Chapter 1: A Second Chance

The air felt different.

It wasn't cold like it had been in her last moments. There's warmth now. There's a strange softness beneath her, and the light pressing against her closed eyes was gentle and golden, not the flickering dimness of candlelight she had died to.

Eleanor's eyes snapped open. Her breath caught in her throat. The ceiling above her wasn't the vaulted, modern arch of the mansion she shared with Sebastian. It was familiar, but from long ago.

She sat up abruptly. The room spun for a moment, but not from poison. She was sure of it. Her hands landed on her chest. Her heartbeat was steady. Her limbs moved freely.

She's breathing. And she's… younger.

Eleanor scrambled to the vanity mirror. Her reflection stared back. Smooth, unwrinkled skin, eyes not yet dulled by betrayal, lips still full with color. Her hair was looser, unstyled, falling around her shoulders in soft, familiar curls.

"What the hell is happening?"

It wasn't the face of a woman who had just died. It was her, nearly ten years ago.

The door suddenly opened. A maid peeked in, bright-eyed and excited.

"My lady, your parents are expecting you in the drawing room. Today's the day, remember? You're to make your choice between Lord Damien and Lord Sebastian."

Eleanor blinked. No. That couldn't be.

The choice. The day everything began.

She remembered it clearly. This hour, this day. Her mother had insisted on the pale blue gown. Her father spoke of alliances and legacy. She was tasked with choosing between the Rothschild brothers—Damien, the older with charm and ambition, and Sebastian, the more stubborn, sadistic younger son.

She married them both. One after the other.

And they both destroyed her.

Eleanor sank onto the edge of her bed. The weight of her awful memory of her death was still chilling. But the sheets felt real.

Somehow, somehow, she had returned.

She's given a second chance.

She didn't know how. Whether it was the fury in her soul that refused to let go, or the cruel mercy of fate.

But she had been brought back. And she wouldn't waste it.

There would be no love this time. No pleading, no hoping. She wouldn't grovel at the feet of men who only saw her as convenient.

And Jane Thorne… she wouldn't take anything from her again.

Eleanor stood slowly, as if testing her own strength. She walked to the wardrobe, opened it, and ran her fingers across the familiar fabrics.

"Which one would you like to wear today, my lady?" the maid asked, already reaching for a frilly lilac option.

Eleanor pulled out the pale blue gown.

"This will do," she said.

As the maid helped her dress, Eleanor stared at her reflection. The girl in the mirror looked soft, naive, unscarred by betrayal. That would change soon enough.

Today was supposed to mark the beginning of her courtship with Damien. Her parents leaned toward him because he was older and more politically useful. Eleanor remembered saying yes that afternoon, choosing him because he smiled more sweetly and kissed her hand like she was something precious.

But behind that smile had always been Jane.

And after Damien's death, she fell straight into Sebastian's arms, mistaking manipulation for affection.

Eleanor's gaze darkened.

"Not this time."

"Sorry? Did you say something, my lady?"

"N-No… Nothing…"

When Eleanor entered the drawing room, her parents were already seated on the ivory settee, polished and smiling, as composed as ever.

"Eleanor, darling. You look lovely. The Rothschilds will be here soon. Now, remember what we discussed—"

"I remember," Eleanor said smoothly, taking her seat.

Moments later, the door opened.

Damien entered first. Tall, handsome, his presence filled the room with practiced ease. He kissed Eleanor's mother's hand, greeted her father, and turned to Eleanor.

"You look stunning, Eleanor," he said warmly.

Behind him came Sebastian. Quieter. Subtler. His smile was thin. His gaze was calculating even then. He gave a respectful nod in Eleanor's direction.

Then came the third entrance. Unannounced, yet exactly on cue.

Jane Thorne.

She was wearing a lavender dress. Modest, soft, humble. A ribbon was tied around her glossy hair. She was carrying a tray of tea with perfect subservience, her eyes cast down, a performance she had mastered even as a young girl. But for a brief second, her gaze flicked to Eleanor.

Eleanor met it head-on and smiled.

Let Jane pretend. Let her play the innocent maid. But this time, Eleanor wasn't blind.

As conversation began with business, pleasantries, talk of the estate and seasonal galas, Eleanor sipped her tea quietly. She listened. Watched. Measuring each word.

By the end of the day, she was expected to make her choice.

But it wouldn't be Damien.

And it certainly wouldn't be Sebastian.

Because somewhere in the Rothschild estate's west wing, buried beneath books and silence, was the illegitimate third son.

Lucian Rothschild.

Born from scandal. Ignored by society. Unwelcome at court. But Eleanor knew the truth.

Years from then, Lucian would rise. His hands would build more wealth than his brothers could ever imagine. He would soon become the youngest business owner with a net worth of billions and would top the Forbes list. He would outlast them all. He would be free and more powerful than anyone.

And he would never love Jane.

In her previous life, Eleanor had shared one reckless night with Lucian. It was a night when innocence left her. A night she would never forget. But as Lucian picked up his clothes, he ended up muttering the cruelest, most insensitive words to Eleanor.

"You looked satisfied, so don't come looking for me again."

But now, the course was different.

Eleanor knew she had to choose a husband that day because if she refused or hesitated, her parents would make the choice for her. And that meant being forced into a marriage with someone she was unsure of, someone she might never truly want. She didn't want that.

"I won't choose Damien," Eleanor said quietly but firmly, "and I won't choose Sebastian either."

Her mother's eyes widened.

"And what, then? You intend to stay unwed?" her father's voice was sharp, but there was a hint of warning beneath it.

"No," Eleanor replied, meeting their gaze. "I will choose Lucian."

Her mother gasped, her hand flying to her chest, and her father's brow furrowed deeply.

"You can't be serious," Sebastian said. "He's our father's bastard. That grunge has no title, no standing. Your life will be in ruins with him."

"E-Eleanor, dear… Are you mad or something? What's with this sudden rebellion?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Mom. And I said what I said. I won't marry anyone from their family unless it's Lucian."

At that moment, Jane paused, eyes flicking between Eleanor and her parents with a look of genuine confusion and something unreadable. Jane's gaze lingered on Eleanor for a moment, then shifted away, pretending to adjust the teacups.