Synopsis:

She was reborn soft, sweet, and touched — surrounded by women who never learned to let go.

Synopsis:

Evangeline “Eva” Claire Maxwell — Lioré, in another lifetime — once worked herself to the bone in a world built on glass and steel. She was brilliant, relentless, and exhausted. Her old world moved too fast, a relentless tide of deadlines, data, and digital shadows. She died with a coffee cup on her desk and a half - finished project glowing on her screen, too weary to notice when her heart gave out.

She thought that would be the end.

It wasn’t.

When she opened her eyes again, it wasn’t the hum of machines or the harsh glow of blue light that greeted her, but the warmth of arms and the soft lilt of voices that loved her before she even had the chance to ask for love. She was reborn into softness, into luxury, into a modern world where mornings stretched out in sunlight and nights carried the hum of quiet city streets. A world where touches lingered, where kisses stayed, where everything slowed just enough for her to feel it.

She grew up knowing this wasn’t just a second chance. It was a different kind of life altogether.

Now twenty, Eva has learned how to fold herself into quiet corners. She goes by a false name to keep strangers from peering too close. Her family’s fortune remains hidden, her old life locked in silence, her ache for something more disguised behind easy smiles. She doesn’t chase fame, doesn’t flaunt wealth, doesn’t invite eyes that might see too much. She works part-time in a flower shop. She walks to campus with headphones on. She pretends she’s ordinary.

But she’s never been ordinary — and she’s never been alone.

There’s always been someone.

Always someone watching her, holding her, stealing pieces of her she never knew how to guard.

Seraphina was the first. The elegant neighbor with sunlit hair and velvet laughter, who used to press sweets into Eva’s small hands and tell her she was beautiful before Eva knew what beautiful meant. Seraphina touched her face like she might vanish if not held steady. She kissed Eva’s forehead, her temple, her mouth when Eva was old enough to understand, and Eva has been craving her lips ever since.

Then there was Liora. The schoolmate who tangled herself into Eva’s life like ivy and never let go. Liora spoiled her senseless — bringing food to her desk when she forgot to eat, draping jackets over her shoulders when she shivered, pulling her into arms that felt like a fortress. Liora kissed her neck like she was hers before Eva even knew what belonging was. And maybe she was. Maybe she still is.

Calista arrived when Eva was sixteen. Older, reckless, untouchable — the socialite who loved too loudly and wanted too fiercely. She held Eva’s hand and promised to steal her away, even though Eva was already wrapped around her fingers. Calista was danger wrapped in silk and lipstick, and Eva, soft-hearted and curious, let herself be caught. She still hasn’t escaped. She isn’t sure she wants to.

And then there’s Aristea — Artemis — the heir to old legacies, born with duty carved into her bones. Artemis was supposed to guard her, nothing more. The bodyguard, the shadow at Eva’s side, the one who promised protection without condition. But devotion has a way of slipping into obsession. And obsession always finds its way to a kiss. Artemis pressed her lips to Eva’s like guarding her wasn’t enough, like love was the only vow she couldn’t keep silent.

They each think they know her.

They each think she belongs to them.

But Eva is starting to realize that belonging isn’t the same as surrender. She’s just beginning to ask herself what she wants, what it means to choose instead of being chosen, what it means to fall when every fall is caught by hands that refuse to let go.

The truth is, she wants all of them — for different reasons, in different ways. Seraphina makes her feel cherished. Liora makes her feel safe. Calista makes her feel alive. Artemis makes her feel claimed.

But desire isn’t simple. It isn’t clean.

In a world without magic, desire becomes its own spell. The women around her have woven threads of it into her life so tightly that she can’t remember where she begins and they end. And love? Love is the most dangerous kind of possession, the one that can gild a cage so beautifully she forgets she’s locked inside.

Eva knows this much: she doesn’t want to die in exhaustion again. Not unloved, not unseen, not untouched.

And yet, she wonders — if she chooses one, will the others burn? If she chooses none, will they ever truly let her go?

Her story isn’t about magic. It isn’t about destiny.

It’s about the danger of being wanted too much, and the sweetness of being wanted anyway.

It’s about women who never learned how to let go.

It’s about her — reborn soft, sweet, and touched, stepping into a world where every kiss feels like both a gift and a trap.

And it’s about the choice she has yet to make.