LOGINELISEI can't speak or breathe.Words stick in my throat as I stare at her in shock."H-how... how do you know about... about that?" I stutter, shaking so badly. "How could you possibly know that I was... that I..." I can't even say the word 'reborn' out loud.Celeste's expression gentles, but she doesn't give me a direct answer. Instead, she touches the corner of her eye with one delicate finger."These eyes have seen many things, child. More than just what exists in the physical realm.Time isn't as linear as most people believe, and some of us are blessed or cursed with the ability to see the threads that connect past to present to future.""But that's... that's impossible," I whisper, even as part of me knows she's telling the truth."Is it? Or does it explain why you look at my son with guilt?”Each word has my jaw dropping because she's describing things I've never told anyone."The bond between you and my son isn't new, child. It's been forged, broken and forged again across li
ELISEI follow Mrs. Westfield through quieter, more elegant corridors.The East Wing feels different from the main house. Less oppressive, more refined.She leads me to a private sitting room that overlooks the estate's gardens.When she turns to face me, there's indiscernible emotions in her eyes. Then her gaze drops to the pendant around my neck.She stares at it for too long and her hands shake slightly before she claps them together."Come, sit with me."I sit in the chair she indicates, feeling like I'm being evaluated by a particularly astute predator.The stern woman helping her pours tea from a silver service, her movements practiced and graceful. But I notice the slight tremor in her hands, the way she has to concentrate to keep the liquid from spilling.We sit in silence for a long moment until Celeste finally breaks the tense silence."That pendant. Where did you get it?"My hand goes to it protectively. "It was my mother's. She gave it to me before she died."Celeste's eye
ELISEVivienne's face flushes with rage. "How dare you...""How dare I what?" I cut her off. "You've spent this entire meal calling me a whore, a bastard, a fraud. You've mocked my dead mother, celebrated my humiliation. And now you're offended that I won't pretend this is a friendly family dinner?"Abigail's eyes narrow dangerously. "You forget your place, girl."I laugh. The sound is bitter and sharp. "You've all made it very clear I have no place. Not in this family, not in the Blackwood legacy, nowhere. So forgive me if I don't play along with whatever sick game this is supposed to be."Alexander’s expression darkens. "Watch your tone. You're speaking to your elders!""Elders who have shown me nothing but contempt," I reply evenly. "Respect is earned. Not demanded. Well, I suppose as my nephew-in-law, you should understand the complications of family hierarchy."The subtle jab lands perfectly.Alexander's face darkens further.Natasha places a gentle hand on his arm. "Elise, we're
ELISEBartholomew Westfield looks much younger than his years. His dark hair is barely touched with silver and his face unlined and handsome in a cold, aristocratic way.He's dressed in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit.Everything about him radiates power and control, from his perfect posture to the way his eyes assess everything."Father-in-law," I say with polite formality despite the tension crackling through the room.His gaze flicks to me. Then a single, low "Hmm" is his only acknowledgment of my greeting before he gestures with one elegant hand toward an empty chair.Beside him sits his first wife, Abigail Westfield. A sharp-faced woman with blonde hair and cold dark eyes that have watched decades of family politics unfold.Her smile is all teeth and no warmth.Gregory sits across from them. There's resentment in his eyes when he looks at me. Beside him sits Vivienne who makes no effort to hide her hatred.Her eyes burn with undisguised loathing.Alexander and Natasha soon c
ELISEI'm sitting at the dining table, fingers flying across the keyboard with renewed purpose, when my necklace suddenly begins to glow hot.My fingers pause over a particularly damning email thread when the sound of the elevator echoes through the penthouse.The elevator doors slide open with their usual whisper, but what steps out isn't usual at all.Vincent stumbles forward, with blood trickling from his split lip and his eyes bloodshot. Behind him are four men in black suits, looking ready to spill blood any moment."Vincent!" I slide my laptop across the table as I stand quickly and move toward him.Another figure steps from the elevator, and Vincent's entire demeanor changes.I stare at this familiar stranger whom I knew too well from my past life.Portala, the old Westfield butler.He walks past Vincent with calm authority.He's a thin man in his fifties, impeccably dressed in a black suit. Everything about him screams old money and unquestioned obedience."Mrs. Westfield." He
ELISEAn entire week passes in a blur of restless sleep and waking nightmares.I cry without knowing why, with tears streaming down my face before consciousness fully returns each morning.Some days I curl into a ball, sobbing into the pillow until it's soaked through.Maria finds me like this and immediately pulls me into her arms."I don't know why I'm crying," I gasp between sobs. "I just can't stop. Everyone hates me. Everyone thinks my mother was a whore and I'm a fraud. The whole country watched me fall apart."Other days I sleep for sixteen hours straight, hiding from consciousness, from the reality of what my life has become.When I finally wake, disoriented and groggy, Vera brings soup with gentle insistence.I take three sips before my stomach rebels.The spoon clatters against the bowl as I push it away."I'm not hungry!"The sharpness in my voice when Vera tries to coax me to eat more makes her flinch.I see the hurt in her eyes and feel a stab of guilt, but I can't seem t







