Juliette De Vervaine had once lived a life that seemed destined for perfection, a life woven from the finest threads of privilege, love, and laughter. Born into the noble and esteemed family of Duke Édouard De Vervaine, she had been sheltered by an existence of warmth and security. Though her mother, the late Duchess, had passed away when Juliette was still young, the sorrow of that loss had never fully tainted the world that surrounded her. Her father, Édouard, a man of great honor and kindness, had been her guiding light, and her older brother, Mathéo, was her constant companion—strong, protective, and always there for her. Together, they had been an inseparable family, the three of them against the world. They had lived in the sprawling grandeur of Domaine De Valorié, an estate nestled deep in the heart of the French countryside, where the air was fresh, and the gardens seemed endless, each bloom a testament to the beauty of their life.
As a young girl, Juliette had been adored by all who met her. With her pale, almost ethereal skin, her cascading long white hair, and eyes that sparkled with the hue of crimson, she was often compared to a fairy-tale princess—untouchable, pure, and loved by all. Her laughter filled the grand halls of the estate, and the scent of roses seemed to follow her wherever she went. The servants, the villagers, and even the nobles who visited her father's court admired her gentle spirit and gracious nature. She had a heart full of kindness, a soul that felt no malice, and a beauty that could melt the hardest of hearts.
Her life had been full of joy, of birthday celebrations and moonlit walks through the gardens, of picnics by the river and afternoons spent riding horses with her brother. They had both been close, as only a brother and sister could be—two halves of the same soul, with their bond unbreakable. Her father had doted on her, and Mathéo, ever the protector, had always been there to keep her safe, to make her laugh when the world seemed too heavy.
But, as always, tragedy comes in silence, sweeping away the foundation of even the strongest lives.
When Juliette was just ten years old, her father fell ill, his once-strong body failing him despite the best physicians the kingdom had to offer. The sickness, swift and cruel, took him from them in a matter of weeks. The estate, once vibrant and alive with music and laughter, fell into silence as the De Vervaine family mourned their loss. Juliette could still remember the day she held his hand as he breathed his last, the warmth of his touch fading as he passed from this world, leaving behind nothing but memories and an aching void.
The death of her father left a chasm in Juliette's heart, one that no one seemed able to fill. It had been her father's protection that kept the world from being harsh and cruel, and with his absence, Juliette found herself lost and fragile. But Mathéo, despite his young age, had taken up the mantle of protector. At just thirteen, he had tried so hard to be the father figure she needed, stepping in with an intensity that belied his youth. He was a boy still, but he carried his grief in quiet strength, always staying by her side. He had made it his mission to fill the void left by their father's death, to shield her from the bitterness of life and the cold, unfeeling world around them.
But tragedy had no mercy.
Three years later, when Juliette was thirteen, Mathéo too was taken from her—his life cut short under mysterious circumstances. No one had ever fully explained the cause of his death. A sudden illness, they said. A fever that burned too hot, a sickness that wouldn't be stopped. But Juliette knew it wasn't just an illness that had claimed him. She had seen the signs, the way he had grown pale and distant in the months before his passing, his eyes shadowed with something darker. Something had been wrong, but no one had noticed. No one had seen it coming.
When Juliette found him, lying still in their father's old study, the world seemed to crumble beneath her feet. Her brother—her only remaining family—was gone. Her heart shattered. It wasn't just the loss of a sibling, but the loss of the one person who had been her rock, her constant, the one who had promised to always protect her. Now he was gone, and she was alone.
Juliette wept for days, her sorrow a tidal wave that threatened to drown her. She had lost everything—her father, her brother, her security, and her place in the world. What was left? Who was left?
It was then that her uncle, Henri de Vervaine, stepped into the role of the new head of the family. But what had once been a position of power and responsibility was now a guise for something darker. Henri, driven by his hunger for power, saw Juliette not as a niece to protect, but as an obstacle. He seized control of Domaine de Valorié and stripped Juliette of everything her father had left her. The estate that had once been a place of love and warmth became a prison of cold indifference under his rule.
It was in the wake of Mathéo's death that Juliette's life took a final turn for the worse. With her father gone, and now her brother too, Juliette was a pawn in a political game. She was young, vulnerable, and naïve, a perfect target for those who wanted to take advantage of her inheritance. Henri arranged for her to marry Henri de la Roche, a marquess who was ten years older than Juliette and who had only one interest in her: to claim her position, and with it, the wealth and title of the De Vervaine family.
At the age of fifteen, Juliette found herself wed to a man who treated her less like a wife and more like a trophy. Her status, once elevated as the daughter of a duke, was now beneath him. A marquess's wife held little power, and she was nothing but a child in a marriage forced upon her. Henri de la Roche was cruel—his disregard for her humanity was evident in the way he spoke to her, touched her, and used her for his own gain. He didn't love her. He never had. To him, she was just a means to an end.
Juliette had been taken from her home and thrust into a world of darkness, where her every hope seemed crushed beneath the weight of betrayal and deception. The estate that had once been a place of dreams now felt like a tomb, and Juliette was trapped in it. She had no control. No power. Her life had become an endless cycle of torment, a dance of despair and helplessness.
But it was not until the bitter end that Juliette truly realized the extent of her entrapment.
At seventeen, the world around her had collapsed, and now, as she sat in the cold, damp dungeon, awaiting her fate, Juliette could do nothing but reflect on the life she had lost. The accusations of treason, of poisoning the royal wine, were lies. Lies she could not undo. No one believed her. She was just another name on the list of those who had wronged the crown, a scapegoat to cover the real culprits. Her body had been broken, her soul fractured—but in the silence of her dungeon cell, she found her rage. The anger that had been festering for years, slowly growing, fed by betrayal, by injustice, by all she had lost.
And it was in this cold, dark place that Juliette vowed to herself—when the rope was finally drawn tight around her neck, when her breath faltered and the world around her closed—she would find peace. She would make them all pay for what they had done.
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As Juliette was dragged from her cell, the cold stone floors biting into her bare feet, she felt the sharpness of her torment more keenly than ever. Her once-long, flowing white hair, so soft and untamed, was chopped ruthlessly by the executioner's blade. Her locks fell like silken threads, pooling on the floor around her. The cruel act was not just meant to humiliate her, but to strip away the last remnants of her dignity.
With the rough tug of her arm, she was led to the execution square. The sun, though it shone in a clear, pale sky, felt like a mockery to her. How could the world still go on when hers had come to an end? She was no longer the sweet, innocent girl who had been the darling of the court, no longer the loving daughter or the adored sister. She was now nothing—merely a name on the lips of the crowds who had gathered to witness her demise. They called her traitor. They called her witch. They called her everything but the truth.
Juliette stood there, before them all, her hands trembling but her resolve as strong as iron. She had done nothing wrong. She had loved, she had hoped, and she had been betrayed. Yet, now they would end her life—end it all in the name of lies and corruption.
As the noose was placed around her neck, the crowd's murmurs faded into a hollow silence. Her thoughts were a blur, but through it all, she could feel her heart pounding. She was not afraid. She had already died long before. Now, her only thought was of vengeance, of the cruel people who had done this to her.
And when the trapdoor opened, and the rope tightened, her life was snuffed out in an instant. Her body went limp, her eyes vacant, but in that final moment, as the world closed around her, Juliette knew this—her death would not be the end. Her vengeance would live on.
Even in death, she would have her vengeance.