Chapter 1Another Life, Another Favor

I came back to the past, and so did Aiden Mitchell.

In my last life, he was the one who personally brought me home from the orphanage. I was his foster sister, then his wife. We grew old together, our love a deep and steady flame.

This time, as the Mitchells smiled and waved for me to come home with them, just like before, a teenage Aiden suddenly stepped forward, blocking their view of me.

“Dad, Mom, don’t pick her. I want the girl next to her to be my sister.”

He grabbed the hand of the girl standing beside me—the Hawthorne’s foster daughter, the one who, in our past life, had died of illness before she even turned ten. When he turned back to look at me, his eyes were as cold and sharp as winter ice.

“You stole Chloe’s place. You’re the reason she died so young. In this life, it’s your turn to suffer what she went through.”

In that instant, I understood everything.

This time, he wanted to be the hero. He wanted to save his fragile, little “princess.”

“Would you be willing to come with me?”

Mrs. Hawthorne stood before me, her voice a soft murmur.

I looked past her, at the man I had spent decades with, now holding another girl's hand, walking away without a single glance back.

I gave a small nod.

Fine by me.

This time around, I wanted to try a different path anyway.

* * *

As I stepped out of the orphanage gates, the Mitchell family was still there, waiting.

The moment Aiden saw me, his face tightened. He fumbled to push the girl into the back seat of their car, and before the door was even fully shut, he was yelling at me.

“Elara Mitchell, you can get on your knees and cry all you want, but I will never accept you as my sister! There’s no place for you in the Mitchell family!”

“A thief like you belongs in that house of horrors with the Hawthornes!”

He punctuated his words with a harsh shove that sent me stumbling.

The car door slammed shut with a deafening bang.

I lost my footing, swaying for a moment before catching my balance. But by then, their cars had already roared off into the distance. The exhaust fumes churned up a cloud of grit and dust that swirled into my face, stinging my eyes until I couldn't keep them open.

Just then, a sleek, jet-black Maybach glided to a silent stop in front of me.

The tinted window lowered, revealing Mrs. Hawthorne’s face, a mask of sculpted ice. “You want to go to the Mitchells?”

I shook my head, my voice barely a whisper. “The Hawthornes are just fine.”

She paused, her gaze flicking over me. “What’s your name?”

“Elara,” I said softly.

“Not anymore,” she stated, her words clipped and final. “You are Elara Hawthorne.”

She didn’t need to say more. I understood.

I quickly opened the car door, slid inside, and said with perfect composure, “Yes, Mother.”

A flicker of something—surprise, perhaps—crossed Mrs. Hawthorne’s brow, but she said nothing, simply leaning back against the leather seat and closing her eyes.

I took the cue and remained silent.

The car purred through a lavish, gated community before stopping at the Hawthorne estate. I followed her inside, watching as she set down her purse. She glanced up the grand staircase, speaking as if to the air, or perhaps introducing someone I couldn’t see.

“Charlotte, this is your new sister, Elara Hawthorne.”

I froze, my gaze instinctively shooting upward.

Leaning against the railing of the second-floor gallery was a boy. He was even more handsome than Aiden, his features so clean and defined they seemed almost unreal, yet imbued with a chilling remoteness. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there, watching in complete silence.

My stomach dropped.

So this was Charlotte Hawthorne? He was nothing like I remembered…

In my past life, he’d been sent abroad shortly after I was taken in by the Mitchells. I didn’t see him again for many years. By then, he was the head of the Hawthorne empire, his face a roadmap of scars, his presence terrifying. He was ruthless in business and frightening in appearance; behind his back, the elite circles called him “The Hawthorne Reaper.”

I forced a smile and called out softly, “Hello, brother.”

But it was as if he hadn't heard me. He remained motionless, his eyes as cold and empty as still water.

“Don’t mind him,” Mrs. Hawthorne said flatly. “He’s always been like that. Prefers his own company.”

With that, she summoned a housekeeper and instructed her to show me to my room, then left without another word.

I bowed my head, about to follow the housekeeper. But some strange impulse made me look back one last time.

My eyes crashed into the boy’s.

His gaze was black and heavy, like a bottomless well, utterly devoid of emotion.

A shiver shot through me.

I tried to muster another smile, but he looked away first, turning and disappearing back into his room. The door closed behind him without a sound.