Ch-2

•~•Solane’s POV

It’s funny, really—how people preach forgiveness as if it’s the ultimate virtue, a balm for all wounds.

“Revenge will only destroy you,” they say, spouting tired platitudes. But they don’t understand. 

Some wounds cut so deep that forgiveness feels like betrayal—it's like handing your enemy the weapon they’ll use to hurt you again.

My Grandmother had a saying, “When you dig a grave for your enemy, dig one for yourself too.” Wise words, I suppose, for someone who never lived to see the kind of betrayal I endured. 

Forgiveness wasn’t an option for me—it felt like surrendering. Revenge was the only way to make them pay for every ounce of pain they had caused me and to truly heal.

So dear Grandmother, my sincerest apologies—but I don’t fucking care if I’m buried next to my enemies, still clutching these grudges like heirlooms.

The crisp night air carried the briny scent of the ocean beyond the hotel where Nathaniel and I were staying for our honeymoon.

A gentle breeze played with the silk of my nightgown as I leaned against the glass railing of the balcony, gazing down at the shadowy waves below.  

From up here, everything seemed small—almost insignificant.

Almost.

The phone in my hand buzzed, shattering the quiet. I glanced at the screen—Dad.

With a sigh, I answered.

“Irene.”

My body tensed, fingers tightening around the phone until my knuckles turned white. “Dad… you've got to stop calling me that. I’m Solane now, not Irene.”

“I know. I’m sorry sweetheart.” His voice softened, heavy with guilt. “It’s just… I can’t get used to calling you that. Not when the original Solane Blackwood died nearly eighteen years ago.”

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. “So did Irene Lancaster… five years ago,” I said quietly.

A heavy pause hung between us.

Then his voice broke through, steady but fragile. “Yes, but you’re still you. Even if you’ve changed your face and are living under your late cousin’s name, that doesn’t change who you are.”

A short, humorless laugh escaped my lips as my chest tightened. “You get betrayed by someone you love, pushed off a cliff, survive—only to lose your child and the ability to ever have one again. Tell me, Dad... do you still remain the same?”

Silence—Again.

It stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. But I wasn’t expecting an answer. Some questions didn’t need one.

I swallowed hard, clearing my throat. “Why did you call?”

“Your mother made me,” he admitted, his voice heavy. “She’s been pacing the mansion, wearing holes into the floor with worry. It’s the first time in five years you’ve been away from home—and alone with that bastard. I wish there was another way to deal with this.”

I exhaled, my voice flat. “Well, this is the best way. And by the way, I’m alone right now. Nathaniel isn’t here,” I assured him.

“Tell Mom she doesn’t need to worry. I’ll be fine.”

"You know she won’t stop worrying," he said, though I could hear the worry in his own voice too. "...And about your plan to make him fall for you—I can’t help but wonder if it’ll even work.”

I smirked, my thumb tracing the scar hidden beneath my robe—a jagged line from hip to rib, a permanent reminder of the fall that should have killed me.

"Well, you know what they say Dad... When you want to destroy a kingdom, you don’t attack the walls. You make the king destroy it from within.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and I could tell he was trying to make sense of my words. Then he said, “Meaning?”

"Meaning," I began, my eyes narrowing, the vision of my revenge unfolding in my mind, "To get my revenge on the Grants, I first need to make Nathaniel fall in love with Solane Blackwood. Only then can I use him to destroy both him and his mother.”

A heavy sigh came from the other end of the line. “Just... be careful. If he starts suspecting—”

“He won’t.” I cut him off, my voice firm. “And don’t worry, Dad. You and Mom won’t lose me again...I promise.”

I could hear the heaviness in Dad’s voice—reluctance mixed with trust. “Alright, sweetheart… Call me if anything goes wrong. I love you.”

“I will… Love you too,” I said, then hung up.

As I lowered the phone from my ear and turned around, my heart skipped a beat at the sight before me.

Nathaniel sat in his wheelchair, right at the entrance of the sliding glass door. The dim lighting cast sharp shadows across his face, but his eyes—unreadable—were fixed on me.

My breath hitched. My fingers went slack around the phone, and it slipped from my hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Shit!