The sun rises above the horizon, the snow looking like glass pieces reflecting light into shadows that never leave its side.
Ophelia looks at her reflection in the mirror once again.
A cream-beige, form-fitting sheath dress hugs her body. A structured, corset-style bodice with a defined sweetheart neckline.
A smooth, straight skirt falls long and sleek. Minimal, elegant design with softly luxurious fabric. Smokey eyes make her hazel-green irises look sharp instead of soft.
A slight knock on her door indicates…
"Time to start playing your cards, Ophelia."
Walking downstairs, she sees her father patting the back of her sister's head as she looks sad. Ivy's eyes are on the ground, her usual elegance somehow feeling like a distant call.
Hearing the footsteps, Ivy and Raphael both look up. Dressed in a black suit and with hair styled back, he looks every bit the powerful patriarch of the Blackwood family.
Ivy's eyes flutter at Ophelia's cheek, lips parted like she wants to say something, but Ophelia treats her as invisible.
"You don't need to come to the Natheniel family with me, Father."
Ophelia's clear, distant, emotionless voice makes Raphael stiffen, his eyes studying Ophelia's posture—straight and calm on the surface.
A massive chandelier hangs above their heads. Sunlight filters through the massive ceiling-to-floor glass surrounding them, lighting up the ground floor that bears testament to the luxury and power of the Blackwoods.
Ophelia Blackwood stands in the middle of it all with a past unknown to everyone but her.
"You will meet Kayros alone," Raphael's voice carries a hint of authority. "Don't embarrass me again."
Ophelia feels a sharp pang in her chest.
Her hand tightens around her handbag strap, unnoticed.
"I won't."
Raphael nods and turns his back on his youngest daughter, who is on her way to rearrange her own engagement—the one she broke once. Ivy looks at her father and then back at Ophelia.
"Ophelia…" Her voice comes out soft at first. Ophelia's eyes flutter unconsciously, almost instinctively.
(Maybe she will apologize… Maybe, a little sorry.) She thinks despite her better judgment.
"Czar will be there too. Say sorry to him for causing trouble yesterday."
And in that instant, Ophelia's heart shatters once again—painfully and silently. Ivy turns her head away from Ophelia.
Ophelia feels her throat tightening to scream, yell, and wail.
But her tears never had any value to anyone in this world. Not even to those she thought cared about her.
Ophelia simply walks past, toward the road she believes to be the hardest path she will walk.
Because whatever lies ahead of her, she will carry the headache of two lifetimes and one still counting. Nobody even told her to wear a coat—not that she expected it.
The car slides through the snowy road smoothly and slowly. Ophelia's skin feels warm due to the heater humming. The driver doesn't glance at her nor make small talk.
None in the Blackwood mansion actually talk to her much—mostly because she isn't favored by the family members.
Ophelia inhales slowly; her head hurts from crying and the emotional outburst last night, also from the cold.
Her eyes fall on a brown paper bag next to her seat. Frowning slightly, she takes the bag, and inside is a beautifully hand-stitched red sweater with matching gloves with two pink bow ties.
"Who kept it in the car?" she asks slowly, in disbelief.
"Young Master's assistant, Ms. Mars."
Ophelia sees a small handwritten note inside.
—It's not as expensive as the things you wear. Still, a small gift from me for the beginning of your new life. The world isn't as bad as it seems; spring is around the corner. So hold tight.—
An unexpected sense of warmth makes Ophelia's breath tremble slightly. The softness of the sweater and gloves makes her feel emotions she always wanted and dreamed of feeling.
She almost wants to laugh at Sarah's innocent outlook on life. She almost wants to believe that spring is coming. But can she afford it when she is on the way to strike a contracted marriage with the male lead of this world?
Can she expect spring in a life that is repeating all over again, but this time with the knowledge that her first life isn't even hers to own?
She wears the sweater and gloves, feeling warm and cozy, though the days ahead won't be any warmer.
The car slides through the four massive security gates of the Natheniel mansion, guards watching like hawks. Ophelia looks out the window. Long pine trees covered in snow; the beautiful mansion of the Natheniel family unfolds before her as the car moves smoothly through the road.
She feels a strong pang of realization, hands tightening around her bag straps.
The estate spreads out like a private, illuminated kingdom—multiple grand mansions arranged symmetrically around a calm central lake.
Each house features steep slate roofs, large glowing windows, and elegant gables, creating a warm golden halo at dusk.
Curved driveways weave through perfectly manicured lawns, sculpted gardens, and soft landscape lighting that outlines every path and flowerbed.
Terraced balconies, trimmed hedges, and a heart-shaped garden. Surrounded by dense forest, the entire layout feels secluded, meticulously designed, and overwhelmingly grand.
And this beautiful, snow-covered mansion becomes the stage of Ophelia's ultimate move to make Vincent the King of the Underworld.
She almost laughs at the irony of the situation.
But as the car stops before the main staircase leading to the mansion, she sees Kayros already standing outside.
His blue eyes are full of emotions she never understood much—neither then nor now.
Dressed in a black overcoat with a white shirt and black pants underneath, his cheeks are slightly flushed red from the bitter winter. Blonde hair styled back with two careful loose strands falling over his forehead.
Ophelia feels her throat tighten with nostalgia, grief, guilt, and regret.
She knows whatever she is going to do from here is solely for revenge, but she is determined not to harm any of Kayros's people…
And she will step back before Kayros's real love, Jessica—the female lead who melted Kayros's cold heart and made a home in it.
But until then, she will use Kayros's power to take her revenge while protecting him. That's her redemption; that's her version of gratitude toward the one single unfiltered relationship she ever had with someone.
Though it was a relationship of enemies, foes standing with knives at each other's throats—it was real. Real hatred, real disgust, real everything.
The butler, a man with a strong physique despite his old age, opens the door for Ophelia.
A memory flashes in her mind when her eyes meet the butler's. That man had thrown himself before Ophelia when she was about to stab Jessica. Bloodied, pained, and killed—still worried about his master's beloved.
Ophelia feels bitter about that memory. After all, in her memory… her second life ended only two days ago.
Ophelia steps outside. A shiver runs down her spine from the cold wind.
Kayros's calm, unreadable eyes look at her from head to toe. Ophelia's heart starts pacing fast.
He tilts his head, not asking her to step in, yet his dominating nature makes her stop from walking in.
She is here to strike a deal, and any deal with Kayros Natheniel is going to cost her—she will have to keep her head down and bite her pride.
"You want to marry me?" Kayros says, cold and clipped. More chilling than the weather biting her blood and flesh.
"Yes."
"After rejecting me publicly two years ago?" He sneers—mocking and arrogant, which he wears like a second skin.
Ophelia feels shame creeping under her skin. On her 18th birthday—the day she was going to be officially Kayros's fiancée—she pulled Vincent before everyone and declared him as her lover.
It was a scandal that ruined the image of both the Natheniels and the Blackwoods altogether. She still remembers how Kayros's face darkened. How he pulled her onto the balcony and pushed her against the railing and…
How bad the argument was!
And she stands before Kayros again, not with her sharp tongue full of hatred but with a proposal.
She lifts her chin, her hands shaking a bit, but her eyes don't waver from Kayros.
"I have a proposal for you. A contract marriage of three years, beneficial for both pa—"
"I reject."
Ophelia's eyes widen. Kayros repeats coldly, with a cruel smirk on his lips, "What makes you think I will take in the leftover of Vincent Dimitri?"