Was she Ayla or Ievy? She wasn’t even sure anymore. The question echoed in her mind like a voice she couldn’t silence. She looked around, searching for the person who had been with her the first time she entered this strange, beautiful place, but no one appeared. The silence felt heavier this time, almost expectant. Ievy focused all her attention on the empty void, hoping to catch even a glimpse of that familiar figure, someone who could anchor her to something real.

  Then the void shattered again, just like before. Except this time, she didn’t wake up as someone new. Instead, she was falling through old memories… at least, that’s what she thought they were. She wasn’t the real Ievy, so she couldn’t be certain. Still, as the blurry memories rushed past her, a deep, aching pain began to pulse through her chest.

  She tried to gather as much information as she could, hoping it might help her later. She stared at the memories as if she could force them to make sense. Many showed her begging on the streets at a noticeably young age. Life in the slums had never been easy, especially for a girl. There were too many dangerous people around, too many moments she barely survived before the Duke took her in. The memories flickered like dying lanterns, each one revealing another piece of a life shaped by fear and hunger.

  Her birth parents were gone. She had only ever found her mother’s body. Her father had left to get help after her mother collapsed, but he never returned. As the days passed, she had to accept the possibility that he died trying to save them. And if that wasn’t the case, then he had simply abandoned them… and maybe that was for the best, she supposed. The thought didn’t hurt as much as it used to. Maybe she had grown numb. Or maybe she had simply run out of tears long ago.

  She remembered living beside her mother’s body as it slowly decayed, the smell lingering for days. Strangely, it kept the creeps in the slums away. They were unsettled by the sight of a small girl clinging to a corpse through the night. They wouldn’t dare go near something like that. They found it disturbing, even disgusting. But for her, it had been the only warmth she had left. The only proof was she hadn’t been completely alone.

  When the last of the memories faded, she woke with a jolt, her breath uneven and her heart still racing. She barely had a moment to steady herself before the door burst open. The Duchess stormed into her quarters without warning, her expression twisted in the same cruel way Marissa’s had been when she slapped her in her past life.

  The Duchess’s long, silky black hair was styled into an elegant updo, pearls woven through the waves like tiny stars. Her sharp almond?shaped eyes, a rare shade of violet, locked onto Ievy with pure irritation. There was a tightness to her expression, the kind that made it clear she wasn’t just annoyed, she was offended. Even the slight lift of her chin carried that cold, superior air she always wore like a crown. She started yelling immediately, her voice shrill and grating, but Ievy had already learned to tune out the noise. She wasn’t listening to a single word this old woman was screeching. The only pieces she caught were something about “upsetting the Duke” and a handful of empty threats.

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  Ievy simply smiled back at her, a painfully obvious fake smile that only made the Duchess’s rage spike. The woman sputtered, stomped her foot, and stormed out of the room like a child throwing a tantrum. She even pouted on her way out. The sight was so ridiculous that Ievy’s fake smile softened into a real one.

  Once the heat of the moment faded, Ievy finally had a chance to think. She flopped onto her bed again, feeling the exhaustion of the morning settle into her bones. Between the strange dream and the Duchess’s meltdown, she was drained. The dim lighting and perfect temperature made the room feel peaceful, almost comforting.

  She let herself sink into the blankets, mind scrambling for any possible way to escape the Elkins estate. But her thoughts kept circling back to the document she’d seen on the Duke’s desk. It had been half?buried under papers, sealed with red wax. She couldn’t see the crest clearly, couldn’t tell who it was from. And that frustrated her more than anything. She didn’t know enough yet, and that lack of information was becoming a real problem.

  Her mind kept drifting back to it, even though she was supposed to be planning her escape. But maybe the letter itself could help her. She thought about it a little longer before making a decision, she needed to get her hands on it. If the Duke caught her, he would definitely become violent. To him, she was nothing more than property, something he could sell off, trade away, or discard whenever it suited him. Her life held no weight in his eyes, no value beyond what she could offer him. The thought made her stomach twist. It was a reminder of just how fragile her place in this house truly was, how easily he could decide her fate with a single drunken impulse.

  It haunted her, clinging to her no matter how hard she tried to push it away. This was the fate of Lady Ievy Elkins. A fate that ended in death.

  And for the first time, Ievy truly accepted it. If she didn’t change the story, she would die again just like before. She had to stand up for herself. She hadn’t done that in her past life, but she wasn’t the same person anymore. Now she was Ievy, Ievy Elkins, the Duke’s adoptive daughter, the forgotten girl who died blinded by love.

  But Ayla, the new Ievy, wasn’t going to let that happen again.

  She sat there for a long moment, the fear still coiled tight in her chest, but beneath it something steadier had begun to form. She couldn’t keep living like this, waiting, hiding, hoping things would somehow change on their own. If she wanted a different ending, she had to make the first move herself.

  Her hands trembled, but her resolve didn’t.

  Tonight, she will go for the letter. And whatever came after… she would face it.

  Author’s Note: