The chandeliers glittered like frozen stars above Evelynn Thorn's head, their crystal light fracturing across the Imperial Ballroom in cascading colors. Music drifted like a sigh—soft, deliberate, deceptive.
Every note, every whisper of a silk gown brushing against marble floors, every smile curled with court-trained precision—it was all exactly as she remembered. The same illusions. The same poison. But this time, Evelynn Thorn wasn't the naive daughter of a Duke, eager to belong. She was the girl who had died betrayed, framed, and humiliated. And now, she was back.
She lingered at the top of the staircase, her gloved hands resting on the polished banister, eyes scanning the scene below. The Winter Gala had once been her favorite night of the year. Now, it was a battlefield.
Lords and ladies moved beneath her in a glittering tide of silks and polished medals. Laughter echoed like steel hidden in velvet. The smell of spiced wine, fresh roses, and powdered deceit filled the air. She remembered where every dagger would be thrown, who would pretend to catch it, and who would twist it deeper into her back.
Her heart was racing.
Not from fear—but from the thrill of opportunity.
Three years ago, she had come to this exact moment dreaming of a crown and a lifetime beside Prince Alric. And three years ago, he had smiled at her like she was his world... only to order her death with that same smile.
This time, he would choke on it.
She took the first step down, slow and deliberate, letting her presence wash over the crowd like perfume. Whispers flared, subtle and sharp:
"Lady Evelynn?" "She looks... different." "Is that confidence? Or madness?"
Both, she thought. Let them stare.
Her gown, a deep crimson edged in black lace, was unlike the pale pastels she had worn in her first life—this one whispered power, not innocence. Her hair was pinned with obsidian combs shaped like thorns. A statement. A warning.
Eyes followed her. Envy. Curiosity. Wariness. Good.
She reached the ballroom floor and paused, just as she had the first time, when the music shifted and Prince Alric made his entrance from the opposite side of the hall.
There he was. Golden. Perfect. A prince carved from the pages of a storybook.
And a monster in disguise.
He was younger now—less sharp around the edges. He hadn't yet learned how to look a woman in the eye and lie with his whole soul. But Evelynn saw it. The rot. The ambition. The cruelty wrapped in charm.
Their eyes met across the ballroom.
Alric smiled.
In her first life, that smile had turned her into putty. Tonight, it only reminded her of a noose.
He crossed the floor toward her, every step confident, every eye following him. She stood still, her expression composed, hands at her sides, spine straight.
"Lady Evelynn," he greeted, taking her hand with a grace that had once made her heart flutter. He bowed, lips brushing her knuckles. "You look... stunning."
"Your Highness," she returned smoothly, voice like glass—clear and sharp. "As do you."
He studied her for a beat too long. "You've changed."
You have no idea.
She smiled, slow and unreadable. "Time does that."
Alric opened his mouth to say more, but she pulled her hand gently from his grip and turned away. She wouldn't play the simpering fool again. Let him feel the shift.
She didn't look back.
As she walked, her gaze swept the room. There—Lady Mirelle, her former friend turned betrayer, whispering already behind a fan. And there—Duke Harren, the snake who had sold secrets in the dark and then condemned her in the light.
So many masks. So many debts.
A voice slipped out from the shadows near the balcony. "Playing with fire already, are we?"
She knew that voice.
Prince Kael.
Alric's younger half-brother. Black sheep of the royal family. Political exile in everything but name. Dangerous, cunning, and disarmingly honest.
He leaned against a column, goblet in hand, watching her like a man watching a storm roll in.
Evelynn tilted her head. "If I wait too long, they'll forget how sharp I am."
He grinned, slow and amused. "They've never seen you sharp."
She stepped closer, her voice a whisper meant only for him. "Then let them bleed."
Kael's smile widened. "Now that's a toast I can drink to."
He offered her his goblet. She took it without hesitation and raised it just slightly.
"To controlled chaos," she said.
"To war in lace," he replied.
They drank.
And across the ballroom, Prince Alric stared after her, expression unreadable.
Good.
Let him watch.
This time, the villainess wasn't here to fall in love.
She was here to win.