze, the cold ambition masked by a bride's glow.
"You love me, don't you?" she asked softly.
Arthur leaned in, close enough to smell the jasmine on her skin. Five years ago, this scent made him weak. Now, it made him nauseous.
"I did," he murmured.
Her smile faltered. "Did?"
"I loved the woman I thought you were," Arthur corrected, his voice dropping to a dangerous chill. "But tell me, Bella... if you had to choose between my heart and my empire... which one would you bury first?"
Isabella laughed nervously, stepping back. "Arthur, you're acting strange. It's just the cold feet. Once we sign the merger, everything will be perfect."
The merger. The contract that started his downfall.
A knock sounded at the door. The wedding coordinator called out, "Mr. Vance, it's time."
Isabella blew him a kiss. "I'll see you at the altar. Don't be late for our future."
She swept out of the room, leaving a trail of perfume and lies. Arthur stood alone, his eyes turning cold. He reached into his tuxedo pocket and felt something hard. A small, black USB drive—one that shouldn't exist in this time.
He didn't know how it got there, but he knew what was on it.
The cathedral was a sea of power and wealth. Julian sat in the front row, his smile as fake as a three-dollar bill. When the doors opened and Isabella walked down the aisle, the room gasped at her beauty.
She reached the altar, placing her hand in Arthur's. Her palm was sweaty.
"Do you, Arthur Vance, take—"
"Wait," Arthur interrupted.
The music died. The priest froze. Isabella's grip tightened on his hand. "Arthur? What are you doing?"
Arthur stepped back, his voice projecting to the very back of the hall. "Before we proceed, I have a gift for my bride. A reminder of why we are truly here."
He signaled to the tech booth. The giant projector screens, meant to show their "love story" photos, suddenly flickered.
But it wasn't photos of them.
It was a recording—a secret conversation between Isabella and Julian from last night, discussing how they would siphon the funds from the merger to bankrupt Arthur's father.
The cathedral erupted. Gasps, shouts, and the frantic clicking of reporters' cameras filled the air. Julian stood up, his face ashen. Isabella turned to Arthur, her mask shattering into a jagged mess of rage.
"You... how did you—"
"I woke up, Bella," Arthur whispered.
But then, the air in the cathedral turned frigid. The candles flickered and died. At the very back of the hall, a man in a grey suit stood perfectly still, holding a pocket watch that was ticking... backward.
Arthur felt a sharp pain in his chest. He looked at his hand—it was becoming translucent. Fading like smoke.
"You altered the thread," a voice hissed in his mind, ancient and cold. "Time demands balance. A life for a life."
Arthur looked at the man in grey, then at his disappearing body. He had changed the past, but the price was being collected instantly.
Why was he disappearing? Who was the man in the grey suit? And if Arthur vanished now, would Isabella win all over tena?
Would you like me to continue with Chapter 2?
Maboresho niliyofanya: System Elements: Nimeanza kuingiza mambo ya ajabu (USB drive, yule mtu wa suti ya kijivu) mapema ili kuweka "Mystery." Pacing: Nimeongeza kasi ya hadithi. Badala ya kusubiri, amemlipua Isabella pale pale kanisani! Hii ndiyo "Face-slapping" ambayo wasomaji wa Webnovel wanaipenda. Cliffhanger: Nimemaliza kwa Arthur kuanza kupotea, jambo linalomfanya msomaji atake kujua nini kitatokea sura inayofuata.
Tuendelee na Chapter 2?