Reborn

My eyes fluttered open, and I gazed at the unfamiliar ceiling. What happened? The last thing I remembered was being pushed off the cliff, dying, but here I was, feeling weak and disoriented. I tried to sit up, but my body felt light and fragile, and I collapsed back onto the bed with a loud thud. The door burst open, and a maid in a crisp uniform rushed in, concern etched on her face.

She didn't say anything. Her wide eyes flicked over me, assessing, trembling hands clenching the hem of her apron. I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat was dry like sandpaper. The maid stepped forward hesitantly, a glass of water in hand before I could even ask.

"You're awake," she whispered, almost as if saying it too loudly would break the fragile reality we both stood in.

I took the glass, my fingers brushing hers. She flinched. Why? What did she see when she looked at me?

"Where am I?" My voice cracked.

The maid hesitated, glancing over her shoulder toward the hallway. “The estate… His estate.”

“Whose?”

Before she could answer, the world tilted. A wave of dizziness crashed over me, and the room blurred at the edges. I shut my eyes tight and when I opened them again, everything had changed.

The silk sheets. The sunlight filtering through lace curtains. The faint scent of roses and the echo of soft footsteps in the hall.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

I bolted upright, this time with no weakness holding me down. My hands gripped the edge of the bed as I scanned the room, my room. This was mine... the pale blue wallpaper, the carved oak vanity, the worn spot in the rug where I'd once spilled ink and tried to scrub it away before anyone noticed. Even the breeze drifting through the balcony doors carried the scent of jasmine from the gardens I used to sneak into at night.

And the maid... she works for my father.

I remembered her now. Milla.

But there was no smile on her face now only fear. Like she was seeing a ghost.

Maybe I was a ghost.

My fingers curled around the bedpost to steady myself as the weight of it all settled in my chest.

I was back.

Back in my body. Back in this cursed house. Back before everything fell apart. Back before the wedding. Before the betrayal. Before they pushed me off that cliff and watched me fall.

“Milla,” I said, my voice low, hoarse but firm. “What year is it?”

She blinked, taken aback. “Miss, tomorrow is your wedding?”

My chest rose and fell in quick, panicked breaths.

Tomorrow.

My wedding was tomorrow.

The same wedding that sealed my fate. The beginning of the end. The day I smiled for photographs and signed away my freedom, thinking I was stepping into a life of love and honor only to be betrayed. Used. Killed.

But not this time.

Not again.

I scrambled out of bed and rushed to the mirror. And there she was.. I was staring back at me. Younger. Softer. Not yet broken.

I touched my face, my lips trembling. “No… this isn’t possible.”

But the calendar on the wall confirmed it. The day before my wedding. The day before I married him. My best friend Tessa wasn't yet here.

I had been reborn.

My heart thundered, not with fear, but rage. This time, I wouldn’t walk blindly to the altar. I wouldn’t smile through the lies or swallow my screams. I crossed the room in long strides, yanked open the armoire, and stared at the dress hanging there like a ghost waiting to claim me.

White. Innocent. A lie.

I looked at Milla, whose face had paled. “Get it out of here.”

She blinked. “Miss?”

“The dress. The veil. The shoes. Anything that reeks of him. Get them out of my sight. I don’t care if you burn it, shred it, or toss it in the sea.”

“B-but the seamstress is due to arrive for final fittings—”

"If you have refused, then get out of my room",

Milla flinched as if I’d struck her, her lips parting in silent shock.

“I—yes, Miss.” Her voice was a whisper, trembling like her hands. She gathered the edge of her skirts and fled, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

Silence settled over the room like a shroud.

I stood there, breathing hard, staring at the armoire as if it might come alive and drag me back into the nightmare. My palms were slick with sweat, my pulse roaring in my ears. But beneath the trembling fury, a strange calm began to form a clarity I hadn’t possessed the first time.

With shaking fingers, I grabbed the delicate fabric, tore it from the hanger, and ripped it down the middle. Satin and lace gave way beneath my fury, seams splitting with satisfying cracks. I didn’t stop until it was a heap of ruined cloth at my feet.

This time, I wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

I turned back toward the mirror, meeting the gaze of the girl I used to be.

She was gone.

In her place stood someone cold. Someone who will revenge for her death.

The wedding dress lay in tatters on the floor, white silk ripped apart with a fury that left my hands shaking. Strips of lace and satin clung to my fingers like spiderwebs, the air heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and betrayal. I stared down at the ruin, chest heaving, fingers raw. It was done. That symbol of my submission, of the life they tried to force me into, was no more.

I didn’t wait for anyone. Not Milla’s return, not the guards outside my door. I slipped into a simple cloak, one I used to wear on chilly rides through the orchard trails, and disappeared through the servant halls like a ghost. The estate was quiet. Everyone including my parents were probably asleep.

They didn’t see me leave.