Selene Ravencourt died in the rain.

The sky wept as her blood soaked the marble steps of the palace—her home turned graveyard. Betrayed. Abandoned. Alone. Her last breath was stolen by the very man who once whispered love into her ear. And as darkness claimed her, her heart whispered one final vow:

> “I will return. And I will make them pay.”

Flames licked her consciousness. Heat. Pain. The scent of roses and smoke.

Then—light.

Selene gasped awake.

She wasn’t in the palace anymore. No blood. No cold marble beneath her. She was in a warm bed, silk sheets tangled around her limbs, her chest heaving.

> “What…?”

A mirror across the room caught her attention. Her reflection stared back—unmarred. Young. Seventeen.

> “I’m… back?”

“This is my old room. Before the engagement. Before the betrayal…”

The room hadn’t changed—pink silk curtains, ivory furniture, and that stupid porcelain unicorn her mother gave her on her fifteenth birthday. It was two years before her death.

She was alive.

She was reborn.

---

That day, everything changed.

Selene didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. The emotions came later—like a slow, burning fever. Horror at the memory of her death. Rage at the people who stood by and let it happen. Her parents, the nobles, the court…

And him.

Damien Blackthorn.

The man she once loved. The man who killed her.

She had trusted Damien. The young heir to the Blackthorn Empire, known across the continent for his cold heart and colder business dealings. But to her, he had been warmth. Laughter. Nights under the stars.

Until he had placed a dagger in her back.

Now, reborn in her teenage body, Selene swore it would be different.

> “No one will use me this time. No one will break me.”

She had two years before the betrayal. Two years to learn, to grow, to sharpen her claws.

And when the time came… she would destroy them all.

---

A Second Chance, A New Mask

Selene didn’t waste a moment.

By dawn, she began digging through old journals and family records. In her first life, she’d been naive—a pampered doll in a golden cage. Not this time. She practiced smiling in the mirror, perfecting the expression of innocence she once wore effortlessly.

But beneath it all, her soul burned with revenge.

At breakfast, her parents barely noticed the subtle change. Her father, Lord Ravencourt, sipped his wine and muttered about trade. Her mother obsessed over the debutante season and fashion scandals.

They didn’t see her. Not really.

And that was fine. Let them think she was still the delicate flower they raised.

It gave her cover.

> “Soon enough, you’ll see me bloom in fire.”

---

An Invitation from the Devil

Two weeks into her new life, the letter arrived.

She recognized the crest before she opened it: a black thorn entwined with silver.

> The Blackthorn family.

Her fingers trembled, but her face remained calm. She broke the seal and read:

> “Lord Damien Blackthorn cordially invites Lady Selene Ravencourt to the Moonlight Masquerade in honor of his eighteenth birthday.”

A party. The same party where it all began.

> “So it begins again…”

Her heart warred with itself. Part of her wanted to burn the letter. To scream. To run.

But she had made a vow. She would face him.

And this time, she would be the one holding the blade.

---

The Masquerade of Lies

The Moonlight Masquerade was held in the Blackthorn estate—a sprawling gothic palace draped in midnight roses and gold.

Selene arrived draped in crimson silk, a phoenix mask covering half her face. She felt his gaze before she saw him.

Damien Blackthorn stood near the fountain, a black mask obscuring his eyes. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black velvet and silver thread. Dangerous. Magnetic. Too handsome for a monster.

Their eyes met across the ballroom.

> “Selene,” he said, voice like velvet. “You came.”

> “Of course,” she replied, her smile sharp. “How could I miss your grand return to society?”

He tilted his head. “You look… different.”

> “So do you.”

“Older. Colder. Sharper.”

He chuckled. “You’ve always had a bite. I like that.”

> “You’ll choke on it one day,” she whispered in her mind.

They danced.

Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, like before. The memory of his touch haunted her. She remembered nights wrapped in his arms, laughter shared, secrets whispered.

Was it all a lie?

> “Tell me, Damien,” she said sweetly. “What is it you want from me this time?”

He blinked. Just a flicker. But she saw it—the hint of surprise.

> “Nothing but your company… for now.”

---

A Dangerous Game Begins

The rest of the night blurred in a haze of music, laughter, and veiled threats. Damien watched her with intensity, suspicion creeping into his gaze.

Good.

Let him wonder.

Selene returned home with her heart pounding and her mind racing. Damien was still the same—arrogant, enigmatic, dangerous. But she was different now.

She had fire in her veins.

And she would burn his empire to ash if it meant justice.

---

The Flame of the Phoenix

Over the following weeks, Selene began weaving her web.

She charmed the court, smiled at the nobles, and flattered the advisors. She uncovered secrets buried in family ledgers, blackmailed corrupt officials, and recruited allies from the shadows.

By day, she played the perfect debut.

By night, she studied the Blackthorn’s holdings, looking for cracks in their empire.

And always, Damien lingered.

He sent her gifts. Flowers. Letters. Invitations.

She accepted each one, pretending to fall under his spell again—while sharpening her knives.

But there were moments… flickers of doubt.

When his eyes softened. When his touch was gentle. When he looked at her like he truly cared.

> “Is it possible?” she whispered one night. “Did he ever love me?”

Her heart ached.

> “No. I can’t afford to believe that. Not again.”

---

The Price of Vengeance

One night, Selene stood on the balcony of her chamber, watching the moonlight ripple across the lake.

She had just returned from another dinner at the Blackthorn estate. Damien had told her a story from his childhood. He laughed. She laughed. And for a moment… she had forgotten.

Forgotten the dagger.

Forgotten the betrayal.

> “I can’t let this happen,” she whispered.

> “He killed me.”

> “He doesn’t get to steal my heart again.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she let them fall. No one was watching.

> “I am vengeance,” she reminded herself.

> “I am the phoenix.”

But deep in her chest, where the fire raged… something else stirred.

Something dangerously close to love.

The rain had stopped, but the storm inside Aylin burned stronger than ever.

She sat in the back of the black SUV, its interior glowing with soft red lights, as the city’s skyline drifted past like ghosts of the past. Her arms were folded, eyes fixed on the reflection of her face in the window—eyes that once belonged to the weak, naive girl she used to be. No more. That girl had died in flames.

Now, she was fire.

"You're quiet," the man beside her said. His voice was deep, with a dangerous softness that teased like velvet over a dagger.

"Get used to it, Lucien," she said, not even turning toward him. "I’m not here to be your entertainment."

Lucien Morello smirked. He liked her fire—even if he didn’t know it was forged from the ashes of a life he helped destroy.

"Don’t flatter yourself," he said lazily, adjusting the cufflinks on his charcoal suit. “I have other ways to be entertained.”

She turned then, meeting his gaze head-on. “Like killing people’s families?”

His brow arched, just slightly, but she caught it. Good. She wanted him uneasy, off-balance. She couldn’t kill him yet. But she could plant the seeds.

Lucien gave her a long, unreadable look. “You speak like you’ve lost someone.”

“I’ve lost everything,” she whispered.

They arrived at the Morello estate—no, mansion wasn’t the word. It was a fortress, perched atop a hill like a predator watching over the city. Sharp edges. Cold stone. Iron gates. And cameras. So many cameras.

“You’ll be living here now,” Lucien said, opening her door like a gentleman, but there was something mocking in his smile. “Welcome to your cage.”

She stepped out, heels clicking against marble. “You mistake me for a bird. I don’t get caged.”

“No?” His voice was amused. “I guess we’ll see.”

---

The estate was as opulent as it was sterile—gold-framed mirrors, chandeliers that dripped like icicles, floors polished to perfection. Everything screamed wealth. Everything screamed control.

Lucien led her through the halls like a wolf guiding a lamb—only the lamb was hiding fangs.

“This is your room,” he said, pushing open a door.

Room was an understatement. It was a suite. With a walk-in closet, vanity mirrors, and a bed big enough for five people.

She glanced around. No windows. Just like a prison.

She walked in. “Planning to lock me in at night, husband?”

He smiled faintly. “Only if you bite.”

She smirked. “Try me.”

He left, the door closing behind him like a vault sealing a secret. She waited five seconds before checking the corners of the room. She found the hidden camera in less than a minute—tucked above a painting.

She pulled her compact mirror from her purse, aimed it toward the lens, and whispered, “I see you.”

Then she sat on the edge of the bed and let the wave of emotion wash over her.

This was it.

She was inside the belly of the beast. The man who had orchestrated the destruction of her family now thought he had her wrapped in silk. A trophy wife. A puppet bride.

But silk could burn.

---

Three Weeks Earlier

When Aylin had awoken in the hospital, her body broken and her soul shattered, she realized fate had gifted her something most never got: a second chance.

The explosion that killed her parents… it was no accident. It was orchestrated by Lucien Morello’s father, and Lucien himself had signed off on it during his rise in the underworld. The Morello family had wiped hers out for refusing to sell the last parcel of land standing between them and complete control of the eastern district.

And Aylin? She had been collateral.

But the universe had different plans. She had survived.

And now, she was reborn—with a new identity, a new face, and a purpose carved in vengeance.

She had trained, studied, and hunted. She had reshaped her voice, her posture, even her smile. She had made herself desirable—irresistible. A woman who could walk into the lion’s den and make him offer her a crown.

And he had.

Lucien had fallen for her mystery, her beauty, her fire. And when she had feigned a brush with danger—set up just perfectly by her hacker friend, Mira—Lucien had swooped in like the predator he was.

Within two months, they were married.

And now she was here.

Living in his palace.

Plotting his downfall.

---

Present

The next morning, Aylin was already dressed in an elegant silk robe, sipping coffee on the terrace of her assigned suite when Lucien appeared. He wore black, of course—everything from his shirt to his watch was sleek, deadly.

“I have a meeting downtown,” he said. “You’ll come with me.”

“Charming,” she said flatly. “Do I get a leash, too?”

He gave her a look. “Don’t tempt me.”

She stood, letting the robe slide just slightly to expose one smooth shoulder. “Maybe I’m trying to.”

For a second, just a second, Lucien’s mask slipped. His eyes darkened. And she knew—knew—she had struck a nerve.

Good.

Let him want her. Let him need her. It would only make his fall more satisfying.

---

The drive downtown was silent, except for the hum of tires on wet asphalt. Lucien seemed distracted. Good. Her presence unsettled him.

They arrived at a towering skyscraper. Morello Enterprises. The heart of his empire.

She walked in beside him like a queen, head high, heels precise. Every assistant turned to look. Some with awe. Others with fear.

Lucien took her to the top floor. His office was an ivory-and-glass war room. The skyline stretched behind his desk like a conquest.

He gestured to the leather couch in the corner. “Sit. Don’t touch anything.”

She smiled sweetly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He turned his back. She pulled out her compact mirror again, whispering to herself: “Camera above the bookshelf. Possible safe behind abstract painting. Two exits. One elevator override panel.”

She memorized it all. Every inch. Every angle.

He thought she was watching him. He didn’t know she was watching everything.

---

That night, Lucien returned late.

She was sitting in the library, pretending to read. When he walked in, she didn’t look up.

“You haven’t eaten,” he said.

“I’m not hungry.”

He stepped closer. “You think you can win this game by starving yourself?”

She turned a page slowly. “No. But I can make you think I’m fragile.”

He chuckled. “You’re anything but fragile.”

Their eyes met.

And something in his gaze flickered—not amusement, not desire—but something deeper. A question. A crack.

He was trying to understand her.

He wouldn’t.

Not yet.

---

That night, she lay awake.

Thinking about her parents. About the fire. About the way Lucien’s name had been whispered by dying lips.

But now… now she is here. She was his wife. His temptation. His enemy.

She had power.

And she would use it.

Until the day he begged for mercy.

Until the day he fell in love.

And then… then she would decide.

Whether to kill him.

Or forgive him.

The gilded doors of the estate slammed shut behind Liana as she stepped into the mansion she was now forced to call home. Despite the lavish marble floors and towering chandeliers, a coldness lingered in the air—one that had nothing to do with temperature.

She glanced behind her once more. Cassian was already walking away, his broad shoulders stiff, his tailored black suit blending into the shadows as if he belonged to them.

“I won’t let you win,” she whispered under her breath.

But what was winning now?

Was it revenge?

Escape?

Or the terrifying possibility that a part of her heart might betray her with warmth?

---

The Cage in Silk

Liana’s new bedroom was larger than her old apartment, with velvet drapes and antique furniture. A king-sized bed stood like a throne in the middle, the crimson silk sheets almost mocking her. There were no bars, but she still felt imprisoned.

She walked to the mirror. Her brown hair framed her face in soft waves, her blue eyes reflecting a storm of emotions. This wasn’t the face of the girl who had died in fire. This was someone new.

Reborn.

Deadly.

And unsure.

A knock on the door startled her. She turned quickly as it opened.

It wasn’t a servant.

It was him.

Cassian.

He stood in the doorway with the arrogance of a king, holding a wine glass and wearing a half-unbuttoned shirt that revealed the edge of a tattoo on his collarbone.

“You’re sulking,” he said.

“I’m strategizing,” she shot back.

He smirked and stepped inside. “This marriage wasn’t my idea either, princess. But we’ll both survive if you stop glaring at me like I personally murdered your puppy.”

“You’ve done worse.”

His smirk vanished. “Have I now?”

She crossed her arms. “You think I don’t know who you are? I’ve heard what your men do. You’re a walking crime empire.”

Cassian raised a brow, sipping his wine. “And yet, you’re married to me. What does that make you?”

Liana's nails dug into her palm. She wanted to spit the truth in his face—wanted to scream that she remembered him from her past life. That she knew what he did. That he’d stood silently as her family burned.

But she couldn’t reveal that.

Not yet.

---

A Past That Claws Back

That night, sleep evaded her. Liana sat by the window, watching the moonlight dance across the rooftops. In her mind, she walked through memories—some distant, some too fresh. Her father’s laughter. The flames that devoured her home. The scream that never left her throat.

And him.

Cassian.

In the shadows. Watching. Unmoved.

But something didn’t add up.

In this life, Cassian didn’t seem like a man who burned homes for fun. He was cruel, yes. Dangerous. But methodical. Calculated. There were layers beneath his cool exterior—ones she didn’t yet understand.

She needed information.

And information was power.

---

The Visit

The next morning, Liana demanded something rare: an outing.

Cassian raised an eyebrow over his espresso. “You want to go shopping?”

“Yes,” she said with the sweet venom of a viper. “Unless you prefer your wife looking like she crawled out of a battlefield.”

He chuckled and motioned to his right-hand man, Viktor. “Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her wander.”

Viktor, a silent mountain of a man, nodded.

---

The Trap

Liana’s plan wasn’t to shop. It was to bait.

In the luxury boutique on 5th Avenue, she wandered off while Viktor spoke with a clerk. Slipping into the back alley, she took out the burner phone she’d hidden in her boot. She had found it in one of Cassian’s abandoned offices the day before.

She dialed a number she never thought she’d use again.

“Ash?”

There was silence on the line, and then: “Liana?”

“It’s me. I’m alive.”

A gasp. “They told me you were dead!”

“Listen to me,” she said quickly. “I need help. Cassian—he’s not what he seems. I think he’s hiding something. I need proof.”

“Where are you?”

“In his estate. I’ll send coordinates. Just… be careful. If he suspects anything…”

“I’m coming,” Ash promised.

Liana hung up and returned just in time for Viktor to notice her “trying on shoes.” She smiled innocently. He didn’t.

---

The Dance of Wolves

That evening, a formal dinner was held for Cassian’s “business partners.” The entire house transformed into a palace of power plays and veiled threats.

Liana wore a backless black gown with crimson heels. Every step was a calculated act. She smiled, laughed, and whispered false sweetness into the ears of the wolves in tuxedos.

Cassian watched her from across the room, his eyes sharp, unreadable.

When he finally approached, he didn’t say hello. He only leaned close and whispered, “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“So are you,” she replied.

He took her hand and led her to the dance floor, wrapping one arm around her waist with the grace of a panther. “Tell me,” he said as they swayed, “what do you think you’ll find in my shadows?”

“The truth.”

“And if it kills you?”

She looked up at him, defiantly. “I already died once.”

Cassian’s eyes flickered—something raw, something haunted. But it disappeared just as fast.

---

Unveiling the Mask

Later that night, Cassian stood alone on the balcony, staring at the stars. Liana joined him, a glass of wine in hand.

“Why do you look so sad, husband?” she asked mockingly.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he said, “My mother died when I was twelve. My father beat me every day after. The only way I survived was by becoming colder than he was.”

Liana blinked. It wasn’t what she expected.

He continued, “I built my empire out of necessity. To protect what was left. But every empire is built on graves.”

“Is that your excuse?” she asked softly.

He turned to her. “No. It’s my confession.”

---

The Shattered Frame

The next day, Liana received a message from Ash.

“Meet me at midnight. East garden. I found something.”

She didn’t hesitate.

Wrapped in her cloak, she slipped out of the mansion into the foggy garden. The statues loomed like ghosts. Ash emerged from the shadows, holding a folder.

“Cassian’s father was involved in your family’s massacre,” he said. “But Cassian wasn’t. In fact… I think he tried to stop it.”

Liana’s breath caught. “What?”

Ash handed her photos—documents, timelines. All showing a younger Cassian trying to intercept the hit. But he was too late. His father had already sent the orders.

“He’s not your enemy, Liana.”

She stood frozen, her entire reality cracking.

A click echoed.

Liana turned.

Cassian stood at the edge of the garden.

Holding a gun.