Clara Heath POV:

The fragile truce in the room shattered. Richard Daniel's exhaustion was instantly replaced by a fresh wave of annoyance and disbelief. He slumped back in his chair, his jaw tight.

"What now?" he demanded.

"My second request is simple," I said calmly. "As of today, I do not want to see Elliott Spears in this estate again."

Richard's brow furrowed, his mind clearly struggling to place the name. "Elliott Spears? Your tutor?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "I no longer require his services. Please dismiss him immediately. And I want him banned from setting foot on any inch of Daniel land."

A look of pure contempt crossed his face, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum over a broken toy. "For a tutor? Clara, your concerns are remarkably petty."

"He makes me uncomfortable," I cut in. "That is reason enough."

Images from my past life flooded my mind. Elliott Spears—the handsome, gentle tutor who had once made my foolish heart race. I had mistaken his coldness for discipline, his insults for motivation. Every shy glance I threw his way, every fumbled attempt at conversation—he had collected them like trophies and shared them with Camilla. They became a private joke between them.

I saw it all now with painful clarity. The way he would "accidentally" spill ink across my essays, then tilt his head with that pitying smile and say, "Clumsy as always, Clara. Perhaps you should try harder next time."

The way he would praise Camilla's intelligence in front of me, then glance my way with a sigh: "Talent, unfortunately, is something one is born with. Some of us simply must accept our limitations."

And the look in his eyes when he gazed at Camilla—a possessive adoration hidden beneath a veneer of respect. He loved her. And because he loved her, he hated me. He hated the "stain" I represented on her perfect life. Camilla, of course, encouraged his silent cruelty. Elliott was her sharpest, most subtle weapon against me.

A familiar warmth flickered at the edge of my vision—a faint gold thread, thin and tangled, curling around a darker cord. Elliott's fate, still forming, still uncertain. In my past life, I had never seen it. Now I knew: whatever future awaited him, it would not be the one he expected.

He was Camilla's most loyal dog. Her tool to monitor me, to chip away at my spirit with a thousand tiny cuts of condescension and disappointment.

But I was no longer the girl who had loved him. That girl had drowned in the river, still longing for a glance he would never give.

This time, he would be the first weed I pulled from my garden.

Richard clearly didn't understand my motives, nor did he care to. The fate of a tutor was insignificant compared to the threat of treason.

He waved his hand impatiently. "Fine. I'll have the butler handle it. Now get out."

I caught the flicker in his eyes before he looked away—a brief, almost imperceptible hesitation. He had expected me to break, to bargain, to cling. He had not expected this calm, detached stranger. For just one moment, I saw something unfamiliar cross his face. Not guilt. Not regret. But perhaps the first stirrings of doubt—the realization that the girl he had discarded might not come crawling back after all.

I had what I came for. Without another word, I turned, opened the heavy door, and left the suffocating study behind me.

I walked down the long, silent corridor. The portraits of Daniel ancestors stared down at me from the walls—their painted eyes cold and judgmental. In my past life, their gazes made me shrink, made me feel small and unworthy. Now, I only felt a detached sense of pity.

A family that had to sacrifice its daughters and rely on deceit to maintain its standing didn't deserve these symbols of honor.

I returned to my room—a small attic space in the most remote corner of the manor. The furniture was sparse and worn: a bed with sheets washed so many times the fabric had gone thin and threadbare, a wooden chair with a wobbling leg, a cracked washbasin that had never been replaced.

Camilla's chambers, by contrast, were a fairy-tale castle. Silk drapes changed every season, fresh flowers delivered daily, a vanity overflowing with jeweled combs and perfumes I could never afford. I remembered standing in her doorway once, as a child, watching her try on necklaces before a gilded mirror, while I stood in my threadbare dress, invisible.

I looked away from the memory. That girl was gone.

I went to the window and pushed it open. The cool night air washed over my face, clearing my head.

I knew Richard had agreed, but I also knew he believed I was a fool. He was certain that once I left the protection of the Daniel name, I would fail. He was waiting—waiting for me to come crawling back, begging for his forgiveness.

I would never give him the satisfaction.

Getting rid of Elliott was just the first step. Our accounts were far from settled. And I already knew my next move: the slums, a boy named Finn, a future I could shape with my own hands.

The next morning, the butler arrived with a lawyer and a contract to dissolve my relationship with the Daniel family.

I read every word, ensuring there were no hidden clauses, no traps.

Under Richard's icy glare, I signed my name: Clara Heath. Just Clara Heath.

The lawyer took the documents to be notarized. I was free.

After signing, I left the dining hall, intending to pack my few belongings.

I turned a corner in the hallway and nearly collided with someone.

It was Elliott Spears. He had clearly been looking for me. His eyes held their usual flicker of impatience and disdain—but beneath it, something else. Confusion. He must have heard the news.

Clara Heath POV:

Elliott Spears frowned, his lips thinning into a familiar line of disapproval. "Clara, have you forgotten your etiquette lessons already? You walk on the right side of the corridor. You do not rush about like a commoner."

I ignored his reprimand, simply looking at him. He had clearly come to "educate" me—to remind me of my place, to reassert the old order he assumed still governed my life. He must have heard whispers of my confrontation with Richard and dismissed them as a tantrum. A girl like me, after all, could never truly rebel.

In my past life, he had used countless little "rules" like this to crush my confidence, to make me feel clumsy and worthless.

My silence seemed to irritate him further. "The patriarch sent me to remind you to prepare for the wedding in a few days. Do not bring shame upon the Daniel family."

A small, humorless smile touched my lips. He was clearly out of the loop.

"Mr. Spears," I said, my voice quiet but clear, "I believe your information is out of date."

I simply met his gaze and said, "As of today, you are no longer my tutor."

He stared, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "What are you talking about? Clara, that is not your decision to make."

"It was the patriarch's decision," I added. "He has dismissed you. And you are forbidden from entering the Daniel estate ever again."

The smile froze on his face. His eyes widened in disbelief. "Impossible! Why would the patriarch—"

"You can ask the butler. Or you can ask the patriarch himself." I said, turning to leave.

He grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong. His face was flushed with anger. "This is your doing, isn't it? What game are you playing now to get my attention? Do you honestly think pushing me away will make me finally notice you? Because I can promise you, Clara—everyone can see right through this little act."

"Get your attention?" The absurdity of it made me laugh, a genuine, sharp sound. "Mr. Spears, please, don't flatter yourself. You were never the prize you thought you were. I was just too blind to see it."

I had no romantic feelings left for him. All that remained was a debt, yet to be collected.

I pulled my arm free and walked past him. He remained frozen in the corridor, his face a mask of confusion and fury.

Back in my attic room, I began to pack. There wasn't much. A few worn dresses, a cracked washbasin, a wooden chair with a wobbling leg.

I paused before the small, tarnished mirror propped against the wall. The girl who stared back at me was familiar and strange all at once. I lifted a hand, my fingers brushing against the red mark on my right cheek—a thin, snaking line of crimson they had called a mark of ill omen. For my entire first life, I had been ashamed of it. Elliott had hinted, more than once, that this mark was the source of my "crude" and "unfortunate" nature.

But now, beneath my fingertips, it pulsed with a faint, steady warmth, like a sleeping heart beginning to stir. Each beat seemed to sharpen the edges of my vision, making the corners of the room feel thinner, more transparent. I didn't fully understand it yet—only that my mother's blood was finally waking up inside me.

I still remembered the afternoon I had stumbled upon Elliott in the garden, speaking to Camilla in low, amused tones.

"She actually followed me home yesterday," he had laughed. "I nearly lost my composure when I turned around. That face—those marks—and she thinks she has the right to love anyone. It's almost pitiful."

Camilla had covered her mouth, her laughter like chiming bells. "Poor Clara. She does try so hard, doesn't she?"

I had stood frozen behind the hedge, my heart crumbling to ash. That was the moment I understood—every shy glance I had given him, every clumsy attempt at conversation, he had collected and delivered to Camilla like trophies. They had become a private joke between them.

The shock of rebirth had left me trembling, but the world looked different now. I could see faint halos of light around people, perceive the gossamer threads of their fate. The red mark on my face no longer burned with shame—instead, that gentle warmth radiated from it, as if a long-dormant power was finally awakening.

That girl is gone, I told my reflection. She drowned. I am what remains.

I turned away from the mirror and picked up the thickest book among my mother's collection, its pages yellowed with age.This is one of the few mementos my biological mother left me. It was filled with archaic script detailing knowledge of herbs and stars. I ran my fingers over the faded ink and remembered—dimly, like a dream half-forgotten—a woman with tired eyes sitting by candlelight, whispering words I couldn't understand. She had pressed this book into my hands when I was very young and said, "One day, you will."

In my first life, I couldn't understand it. After my rebirth, I realized it was a beginner's grimoire. My mother had not been an ordinary woman. My power came from her.

Before I permanently moved out of here, I decided to go to the slums in search of Finn. Only once I found him could I finally put my mind at ease. I walked toward the main gates. On my way through the courtyard, I caught a glimpse of Elliott through a ground-floor window, arguing with the butler. His gestures were sharp, his face reddening. He had confirmed my words, and he had not liked what he heard.

Let him seethe.

The guards didn't stop me. They had their orders.

Just as I was about to step out onto the main road, a lavish carriage pulled up, blocking my path.

Of course. I knew he wouldn't let me walk away that easily.

The door opened and Elliott Spears stepped out. He had changed his clothes. He was no longer dressed as a humble tutor, but in the fine silks of the upper class. He had gone to considerable trouble to present himself as a man of status—perhaps to remind me what I was losing, or to reassert the power he felt I had stolen from him.

He stood before me, his expression a complex mix of anger and something else I couldn't quite place. He had obviously sought confirmation from Richard and was deeply unsatisfied with the answer.

"Clara," he began, his voice dripping with a kind of condescending pity, "tell me what you really want. Money? Is that it? If you take back what you said, I can consider—"

I looked at him and suddenly felt a profound sense of foolishness for the girl I used to be.

I didn't answer his question. Instead, I focused, and for the first time, I actively used my new ability to see his fate.