The last thing Marissa rembered was the fire. The suffocating heat, the acrid taste of thick, black smoke filling her lungs. She rembered the roar of the flas as they devoured the room, and the terrible, triumphant look on her sister Ashlyn’s face. She rembered the searing pain as Ashlyn’s grip tightened in her hair, dragging her back from escape, back into the inferno. It was the end.
Then, there was nothing. A deep, silent void.
Marissa’s eyes fluttered open.
The first thing she felt was a gentle rocking motion. The air was cool and fresh, slling faintly of leather and roses. She was sitting upright on a plush velvet seat, and the fabric of the dress she wore was a simple, smooth silk, not the heavy, ornate satin she had died in. There was no pain. No heat. No smoke.
Her eyes focused. She was inside a carriage. Sunlight stread through the small window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Her heart began to pound, a frantic, confused rhythm against her ribs.
"Where am I? Is this the afterlife?"
Suddenly, the carriage door was yanked open with a loud creak, flooding the interior with blinding daylight. A figure stood silhouetted against the light. As Marissa’s eyes adjusted, the figure ca into focus, and her blood ran cold.
It was Ashlyn. But it was the Ashlyn of a year ago, her face youthful, unmarred by the madness that had consud her, and she was wearing the most extravagant wedding gown Marissa had ever seen. It was a cascade of lace and shimring pearls, a dress designed for the future Grand Duchess.
"I demand to swap grooms, Marissa."
The words, sharp and desperate, cut through Marissa’s daze. Before she could process them, Ashlyn reached in, her fingers wrapping around Marissa’s arm in a surprisingly strong grip. She pulled her sister bodily out of the carriage.
Marissa stumbled onto the gravel path, her mind reeling. She looked around. They were in the courtyard of the grand cathedral. Two carriage processions were halted behind them. One carriage, lavish and decorated with white roses, bore the crest of the Thompson family’s main house. The other, her carriage, was smaller, simpler, and bore the crest of the Austen family. She looked down at herself. She was wearing a plain but elegant white dress, the one she had been set to wear to marry Carlos Thompson, the second son.
This was the day. The wedding day. The day it had all begun.
"It can’t be," she thought, a wave of dizziness washing over her. "Could it be I went back to the past?"
The mories of her previous life—the quiet suffering, the sudden elevation to Grand Duchess, the betrayal, and the horrific, fiery end—crashed through her mind. It was real. She had lived it. And now, she was here again, at the start.
"Marissa," Ashlyn said again, her voice tight with an urgency that seed completely out of place. "I won’t marry the Grand Duke. Let’s swap grooms. Right now."
Marissa stared at her, still struggling to connect the Ashlyn from the fire with the desperate girl standing before her now. "What?" she asked, her voice a low whisper.
Ashlyn repeated the words slowly, as if speaking to a child. "I said, I don’t want to be the grand duchess. The title, the husband, all of it. It’s yours."
Before Marissa could form a reply, her loyal handmaiden, Lily, stepped forward from beside the carriage. Lily’s face was a mask of bewildernt. She curtsied nervously to Ashlyn before speaking.
"Second Lady," Lily began, her voice respectful but firm. "You were the one demanding to marry the Grand Duke. Your mother went through a great deal to make it happen for you. My lady had already agreed to marry Lord Carlos. Why would you change your mind now? After boarding the carriage, on the way to the cathedral..."
SMACK!!!
The sound was sharp and ugly in the quiet courtyard. Ashlyn’s hand had moved like a whip, striking Lily across the cheek. A bright red handprint imdiately blossod on the maid’s pale skin. Lily gasped, her eyes filling with shocked, pained tears as she stumbled back, her hand flying to her face.
"How dare a lowly maid interrupt her mistress," Ashlyn spat, her voice dripping with the familiar cruelty Marissa rembered so well. Her eyes were wild, and she raised her hand to strike the maid again.
But this ti, Marissa was ready. Her own hand shot out, catching Ashlyn’s wrist in a grip. The force of the movent surprised them both. Ashlyn froze, her eyes widening as she looked at Marissa’s hand on her arm, then up at her sister’s face.
The ek, accepting Marissa she knew was gone. In her place was a woman with cold, serious eyes that held no fear.
Marissa dropped Ashlyn’s hand hard, as if it were sothing distasteful. She ignored the whimpering maid for a mont and focused all her attention on her sister.
"Why did you change your mind?" she asked, her voice low and steady.
Ashlyn flinched at the tone. She quickly tried to recover, forcing a brittle smile onto her face. "Out of kindness," she said, the words sounding false even to her own ears. "I thought about it, and... I wanted to give you the grand duchess title. As a gift. From one sister to another."
Marissa’s expression remained serious, her eyes searching Ashlyn’s face, looking past the pathetic lie. She’s a terrible actress, Marissa thought. She’s panicking. She’s terrified. And then, a chilling thought solidified in her mind. She rembers. She must rember the fire too. She knows marrying Derek leads to ruin and death, and she’s trying to escape that fate by pushing it onto .
The realization sent a shiver down her spine, but it also filled her with a cold sense of power. She knew the future. But unlike Ashlyn, she would not run from it. She would master it.
Marissa decided to press her advantage, to expose the absurdity of Ashlyn’s lie. "You’d trade an heir for a bastard son?" she asked, her voice sharp with disbelief. "You would give up Derek Thompson, the official Grand Duke, head of the most powerful family in the capital and a notable candidate for the throne, for Carlos, a man with no title and no inheritance? A man you and your mother have called worthless a thousand tis?"
Ashlyn’s smile faltered. She looked away for a second, unable to et Marissa’s piercing gaze. "So what?" she said, trying to sound casual. "Things can change. Maybe... maybe he would beco soone worth sothing in the future."
She looked back at Marissa, her eyes pleading. "Well?" she pushed, a desperate edge to her voice. "Don’t you want to marry the Grand Duke? Don’t you want to be the most powerful woman in Denver?"
This was it. The crossroads. In her past life, she had been a pawn, moved by the whims of others. Now, she was being handed the opportunity. Ashlyn thought she was handing her a death sentence, but Marissa knew better. She knew Carlos was the one who would eventually be favored by the king. She knew Derek’s cruelty would be his undoing. Ashlyn was trying to escape a miserable future, but in her panic, she was running away from the very thing she craved: the true power.
A slow smile spread across Marissa’s lips. It was a genuine smile this ti, bright and full of a confidence Ashlyn had never seen in her before.
"Of course I do," Marissa said, her voice clear and sweet. "It’s the grand duchess title, after all. Who wouldn’t want it?" She looked at her sister, whose face was flooding with palpable relief. "And since you are being so generous, dear sister, let’s swap."
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