KRISTIE MCCARTY POV:

I stood beneath the arched shadow of the glasshouse, listening to my father's voice boom with a triumph he hadn't displayed in years.

Silas Mccarty, the head of our noble family, was formally announcing to the gathered aristocracy that his beloved elder daughter, Kandace, was to be betrothed to the powerful Archon Brennon Montgomery.

Kandace was my stepsister. Brennon Montgomery was my fiancé until just a few days ago.

A violent wave of applause erupted through the garden. To me, every thunderous burst of hands felt like a desperate attempt to drown out the rot beneath our family’s gilded crest.

My father’s gaze swept proudly across the crowd, a brilliant, hollow arrogance plastered across his face. He truly believed he had secured his ultimate triumph. He deliberately kept his eyes off the quiet shadow standing in the corner—off me.

"As we all know," Silas announced, his voice carrying smoothly across the lawn, "the Montgomery pact requires a daughter of pure blood. Now that Kristie's former engagement has been dissolved, it is only right that Kandace steps into her rightful place for the glory of the family!"

A low, knowing murmur rippled through the noble crowd. They all knew the truth—I had been discarded, my engagement stripped away and handed to Kandace on a silver platter.

Before the applause could fade, the heavy wrought-iron gates of the courtyard swung open.

The atmosphere shifted instantly. The festive chatter died down as a royal herald wearing the platinum livery of the High Sovereign stepped forward, flanked by an armed guard. In his hands, he carried a heavy imperial scroll sealed with royal wax—the mandatory balancing act of the Imperial Court. The High Sovereign would never allow the Mccarty family to gain the Montgomery alliance without taking on a heavy imperial burden in return.

The herald unrolled the parchment, his magic-amplified voice ringing through the garden like a solemn bell.

"By imperial decree of the High Sovereign, Cornel Vanderbilt," the herald declared, "in recognition of the historic sacrifices made by Archon Holden Carlisle IV, and now that the Mccarty family's second daughter, Kristie Mccarty, is without an active betrothal, she is hereby bestowed upon the Carlisle estate as his lawful wife."

The garden plunged into absolute, dead silence.

Every single head snapped in my direction. The air grew thick with a grotesque blend of shock, pity, and dark, satisfying curiosity.

Holden Carlisle IV.

The name hung in the cold evening wind like a phantom. The "Broken Archon." The brilliant military commander who had been poisoned by black dragonblood during the disastrous Tragedy of the Black Moon's Night. Rumor had it his body was decaying—a paralyzed, living corpse trapped in his rotting northern estate.

I was the worthless surplus—tossed aside to fulfill a tragic imperial quota.

The noble crowd shifted, whispering furiously behind silk fans. They were waiting. They expected me to break. They expected the unstable, emotional Kristie who had supposedly thrown a frantic, desperate fit just a few days ago when her engagement was stolen.

My father cleared his throat, casting a stern, warning glare at me across the lawn.

"Kristie," Silas spoke up, his tone dripping with forced condescension for the audience to hear. "The High Sovereign has blessed our house with double honor. Do not indulge in the hysterical fits you displayed a few days ago. Accept your imperial duty with dignity."

He was trying to paint me as a unstable fool before I could even open my mouth.

I didn't break down into the frantic sobbing they were so eager to feast upon.

Instead, I stood tall, my spine rigid as a drawn blade. My eyes were completely clear, dark, and utterly void of warmth.

Into the awkward silence, my sister Kandace glided toward me. She was a vision in a gown woven with sun-crystal thread—a proud peacock preening for her audience.

She reached out, her gloved fingers gripping my wrist with deliberate, biting force.

"Oh, my dear sister," she cooed, her sweet tone echoing softly for the onlookers. "Don't be disheartened. I will pray for your well-being every day in the Grand Cathedral."

She leaned in closer, her cloying floral perfume suffocating the air between us.

"You should really thank Father," she whispered in a vicious undertone meant only for my ears. "Now that you have no marriage prospects left, at least you still get the title of an Archon's wife... even if you're sleeping next to a rotting, lifeless corpse."

I looked down at her hand on my wrist, then slowly raised my eyes to meet her false amber gaze.

My internal world was a quiet, frozen sea.

"Is that so?" I replied.

I casually pulled my arm free from her grip. With slow, deliberate grace, I pulled a white lace kerchief from my sleeve and thoroughly wiped the exact spot on my skin where her fingers had touched—as if brushing off a layer of foul dust.

My voice was quiet, yet it carried an inexplicable, razor-sharp weight through the silent garden.

"You should concern yourself with your own path, sister." A subtle, ice-cold curve formed at the edge of my lips. "After all... the night of a grand wedding can prove to be a treacherous trial for some."

The triumphant smirk on Kandace’s face froze instantly.

She hadn't expected silent submission, let alone a quiet, lethal warning. A flash of shock swept across her features, quickly followed by a spark of rage. Her manicured nails dug into her palms, but with the eyes of the royal herald and the entire court upon her, she had no choice but to swallow her temper and maintain her pristine facade.

She let out a small, indignant huff and swept past me with her head held high, though her back was noticeably rigid.

The whispers flared up again—a buzzing swarm of gossip discussing the starkly divergent fates of the Mccarty sisters.

An older gentlewoman who had once been close to my late mother slipped near, quietly pressing a handkerchief into my palm.

"You poor child," she murmured softly, her eyes filled with genuine sorrow. "Now that your engagement is gone, they treat you like trash... What would your poor mother, Elara, say if she saw this?"

The mention of my mother, Elara Ainsworth—a legendary herbalist who had vanished under mysterious circumstances years ago—struck a quiet chord in my chest.

If only they knew what my mother truly left behind for me.

I folded the handkerchief neatly into my sleeve, suppressing every trace of vulnerability.

The royal herald approached me, his expression an unreadable mask of official duty. "Miss Mccarty, your departure to the Carlisle estate will take place on the very same day as your sister's grand wedding procession. You are to prepare immediately."

The same day. A deliberate, poetic humiliation engineered by my father. One daughter paraded in glory through the capital; the other swept out quietly like trash before dusk.

"I understand," I said calmly, looking the herald dead in the eye.

My total lack of distress visibly caught him off guard. He paused, giving me a long, searching look before bowing stiffly and taking his leave.

I took one final, lingering look at the glittering, superficial banquet. At my father, who was already drinking wine with wealthy dukes, and at Kandace, who was soaking in the shallow envy of the crowd.

KRISTIE MCCARTY POV:

I was in my modest chamber, placing a few simple garments and my mother's yellowed herbal notes into a worn leather traveling trunk. My handmaid, Phoebe, watched me from the side, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with helpless worry.

Bang!

The heavy oak door was kicked open, slamming violently against the stone wall.

Kandace swept into the room, draped in vibrant silk, flanked by two arrogant, sneering maids.

She scanned my sparse, threadbare room with undisguised contempt, her golden fan fluttering softly. "Tsk, tsk. My dear sister, are you truly dragging this pathetic rubbish with you to that living corpse’s tomb?"

I didn't answer. I didn't even lift my head, continuing to fold a simple wool dress with methodical, rhythmic grace. To me, she was nothing more than empty air.

My utter indifference clearly infuriated her. With a harsh step forward, she snatched the bound leather notes right out of my hands.

It was my mother's journal.

"What is this nonsense?" Kandace mocked, flipping through the delicate, aging parchment with careless, rough fingers. "Ah, the useless junk left behind by your low-born herbalist mother?"

My hands froze.

The ambient temperature in the room seemed to drop into sub-zero darkness.

"She and her worthless weeds both ended up rotting in the dirt," Kandace sneered, her voice dropping into a sharp, cruel purr, her fingers intentionally catching on a frail page, threatening to tear it. "Leaving absolutely nothing behind... except you. An equally useless, disgraced daughter."

My mother, Elara Ainsworth, was the one line in this world no one was permitted to cross.

Before Kandace’s maid could even blink, I moved.

It was a speed no delicate noblewoman should have possessed—sharp, lethal, and born of absolute anatomical precision.

My left hand shot out, snatching my mother's journal back before a single thread could tear.

At the exact same instant, my right hand slammed forward like an iron clamp, locking firmly around Kandace's throat.

Thud!

I drove her backward, slamming her violently against the stone wall. The air exploded from her lungs in a choked scream.

Her two maids shrieked in horror, but a single, arctic glance from my eyes froze them dead in their tracks, their feet glued to the floor in sheer terror.

"You... you dare..." Kandace gasped, clutching desperately at my arm, her face rapidly flushing a dangerous purple.

I didn't just strangle her. My thumb pressed with agonizing accuracy directly into the cervical nerve ganglia beneath her jaw—a precise pressure point that sent a paralyzing, fiery agony shooting through her entire nervous system. She couldn't draw breath, nor could her body summon a single ounce of strength to fight back.

I leaned in close, my face inches from hers. My voice was a soft, icy whisper, carrying the chilling calm of a demon from the abyss.

"I warned you in the garden, Kandace," I murmured, my grip tightening just enough to keep her on the precipice of suffocation. "Now... apologize to my mother."

Tears of instinctual panic welled in her wide, terrified eyes. "Why... why should I..." she wheezed out.

"Very well."

A faint, cold smile touched my lips. I released her neck.

Kandace crumpled to the floor like a sack of wet rags, coughing violently, gasping for precious oxygen.

I gave her no time to breathe.

I picked up a sharp, silver letter opener from my dressing table. Kneeling down, I pressed the icy, pointed tip directly against her flushed, delicate cheek.

At the same time, as my other hand lightly stroked her trembling jawline, my fingertips worked a microscopic trace of dormant botanical irritant—concealed beneath my fingernails—directly into her wide-open pores.

"You know, sister," I whispered, lightly tapping the blade against her porcelain skin, "as an herbalist's daughter, I know a great deal about the human body. I know a hundred distinct ways to make a person's flesh fester, rot, and give off a stench so vile that no imperial doctor could ever diagnose it."

Her eyes dilated in absolute, primitive horror. Her body began to shake uncontrollably under the cold metal of the blade.

"Or..." My voice dropped lower, the tip of the blade slowly gliding down from her cheek to rest lightly against her trembling lips. "...I could simply slice the tendon beneath your tongue, so you never speak another insult again."

"No! Stop! Don't!" Kandace finally broke completely. Tears and mascara smeared down her face in a pathetic mess. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I apologize to Lady Elara! I was wrong! Please!"

Her voice was high-pitched, distorted with utter terror, sounding both wretched and utterly laughable.

I looked down at her pathetic, trembling form. The cold disgust in my chest settled into a quiet, absolute disdain.

"Get out," I commanded softly, withdrawing the silver blade.

Kandace didn't hesitate for a single second. She scrambled backward on her hands and knees as if granted a divine pardon from the executioner's block. Her two maids caught her shivering frame, and together they fled my courtyard as though the devil himself was snapping at their heels.

Silence reclaimed the room.

Only Phoebe remained, standing frozen in the corner, her face pale with shock as she stared at me with an overwhelming mixture of awe, fear, and newfound reverence.

I walked over to the window, watching Kandace’s disheveled figure fleeing down the gravel path. A cold, razor-thin smile formed on my lips.

I gently smoothed down the cover of my mother's journal, its yellowed pages safe in my hands.

Mother, do you see? I swore silently into the quiet evening breeze. I will never let them trample on us again.

This little farce was merely the opening note in the symphony of my retribution.

KRISTIE MCCARTY POV:

After Kandace fled in absolute terror, a dead silence claimed the room. Phoebe finally snapped out of her shock and fell to her knees before me, trembling like a dry leaf in the autumn wind.

"My lady... you..." She was far too terrified to form a coherent sentence.

I stepped forward and gently helped her up, my voice softening into its usual calm rhythm. "Phoebe, how many years have you been by my side?"

"Since... since you were ten, my lady," Phoebe stammered, keeping her head bowed low. "It has been ten years."

"Then you should know I never strike without absolute certainty," I said, handing her a cup of warm water. "Speak not a single word of what happened today to anyone. From now on, you only need to remember one thing: I am your mistress, and soon, the Lady of Carlisle Estate."

My quiet composure and the unshakable authority in my tone soothed her frantic nerves. She took a deep breath and nodded heavily, her frightened gaze shifting into an expression of resolute, unwavering loyalty.

After settling Phoebe, I locked the heavy oak door. I needed a moment of total solitude to process the truths of my existence and lay out my chessboard.

I walked over to the dressing table and sat down, staring at the young, quiet face in the mirror.

Yes... two lives, lived by a single soul.

Just seven days ago, in this very chamber, Silas Mccarty had marched in with Kandace. They demanded that I surrender my betrothal, my mother's inheritance, and the man I had secretly loved with all my heart for years—Brennon Montgomery.

That betrayal was the final straw that crushed my spirit. Overwhelmed by unbearable grief, bitterness, and the agony of being forced away from the person I adored, the former me couldn't bear the shame. Right here in this suffocating room, I swallowed a lethal dose of poisonous herbs, choosing to end my own tragic life.

They believed I was simply trapped in a week-long coma.

They had no idea that during those seven silent days, my soul had been pulled away, drifting across time and space into another world—a highly advanced civilization known as the Blue Planet.

In that world, I was raised as an orphan in a shelter, but through the generosity of kind benefactors and my own relentless determination, I graduated from the highest medical institute in the land. I dedicated my entire life to healing the sick and saving thousands, elevating my medical mastery to a degree that bordered on the divine. Before my long life in that world finally came to a peaceful end, those I had saved reverently bestowed upon me a title reserved for legends: Master Vesta, the Divine Grandmaster of Healing.

When I closed my eyes in that life, expecting eternal rest, I opened them only to find my soul dragged back into this world—waking up in my own dying body, exactly seven days after I swallowed that poison.

Heaven had granted me a second chance at my own life.

I was a Grandmaster of Medicine. I possessed a heart of divine compassion... but that compassion would never be squandered on my enemies.

Those who owed me, those who betrayed my mother, and those who trampled on my dignity—I would drag every last one of them down into hell.

Marrying the "Broken Archon," Holden Carlisle, was forced upon me by circumstance. But it was also the exact sanctuary I needed—a hidden, overlooked stage where I could gather my strength and execute my retribution.

In my hands, he would not only be restored; he would become the deadliest, sharpest blade in my arsenal, directed straight at the throats of those who wronged me.

An Archon bound to a bed of torment owes everything to the woman who pulls him from the abyss. By restoring his ruined body and curing what others called impossible, I wouldn't just gain his absolute, unshakeable gratitude—I would wield the terrifying power, wealth, and military might of the Carlisle bloodline.

A strange, absolute sense of calm washed over me.

My gaze shifted to an expensive jar of royal face cream sitting on the dressing table—a luxury item Kandace had brought over a few days ago solely to gloat.

She hadn't given it to me as a gift. She had merely placed it on my vanity to rub her elevated status in my face.

I guessed it wouldn't be long before she sent someone to take it back.

She wanted to flaunt her glamour before me?

Then I would let her. A cold sneer formed on my lips...

I picked up the jar and opened the lid. A sweet, cloying fragrance filled the air. Kandace loved everything flashy and superficial.

A cold sneer formed on my lips. From a hidden compartment in my leather trunk, I retrieved a small, oil-paper packet containing a fine, ground botanical powder.

To an ordinary person, it was unremarkable. But with my vast medical knowledge as Master Vesta, I knew its exact properties.

I carefully tipped a small portion of the colorless, odorless powder into the cream, stirring it meticulously with a silver hairpin until it dissolved completely.

It wasn't a lethal poison. It wouldn't kill her.

However, when absorbed into her skin, it would react violently with a specific ingredient in her favorite royal dessert—a treat I knew she would gorge on during her wedding feast. The combination would trigger an unforgettable, humiliating "surprise" at the most glorious moment of her life.

I placed the doctored cream back in its original spot, erasing every trace of my work.

I walked to the window and drew aside the curtain. Moonlight spilled into the courtyard, casting a serene glow over the stones.

Across the manor, Kandace's courtyard was ablaze with glittering lights as she made her final preparations for tomorrow's grand wedding.

"Enjoy your final moments of glory, my dear sister," I whispered softly into the night breeze.

I closed the curtains, shutting out the world.

In the darkness, an ice-cold smile curved my lips.

The prelude to my vengeance was finished. Tomorrow, the real climax begins.