Pain.
A deep, searing pain that burned through her chest.
Blossom gasped, her fingers twitching as she felt the ghostly sensation of cold steel piercing through her ribs. Her vision blurred, the memory of her brutal murder flashing before her like a cursed nightmare.
That man—his eyes dark with hatred, his smirk dripping with malice. He had watched her struggle, had savored the sight of her choking on her own blood.
She should be dead.
She was dead.
So why was she still breathing?
Her body jolted upright as she sucked in a desperate breath, her heart pounding violently against her ribs. Panic clawed at her throat. The last thing she remembered was the bitter taste of blood filling her mouth, the warmth of life slipping away, the cold creeping in.
But there was no blood. No pain.
Instead, soft silk sheets wrapped around her trembling hands. A grand chandelier hung above, casting a golden glow over the massive, unfamiliar room.
Her breath hitched.
Where… is this?
This wasn't her home. The walls were adorned with intricate gold detailing, and the bed she lay in was far too extravagant, draped in expensive lace and embroidered pillows. The air smelled of lavender and something faintly familiar—wealth.
Her gaze darted toward the large mirror in the corner of the room, and her body froze.
The woman staring back at her… was herself.
No.
Her golden-brown eyes widened as she took in her reflection—delicate features, wavy chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders—but deep in her soul, she knew…
This wasn't her body.
And then it hit her.
Blossom.
That was this body's name. A noblewoman from one of the most prestigious families in the kingdom. A woman who had despised her fiancé. A woman who had loved another man so obsessively that she had even tried to take her own life rather than marry the one she was promised to.
Her fingers tightened around the silk sheets.
How ironic.
The past Blossom had treated her fiancé like dirt beneath her shoes. She had humiliated him, scorned his very existence, looked at him with nothing but disdain.
Just like she had once treated the man who killed her.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips.
What kind of twisted fate was this?
A sudden creak shattered the silence.
Her head snapped toward the massive double doors as they slowly swung open.
A tall figure stepped inside, his presence like a cold storm sweeping through the room.
Blossom's blood ran cold.
He had arrived.
Adrian Lancaster.
Her fiancé. The man this body had despised to the core.
The man who had just trapped her in this cursed engagement.
He stood with an air of quiet authority, his sharp eyes locked onto her as if seeing through her very soul. His presence was overwhelming—an iron force pressing against her lungs. Midnight-black hair fell just above his shoulders, framing his chiseled features. High cheekbones, a sharp nose, and lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line.
His attire was just as meticulous as his expression. A crisp white dress shirt, the top button undone, revealing a sliver of his collarbone. A sleek black vest hugged his frame, emphasizing his broad shoulders and perfect posture. Everything about him screamed power, control, and something far more dangerous.
But it was his eyes that made her breath hitch.
Cold. Merciless. Unyielding.
It was the look of a man who had already decided her fate.
"So, you've finally woken up."
His voice was smooth, deep, yet laced with something venomous. A tone that carried the weight of unspoken threats.
Blossom's hands curled into fists beneath the sheets.
Memories of her past life's death flashed before her eyes. The overwhelming hatred she felt for him burned through her veins like poison.
She despised him. Hated him to her core.
But she had no choice now.
Swallowing her disgust, she forced herself to speak. "Where am I?"
Adrian took slow, deliberate steps forward, his boots clicking softly against the polished marble floor. "You don't remember?" His tone was calm—mocking.
Blossom clenched her jaw.
She wanted to scream at him. Tell him to leave. Tell him she hated him.
But she was trapped.
The past Blossom had already tried to break the engagement. And yet, here she was.
"You belong to me now," Adrian said coldly, his words sending a shiver down her spine.
Her nails dug into her palms.
"Let me make one thing clear, Blossom." His voice was dangerously soft, like silk covering the blade of a dagger. "You will not step outside this room. You will not see that man again. And this engagement?" He leaned in, his scent crisp and intoxicating, but his words were pure venom.
"It will never be broken."
Rage flared within her.
Never?
Her lips parted, sharp words ready to slice through the air, but then she saw it—the way his fingers twitched at his side, the almost imperceptible clench of his jaw.
For a fleeting second, she wondered—was this hatred? Or something else?
But it didn't matter.
Because she would never forgive him.
Even if she had to play along. Even if she had to smile while secretly sharpening her claws.
Blossom would never be caged.
And Adrian Lancaster would learn that soon enough.