Killed by My Sister, Freed by Fate

My stepsister killed me. All because her marriage fell apart and she couldn’t stand the sight of mine. She envied the glittering illusion of my “perfect” life—never realizing the truth about what my so-called perfect marriage really was.

And luckily, the fate had given me another chance. I was reborn before everything happened.

“Father, I want to marry Silas Vane.”

The moment Lila spoke his name, a chill raced down my spine. I knew instantly—she had been reborn just like me.

In our past life, Lila had chosen Jaxon Westmore. The Westmores looked golden from the outside, but underneath that shine? Rot. Corruption.

And Jaxon himself was the worst of it. He was a husband in name only, spending his nights with strippers and models, never once delivering the support he promised her… or my father.

By contrast, my marriage to Silas Vane had been praised as untouchable.

I gave him a son and a daughter—in return, he gave my family wealth, protection, influence. Father could not have been more pleased.

My son, carrying both Dusk and Vane blood, was destined to rule one day.

I knew Lila envied me, I saw in her eyes every time she looked at me. I just never imagined that she would have that envy burned hot enough to kill me.

And now, standing in that study again, I watched her pretty face light up, her eyes sparkling as she declared she wanted Silas for herself.

“And you, Seraphina?” Father’s voice cut through, sharp and expectant. “Have you decided which family you’ll marry into?”

Lila smirked at me, her lips curling like she was already savoring her victory.

She knew there were only two families that mattered. Silas Vane, or Jaxon Westmore. The rest held little power, not enough money, not enough worth.

She was probably counting on me to volunteer myself marrying Jaxon in this life—live the miserable life she had once endured.

“Sera,” Lila purred, her tone too sweet, “don’t tell me you’ve also set your eyes on Silas? You wouldn’t fight your own sister for a man, would you?”

The memory of her hands stealing my life—of being torn away from my son and daughter—burned like acid in my veins.

But I smiled, even as my nails bit into my palms.

“Nonsense,” I said lightly. “You’ve already claimed him. What kind of sister would I be if I fought you over another man?”

Perfect words. Smooth. No cracks for her to slip a knife into.

“Then who will you choose?” she pressed. “I hear Jaxon Westmore is a strong option. The Westmores have political connections. If you marry him, he’ll give us exactly the support we need.”

Of course she’d say that. The cruelty of it almost made me laugh.

“I agree,” Father said. His eyes gleamed at the thought. “The Westmores have been tied to politics for decades. Imagine the opportunities, Seraphina—international ties, influence across borders.”

I cut him off before he could dream further.

“Father,” I said, my voice steady as steel. “I want to marry Lucien Blackwell.”

The moment I dropped that name, both Lila’s and Father’s faces shifted.

The Blackwells had been nothing more than a cautionary tale for over a decade. Once, they dominated the state’s arms trade. Then came the disastrous deal with the Russians—an alliance that imploded in blood and fire, leaving half their family dead and their empire in ruins.

Since then, their name had faded from the lips of power.

“Are you joking?” Lila’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in feigned shock. “Lucien Blackwell? Father wants us to marry into strength, not weakness. You’d drain our resources to prop up a fallen family, just so they can claw their way back to glory?”

Father’s scowl deepened the longer she spoke. “Lila is right. You know our family is suffering, Sera. We need powerful alliances. The Blackwells are not one.”

But I hadn’t spoken Lucien’s name on a whim. I had met him once in my last life.

It was at one of Silas’s casinos—a place I’d been foolish enough to visit when Silas was too busy to play the role of husband. The usual drunken chaos had broken into a full-blown fight, and I’d been cornered by men too reckless to care who I was. Lucien appeared like a shadow and pulled me free. He didn’t ask for thanks, didn’t want a reward. Later, I learned his name when Silas reviewed the footage himself: Lucien Blackwell.

He had been nothing to me then. But I remembered him. A man who carried himself like a gentleman in a world that had none.

If I had to marry again—for Father’s ambitions, for the Dusk name—I’d rather bind myself to a man like that.

A man I could build something with. Maybe not a fairy tale. But a partnership.

“Father,” I said evenly, “you’ve always wanted to step into arms dealing. The Blackwells, despite their fall, still hold unmatched experience in that field. They don’t have resources anymore—but they have knowledge. They can guide us, if nothing else.”

Father’s gaze bored into me, measuring. He knew I was right. Compared to all that politics, Father was always more fascinated by arms dealing and international influences.

So in the end, he could do nothing but give a begrudging nod.

“Congratulations, sister. It seems we’ll both marry into powerful families. And of course, if you ever need anything, you know Silas has always been generous. He never minds helping the less fortunate.”