Villain's Last Chance

The night was thick with silence.

Livia's words hung between us, coiling in the cold air like a whisper of something too dangerous to name.

Someone powerful. Someone moving in the shadows. Someone who did not want this marriage to happen.

It should have been good news. It should have been an opportunity. If someone else wanted this engagement destroyed, then perhaps I could use them—manipulate the pieces on the board in my favor.

But instead, something about it made my blood run cold.

Because I did not know who it was.

And there was nothing more dangerous than an unknown enemy.

I met Livia's gaze, searching for deception. I found none.

"Tell me everything," I said.

She hesitated, glancing toward the estate. "Not here."

I understood. The Valcrest household was filled with ears that did not belong to me. Yet.

I nodded once and led her through the garden's winding path, moving toward the old stone archway that led to the secluded greenhouse. It was one of the few places in this estate where I was certain no one was listening.

The moment we were alone, I turned back to her. "Speak."

She inhaled sharply. "There are whispers of a group operating in the capital—one that has been pulling strings in the empire for years, undetected. They are powerful. Ruthless. And they have no allegiance to any noble house."

I frowned. "A secret faction?"

Livia nodded. "They call themselves the Revenants."

A cold laugh almost escaped me. "Revenants?" I repeated. "Ghosts?"

It was fitting.

"They work from the shadows," Livia continued. "And they are not just spies or mercenaries. They are something more. They rewrite the board itself."

Something about that made the hairs on my arms rise.

Spies, assassins, informants—I had dealt with them all before. I had controlled them. Bent them to my will.

But this… this was different.

This was something I had never encountered before, even in my past life.

"And they are moving against this marriage?" I asked.

"Yes."

I considered this, my mind weaving through every possibility, every angle. "Why?"

Livia hesitated. Then, carefully, she said, "Because they know who you are."

My breath stilled.

For a long moment, I did not move.

The night stretched, the greenhouse's glass walls casting fragmented reflections of candlelight, as if dozens of versions of myself stood watching.

"They know," I echoed.

Livia nodded once. "Not everything. But they suspect. And if they confirm it…"

She didn't need to finish.

If they confirmed it, I would not survive this time.

Not even Cairon Everhart had been my true enemy before. Not really.

But whoever the Revenants were—they could destroy me before I even had a chance to fight.

The game had just changed.

I took a slow breath, forcing my mind into sharp focus. Fear was useless. Panic was a weakness. I had three weeks before my wedding to Cairon.

And if the Revenants wanted me dead before then, I needed to outmaneuver them first.

I turned to Livia. "Do they have a leader?"

"Yes. But no one knows who they are."

A shadow with no name. That would not do.

"Find out," I said. "And when you do, bring me their name."

Livia hesitated. "That will not be easy."

I smiled—sharp, cold, ruthless. "It never is."

She studied me for a moment. Then, slowly, she nodded.

"I will return soon," she said. Then, with practiced ease, she pulled her hood back over her face and disappeared into the night.

I was alone again.

I turned my gaze to the city beyond the estate walls. Somewhere out there, unseen hands were moving, shifting pieces I could not yet see.

But that would not last for long.

The Revenants thought I was a ghost of my past.

They had no idea that I was coming for them first.

The Next Morning,

I was summoned to the Everhart estate again.

A strange thing, for a man like Cairon. He was not the type to entertain a noblewoman twice in as many days, much less his betrothed.

Which meant something had changed.

I arrived at the estate dressed in midnight blue—a shade that did not call attention to itself, yet commanded authority in its quiet depth. The moment I entered, I felt it—a shift in the air, as though the entire household was wound tighter than the strings of a bow.

Something had happened.

Cairon was waiting in his study.

He sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, watching me with the kind of sharp calculation that sent a thrill of challenge through my veins.

"You summoned me, my lord?" I said smoothly.

His lips quirked, but there was no humor in it.

"Sit."

I did.

The silence stretched. Then, finally, he reached into his drawer and pulled something out—a dagger.

He placed it on the desk between us.

I did not move.

"Do you recognize this?" he asked.

I let my gaze drop to the blade. The blackened steel. The engraved sigil on the hilt.

My blood ran cold.

Because I did recognize it.

It was an assassin's dagger.

And not just any assassin's dagger.

It belonged to the Revenants.

I lifted my gaze back to Cairon's. He was watching me too closely, as if waiting to see my reaction.

So I gave him nothing.

"A fine blade," I murmured. "Where did you find it?"

Cairon leaned back. "On the body of the man who tried to kill me last night."

The words landed like a blade to my ribs.

The Revenants had made their first move.

But not against me. Against him.

I schooled my features into something perfectly neutral. "An assassination attempt?"

Cairon hummed. "Not just an attempt." He leaned forward. "A message."

Slowly, he turned the dagger, revealing something carved into the steel.

One word.

Betrayal.

I stared at it, my mind working faster than my pulse.

Betrayal.

The Revenants had not simply tried to kill Cairon. They were accusing him of something.

But why?

I looked back at him. "And you think this has something to do with me?"

His gaze did not waver. "I think," he said slowly, "that you know more than you're pretending."

A dangerous accusation. One that could get me killed.

So I did what I did best.

I smiled.

"If I were planning to betray you, Lord Everhart," I said, tilting my head, "do you truly think I would be foolish enough to leave a message behind?"

Something flickered in his expression.

Then, to my surprise—he laughed.

Low. Dark. Amused.

"Perhaps not," he murmured. "But tell me, Lady Valcrest." He picked up the dagger, twirling it lazily between his fingers. "Would you tell me if you were?"

I leaned in, my voice a whisper of a smile.

"Would you believe me if I said no?"

Silence.

Then, his smile sharpened. "No," he admitted. "I wouldn't."

A deadly game had begun.

And neither of us intended to lose.