The last thing I remembered was the burning sting of betrayal.

The courtroom had been cold, its marble floor stained red with the blood of the kingdom's secrets. My hands had been bound — not by chains, but by lies. Sweet lies whispered into the ears of the court by the very man I once loved.

Prince Caelan.

They called me wicked. Cruel. A villainess.

They said I had poisoned the Crown Prince.

But I hadn’t. I would never have. Because Caelan… he once looked at me like I was his world.

And I had loved him like he was mine.

The final sound I heard before darkness consumed me was the Royal Decree:

> “Evelyn Rosentia is to be executed at dawn.”

And then — nothing.

But death, it seemed, had no intention of claiming me.

---

When I opened my eyes again, the ceiling above me was not cold stone but soft ivory, glowing faintly in the morning sun. I gasped, sitting upright in bed.

This was…

My room. In the Rosentia estate.

My heart pounded. My limbs shook. I rushed to the mirror across the room.

Staring back at me was a girl — seventeen years old, eyes wide in panic, long silver hair cascading past her shoulders. My hands trembled.

“No… This can’t be…”

I touched my face. My chest. My throat.

I was alive. I was… young.

I had been reborn.

The weight of it hit me slowly, like a rising tide. The silk of my nightgown. The sunlight through the window. The absence of pain.

This was five years ago. One month before it all began.

I pressed a hand to my chest, steadying my breath. My last life’s memories were sharp. Vivid. The false charges. The betrayal. The look in Caelan’s eyes when he turned his back on me.

But there was something else — something I had only learned moments before I died.

The curse.

> If the Crown Prince falls in love with Evelyn Rosentia… he will die.

I had never known. I had never understood.

All the signs had been there. The strange sicknesses. The failing health. The priest's cryptic warnings. It hadn’t been poison. It had been me.

My love… had been his death sentence.

I had spent my final days thinking I was a monster.

Now I knew the truth.

And I had a chance to change it.

---

A knock broke the silence.

“My lady? Are you awake? Your father requests your presence in the west wing.”

The voice belonged to Talia, my maid. She had always been loyal — even when I didn’t deserve it.

“I’ll be there shortly,” I said softly, my voice steadier than I felt.

She left.

I turned to the wardrobe. I didn’t have the luxury of panic. Not now. I had one month to alter fate — to push him away before his feelings grew again.

Because if Caelan loved me… he would die.

---

The west wing overlooked the royal gardens — the very place I had met him for the first time. In my past life, I had tripped over my gown and fallen straight into his arms.

How poetic.

How foolish.

This time, I would not fall. I would not blush. I would not let him look at me the way he once had.

I walked into the west hall with deliberate calm. My father stood there — tall, unreadable — speaking to a young man in a crisp navy uniform.

I froze.

Caelan.

His golden hair glowed in the morning sun. He turned — and when his emerald green eyes met mine, I felt the sting of old wounds flare up in my chest.

He smiled.

“Evelyn,” he said warmly. “It’s good to see you again.”

I curtsied low. “Your Highness.”

> 💗 Love Meter: +2%

I kept my face composed. I could not let him know.

“You look well,” he said. “I had hoped you'd attend the royal spring ball next week.”

I glanced away. “I may not be able to attend.”

He looked… disappointed.

“That’s a shame. I was hoping to see you again.”

> 💗 Love Meter: +5%

My heart ached. But I knew what had to be done.

“I must excuse myself,” I said. “I have studies to attend to.”

I turned to go.

Behind me, his voice softened.

> “I missed you, Evelyn.”

I paused, swallowing the pain.

But I walked away.

Because love would kill him.

And I had already paid that price once.

I did not return to the mirror after I left the west wing.

I knew if I saw my own face again, I would see the weakness creeping into my eyes — the same weakness that had allowed me to believe in love the first time.

But that Evelyn was gone.

This Evelyn knew better.

---

Talia helped me dress for afternoon court studies. I selected a muted lilac gown with no gemstones, no ribbons, no silk flowers — nothing a girl hoping to charm a prince would wear. My hair was tied in a simple braid, and my sleeves reached to my wrists.

“Lady Evelyn,” Talia said hesitantly as she adjusted the collar, “His Highness… seemed happy to see you today.”

I stiffened.

“I noticed the way he looked at you,” she added carefully. “It wasn’t cold.”

“I know,” I said, almost a whisper. “That’s exactly the problem.”

Talia blinked. “My lady?”

I turned to her slowly.

“Talia,” I said softly. “If Prince Caelan were to fall in love with me… he would die.”

Her eyes widened. “What are you talking about? That— that doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. It’s not supposed to.” I looked down at my gloved hands. “But I saw it. I lived it.”

Talia stepped back, uncertain. She looked at me the way one looks at someone waking from a fever dream.

Of course she didn’t believe me. Who would?

---

I spent the afternoon reviewing noble history texts, pretending to study. My thoughts drifted again and again to Caelan’s face. The way he had looked at me in the west wing — like nothing had ever gone wrong between us. Like I was someone worth smiling at.

He still didn’t know the truth.

In this life, I had the curse's secret.

In this life, I had to ensure he never learned to love me again.

---

The next morning, a sealed envelope arrived at my door.

The royal seal.

I didn't need to open it to know what it was.

The invitation.

The spring ball.

The very ball where — in my last life — everything began to unravel.

Where I had danced with Caelan beneath the glass chandeliers. Where the whispers of jealousy had started. Where the rumors of my “manipulation” began.

And where I first began to hope that I might actually become his bride — not as a political choice, but as someone he loved.

I had been so naive.

I broke the seal with cold fingers.

> To Lady Evelyn Rosentia,

By royal invitation, you are cordially requested to attend the Spring Ball hosted by His Majesty, King Alaric, on the twelfth night of Blossomsong.

I closed it gently.

Talia waited silently behind me.

“Well?” she asked.

I turned to her. “Prepare my absence notice. I won’t attend.”

She flinched. “You… won’t?”

“No.”

“But the entire noble court will be there. If you skip it, people will—”

“Let them talk,” I said flatly.

Talia looked heartbroken. “But… you used to love the Spring Ball.”

I looked away.

“That girl died,” I whispered. “I buried her in a courtroom five years ago.”

---

But the palace had other plans.

Two days later, my father summoned me to his office.

He stood at the window, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“The palace sent a second invitation,” he said without looking at me.

“I already declined,” I replied.

“You cannot decline the crown twice.”

He turned, voice sharp. “Evelyn, I don’t know what you think you’re doing — but pulling away from Prince Caelan now will be seen as an insult. A political one.”

Good, I wanted to say. Let them be insulted. Let the engagement crumble. Let him live.

“I’ve been unwell,” I said instead. “I can’t risk falling ill again so close to the ball.”

My father studied me with quiet suspicion.

“You’ve changed.”

“I had to.”

---

The day of the Spring Ball arrived like a slow, inevitable tide.

From my bedroom window, I could see the carriages arriving at the royal palace. Glittering gowns. Velvet coats. The air shimmered with magic and music.

And yet, I sat alone in silence.

Then came the knock.

“My lady,” said a soft, male voice. Not Talia.

I opened the door.

A palace courier stood there, holding something wrapped in silk.

“For you,” he said, bowing and handing it over.

Inside was a single white lily.

The symbol of the royal house.

A note was tucked inside the stem.

> I had hoped you would be there.

I saved the first dance.

— Caelan

> 💗 Love Meter: +12%

I clutched the flower, my breath catching.

He still remembered.

And he still hoped.

Even after everything… he was still falling.

And I couldn’t stop him.

The white lily wilted in its crystal vase by morning.

I hadn't moved it. I couldn't bring myself to touch it.

That single flower from Caelan — simple, sincere, and warm — had haunted me through the night more than my memories ever had.

I knew I should have burned it.

But instead, I watched it decay. Petal by petal.

The same way his love for me had once bloomed… and died.

---

Talia noticed the flower first.

"My lady?" she said, frowning. "This— is this from the palace?"

I nodded once. “It’s nothing.”

“You didn’t attend the ball, and yet… he sent you this?”

I closed the book in my lap and stood. “Don’t speak of it again.”

Talia stiffened but obeyed. She had always been more loyal than I deserved.

---

Later that day, I took a walk through the eastern garden of the Rosentia estate. The garden had been planted by my late mother — all lilacs and white roses, pale and fragrant in the sun. It was the only place in this life that felt untouched by lies.

I had just sat beneath the old arching willow when a presence stepped into the courtyard.

"You're hard to find when you're avoiding someone."

I turned sharply.

Prince Caelan stood a few paces behind me, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His golden hair caught the sunlight like a halo.

"Your Highness," I said, standing quickly and curtsying. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I sent you a flower. You didn’t reply.”

“I didn’t realize it required a reply,” I said evenly.

He approached slowly. “You didn’t come to the ball.”

“No,” I said. “I didn’t.”

"May I ask why?"

I hesitated. “It wasn’t appropriate.”

“That’s not like you,” he said gently. “You used to love those things. The dresses, the music—”

“That was a different girl,” I interrupted, colder than I intended.

His smile faltered.

“Then who are you now?” he asked, voice soft.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But I’m not someone who should be near you.”

> 💗 Love Meter: +18%

My breath caught. Again?

Every time he looked at me like that — like I was still his Evelyn — the curse grew stronger. It fed on moments like this. On the illusion of closeness.

“You said something strange the other day,” Caelan said suddenly. “When we met in the west wing. You looked at me like you saw a ghost.”

I looked away.

"Do you—" he hesitated, then added, “Do you remember something I don't?”

I forced a smile. “No, Your Highness. I’m just… tired.”

He didn’t believe me. I could see it in the way his jaw clenched.

He took a step closer.

“You know, Evelyn… I had a dream. Before the ball. A nightmare, really.”

I stiffened.

“In it, I saw you lying in a courtroom,” he said quietly. “Your hands were in chains. And I— I was standing beside the throne, watching.”

My blood froze.

He continued, eyes distant. “You looked at me like I’d done something terrible. And then someone said you were being executed.”

My breath stopped.

“That dream,” he added, “hasn’t left me since.”

---

I forced my body to remain still.

So he had seen it. Somehow. A fragment of our past. A splinter of memory clinging to the soul.

“You must’ve eaten something strange before sleeping,” I said lightly.

Caelan chuckled, but his eyes were sharp. “Maybe. Or maybe there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I’m not,” I lied.

He took one more step — far too close now. I could see the flicker of something warm in his gaze. Dangerous.

“You always pushed people away,” he murmured. “But I think… I’m the only one you really let in.”

“No,” I whispered. “You must be mistaking me for someone else.”

He leaned closer. “Then why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

I turned from him sharply. “Because I’m cold. And this conversation is over.”

He didn’t stop me this time. I walked away, heart pounding, curse burning under my skin like ink.

Because now I knew the truth:

> The past wasn’t staying buried.

It was starting to bleed through the cracks.