ANYA POV:

My consciousness clawed its way out of the suffocating darkness. I gasped, my eyes snapping open as I bolted upright.

My hands frantically clutched at my chest, bracing to feel the cold, heavy hilt of Davian's silver dagger, expecting the warm, sticky flow of my own blood. Instead, my fingers met the soft, dry fabric of my nightgown. My chest was completely whole, though my lungs burned and the lingering chill of icy water clung to my skin.

Pushing off the heavy quilt, I forced my weak legs to carry me to the vanity mirror in the corner of the room. The face staring back at me made my breath hitch.

The deep, hollow exhaustion of my final days was gone, replaced by the youthful roundness of my cheeks.

I was seventeen again. The Moon Goddess had actually heard my dying vow and pulled me back from the abyss.

I reached up with a shaking hand, brushing aside my damp bangs. There it was—the jagged, dark mark marring the left side of my forehead.

The sight of it instantly anchored me to the exact day I had returned to. That day my adopted sister, Elara, had played the innocent victim, whispering the "secret" of my hideous mark to her friend, Jocelyn. Jocelyn had eagerly spread the rumor that I was a freak, and our resulting confrontation had ended with her shoving me into the estate's freezing lake.

I had spent years burying my face under thick foundation and a curtain of hair, crippled by insecurity. But looking at it now, after enduring the agony of Davian's betrayal and the lethal bite of his blade, this mark felt utterly insignificant.

I traced its rough edges with a steady finger. It wasn't a flaw; it was a part of me, a testament to my survival.

I squared my shoulders, meeting my own fierce gaze in the mirror. I was no longer the fragile, naive girl who wept over rumors and begged for scraps of affection.

I had been given a second chance, and in this new life, I would dictate my own fate. Those who thought they could step on me would soon realize they had awakened a completely different Anya.

"Anya? Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

The gentle, familiar voice sent a violent jolt through my spine. I spun around. My mother, Eleanor, was rushing toward me, her beautiful face etched with deep worry. Just behind her stood my father, Alistair, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, and my older brother, Caleb, looking equally anxious.

They were alive. They weren't the bloodied, mutilated corpses I had seen in my final, agonizing moments. They were warm, breathing, and looking at me with such profound, unconditional love. The sheer weight of their presence shattered my composure. A choked sob tore from my throat, and hot tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.

I threw myself forward, crashing into my mother's arms. I buried my face in her shoulder, desperately inhaling her familiar, comforting scent of lavender and rain. I gripped her tightly, terrified that if I let go, she would vanish into dust.

"Shh, it's okay, my sweet girl, you're safe," my mother soothed, her warm hand gently rubbing my back. "Are you still in pain? The fever must have given you a terrible nightmare."

A soft knock interrupted the fragile moment. The heavy oak door pushed open, and Elara stepped inside. She looked like a flawless picture of innocence in her pristine white lace dress, carefully balancing a silver tray with a steaming cup of milk.

Seeing my family gathered around me, her hazel eyes immediately welled up with perfectly timed, glistening tears. "Anya! You're finally awake," she cried softly, her voice trembling with a masterful display of feigned guilt. "I was so worried. I'm so, so sorry... It's all my fault you fell into the river and caught that terrible fever."

The sight of her made the blood in my veins run ice-cold. The image of her standing over my dying body, smirking as Davian twisted the blade into my heart, flashed vividly in my mind. A fierce, suffocating hatred flared in my chest, demanding blood.

But I forced it down. I swallowed the venom rising in my throat. Screaming and accusing her right now would only make me look like a hysterical, fever-addled girl. I needed to be smarter this time. I had to dismantle her perfectly crafted facade piece by piece.

I slowly pulled away from my mother, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I straightened my posture and looked directly at Elara. I kept my expression perfectly calm, an unreadable mask, though my voice was still hoarse from sleep. "You don't need to apologize for the river, Elara. I know you didn't push me."

Elara blinked, her tears faltering for a fraction of a second. She was clearly caught off guard by my mild, forgiving tone. "I... I just feel terrible that I couldn't stop Jocelyn..."

"But there is one thing I don't quite understand," I interrupted gently, my gaze locking onto hers with an unwavering intensity. I didn't raise my voice, but I made sure it was clear and steady enough for my parents and brother to hear every single syllable. "My forehead mark. I have always kept it strictly hidden under my bangs. It is a family secret. Only Father, Mother, Caleb, and you know about it."

I paused, letting the heavy weight of that undeniable fact settle over the room. I watched the subtle shift in my parents' posture as they processed my words.

"So," I continued, my tone remaining dangerously polite, "how did your best friend, Jocelyn, know exactly what it looked like? "

ANYA POV:

My gaze was burning, my mind sharper than it had ever been. I stared Elara down, my voice dropping to a freezing temperature. "I want an explanation."

In my past life, when this exact incident happened, Elara had used her pathetic tears to gloss over the whole thing. I had my doubts back then, but believing my sweet sister would never hurt me intentionally, I had kept my mouth shut.

Looking back now, it was so obvious. This entire "accident" of me falling into the water had been meticulously orchestrated by this woman. Her ultimate goal? To spread the rumor that I was disfigured and hideous, making the entire capital whisper that I was unworthy of Prince Davian.

My sudden demand stunned everyone in the room. My parents, Lord Alistair and Lady Eleanor, along with my brother Caleb, all froze. They had assumed this was just a tragic accident by the water, but my words instantly shifted the atmosphere.

I could see the panic flashing in Elara's eyes as she looked at me sitting on the bed. She was undoubtedly wondering why her usually gullible, obedient sister was suddenly acting so out of character. For a moment, she looked entirely at a loss.

Right on cue, Elara's maid, Tessa, dropped to her knees with a loud thud. "It's all my fault! When Lady Jocelyn visited last time, I accidentally let the secret slip. Please, Lady Anya, do not blame Lady Elara! She truly knew nothing about it!"

Elara immediately turned to Tessa, her face a mask of scolding disbelief. "How could you be so careless?" Then, she turned her teary eyes back to me. "Sister, it was an honest mistake. Tessa didn't mean to do it. Please, just forgive her this once!"

Watching the two of them put on this pathetic master-and-servant theatrical display, trying to wash their hands of any real blame, I sneered inwardly. Elara was indeed a master manipulator, having trained her maid to cooperate so flawlessly.

Unfortunately for them, the current me would no longer be blinded by a few fake tears.

"An honest mistake?" My dark eyes locked onto them, gleaming with a piercing, unforgiving light. "I say it was a deliberate trap to ruin me."

I didn't give them a chance to interrupt. "She knew perfectly well that Jocelyn Kensington despises me. She also knows exactly how important a woman's appearance is. Yet, she just happened to let it slip to her? Now, the news of my 'ruined, hideous face' has spread across the entire capital. They are even saying I fought Jocelyn over Prince Davian like a jealous, crazy woman. Where does that leave my reputation?"

I leaned forward slightly, my voice ringing with absolute authority. "If we go by your excuse, sister, and this was merely an 'honest mistake'... then what use is a maid so incredibly stupid that she cannot comprehend the severity of her own words?"

My rapid-fire questions suffocated Elara. She opened her mouth, but for the life of her, she couldn't formulate a single word in defense.

Standing nearby, my father, Lord Alistair, had heard enough. Seeing his usually tolerant daughter speaking with such fierce, justified anger, his Alpha aura flared.

"Guards!" my father roared. "Drag this maid out! Give her fifty lashes and banish her from the estate!"

Tessa's face drained of all color. "Lady Elara, save me!"

However, before Elara could even plead her case, Lord Alistair turned his furious gaze on her. "While this might have been your maid's mistake, Elara, your failure to manage your servants makes you complicit. You will be confined to your quarters to reflect on your actions!"

Elara's face went deathly pale. She opened her mouth to cry and complain, but seeing that our parents' attention was entirely focused on me, she swallowed her protests. She could only nod in bitter resentment. "Yes, Father..."

The next morning, after a full night's rest, the reality finally settled into my bones. I had truly returned to my seventeen-year-old self. Had the heavens taken pity on my dying obsession?

In this life, I will never let these traitors succeed again.

I made a silent vow to myself. The heavens had given me a second chance, and I would cherish it. I would return every single ounce of pain to those ungrateful, despicable monsters.

"My lady, please don't dwell on it too much."

Clara's voice pulled me from my thoughts. Seeing me staring blankly, my loyal maid assumed I was agonizing over my ruined reputation from yesterday's drama.

"The people in the capital have short memories," Clara tried to comfort me. "In a few days, when something else happens, they will forget all about it."

I glanced at Clara, sighing inwardly. You are thinking far too simply, Clara. The people of the capital might have short memories, but Elara and Prince Davian would never pass up an opportunity to destroy my name. Right now, they were probably fanning the flames, making sure the scandal became known to every man, woman, and child.

I turned my attention to the bronze mirror on the vanity. There it was—a large, dark mark taking up a significant portion of my forehead.

Clara stood behind me, beginning to brush my hair. Just like she always did, in an attempt to "hide" the mark, she styled my hair in a messy, chaotic fringe.

Looking at my reflection, I realized that this deliberate attempt to cover it up only made me look unkempt, drawing even more negative attention to my face.