Chapter 2
Early the next morning, sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, flooding the entire room with golden warmth.
I woke up unusually early.
Or rather, I barely slept at all.
Memories from nine lifetimes washed over me like relentless tides. Every detail of each death was still extremely vivid.
Hatred, like a parasite burrowed deep into my bones, gnawed at my very soul.
But I knew that hatred alone would never be enough.
It couldn't keep me alive, and it sure as hell couldn't break me out of this vicious cycle.
I needed to stay calm. I needed a strategy. I needed to play a much bigger game.
Adrian wasn't in bed when I woke up.
The air still lingered with the crisp chill of cedarwood, mixed with a faint trace of tobacco.
He eventually left last night, bristling with wounded pride and something else I couldn't quite name. Probably a faint, almost imperceptible trace of disarray.
Excellent.
The feeling of losing control was only the beginning.
Barefoot, I padded into the walk-in closet.
Racks of lavish outfits hung before me—all carefully chosen according to the Blackwood family's so-called standards for their future mistress.
In the past, I'd always dressed in those demure, elegant outfits—the kind expected of a perfect society wife—trying so hard to please him and to fit into this ice-cold family.
But now...
Without hesitation, I selected a sharply tailored black silk blouse and high-waisted wide-leg trousers in smoky gray.
The woman in the mirror still had that familiar face—exquisite, pale, and possessing a hauntingly delicate beauty that seemed ready to shatter.
But her eyes were different now.
The hollow sorrow that once dwelled there had given way to a piercing sharpness.
It was like a knife concealed within fine brocade.
I put on light makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes, then finished with a bold stroke of crimson lipstick that instantly sharpened my presence.
When I came downstairs, Adrian was already seated at the dining table, leisurely flipping through the financial section of the morning paper.
The morning light sculpted the sharp, perfect lines of his profile, making him look like a masterpiece of a statue.
But even from across the room, I could feel the tension in the air—his suffocating presence had every servant holding their breath in fearful silence.
He didn't even glance up when I came downstairs, as if I were invisible.
In my past nine lives, I'd be trembling with anxiety, bending over backwards to please him, even personally preparing his breakfast.
But now...
I strode directly to the dining table and deliberately took the seat across from Adrian.
The servants promptly set my place.
Picking up the silver cutlery, I began to dine in calm silence.
I didn't give him any greetings.
There were no niceties, not even a glance.
The air was deathly silent, broken only by the occasional soft clink of silverware against the porcelain plates.
Finally, Adrian set down the newspaper.
His gaze pierced through me like a blade.
"Lila, what the hell was that stunt you pulled last night? Are you mad?" he barked.
I lifted my gaze to meet his, a faint smirk playing at my lips.
Feigning surprise, I echoed, "Mad? I was merely fulfilling my duties. Or is that not to your liking, Mr. Blackwood?"
His expression darkened instantly.
"Stop your pathetic games," he said icily. "Know your place, cling to that empty title, and don't cause me any trouble."
"Trouble?" I set down my cutlery and dabbed my lips with a napkin. "You mean disrupting your oh-so-innocent friendship with Ms. Whitmore?"
With a sharp bang, he slammed his palm down on the table, sending a few drops of coffee splashing across the surface.
"Lila!" he snarled, eyes filled with undisguised warning and revulsion. "Don't you dare test my limits!"
"Limits?" A mirthless laugh escaped me. "Isn't Vivian your so-called limits?
"For her, you'd sacrifice anything, even your own wife."
I spoke calmly as if merely stating a plain truth.
Yet every single word pierced him like a needle.
Adrian locked onto me, his eyes a kaleidoscope of emotions—anger, confusion, and, just beneath it all, the unmistakable irritation of a man whose mask had been stripped away.
"So, you are quite self-aware," Adrian finally sneered, attempting to regain the upper hand.
"Of course," I admitted calmly. "After all, I've learned nine lifetimes of lessons. It's about time I wised up."
My voice was barely above a whisper, soft like a feather drifting through the air.
Yet Adrian's eyes widened sharply.
He stared at me without blinking, as if trying to search for any flaw in my expression.
But I met his gaze calmly, my eyes like a frozen lake, impenetrable and fathomless.
He could no longer read me.
This realization gnawed at Adrian, making him flustered.
"You—" He wanted to say something, yet nothing came out but a cold snort. Rising abruptly, he stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him.
I watched as he left in a panic, then picked up my coffee cup and took a sip.
The warmth slid down my throat, but it did nothing to thaw the ice lodged deep inside my heart.
"Adrian, don't get ahead of yourself," I whispered.
"Our game has only just begun."
I knew he was watching me now—suspicious, guarded, trying to figure me out.
And maybe, I even managed to spark a flicker of... intrigue in him.
Men were all the same.
What came too easily, they scorned.
What remained just out of reach was what truly consumed them.
Excellent.
I'm going to make him obsessed with me.
Then, when he was completely consumed by me, I would cast him aside without mercy.
Just like what he had done to me.
Nine times.