Chapter 2

The heavy shackles of morality weighed on Vanessa like a mountain, crushing her until she could barely breathe.

Night after night, she lay awake, and every time she closed her eyes, the image of Ida's tragic death haunted her.

She could no longer smile at Alexis wholeheartedly, nor could she accept his gentleness without guilt.

Between her and Alexis lay a life—a chasm that could never be crossed.

Over the next five years, they went from a couple everyone thought was perfect—almost like they were made for each other—to polite strangers living under the same roof.

Vanessa watched as Alexis drowned in endless guilt over Ida, giving all his tenderness and remorse to the woman he'd lost.

He built a cenotaph for Ida on the outskirts of the city, and every seventh day of the month, he would spend the entire day there, lost in memories and regret.

He kept all of Ida's belongings locked away in a private room, not allowing anyone to touch a single thing.

The way he looked at Vanessa grew colder and more distant, and sometimes she even caught a trace of resentment in his eyes—as if just seeing her was enough to remind him every day of the mistake he could never undo.

For those five years, Vanessa lived in the sprawling general's estate like she was invisible, like a joke.

What she once believed would be a sweet, loving story ended up as nothing but an utter tragedy.

She was the mistake in Alexis's life, the source of his guilt over the woman he could never forget, and the blemish he wished he could erase forever.

Five years later, Alexis was gravely wounded on the battlefield at the border. In his final moments, Vanessa kept vigil at his bedside.

He clutched the handkerchief Ida had made, murmuring again and again, "Ida, I'm sorry. Wait for me," until his breath finally faded away.

Vanessa thought that this long, torturous nightmare was finally over.

But she never imagined the universe had other plans for her—she found herself back in time, carrying the memories of two lifetimes, right before the nightmare ever started.

"Vanessa, are you awake?"

That familiar, deep, magnetic voice came from outside the tent.

Vanessa's body went rigid, and for a moment, she even forgot to breathe.

The tent flap was lifted, and a man stepped in, backlit by the sunlight. He wore dark robes, tall and upright, with striking brows and bright eyes—it was Alexis, just twenty-five years old.

This wasn't the Alexis she remembered from later—full of bitterness, his eyes always shadowed by guilt and coldness. This was the Alexis from just a year after their wedding, still brimming with youthful energy, showering her with gentle affection.

He walked over to the bed and sat down naturally on the edge, gently pressing his hand to her forehead. His fingertips were cool, carrying that familiar, faint scent of pine.

"Your fever's gone," he said, his voice gentle, full of relief. "You caught a chill last night and ran a fever all night. You had me worried sick. Why didn't you call for anyone when you woke up? Are you still feeling unwell anywhere?"

Vanessa went rigid, staring at his face, now just inches away from hers, her mind a total blank.

'No, that's not right,' Vanessa thought.

'Something's definitely off.'

She remembered clearly—back in their first year of marriage, Alexis was always courteous and proper, but there was this constant sense of distance, like he was keeping her at arm's length.

He was a soldier, not the talkative type, and he'd never do something as intimate as touching her forehead like this. Even when they slept together, it always felt stiff and restrained, like he was just fulfilling an obligation.

But the Alexis in front of her now—his eyes were so gentle it was almost overwhelming, and his actions were so natural and affectionate, it was as if they'd been deeply in love for years.

This was not even close to the Alexis she remembered from their first year of marriage.

"What's wrong? Did you zone out?" Alexis teased, letting out a low chuckle at her dazed look. He reached over and gently brushed her nose, the gesture so intimate it made her scalp tingle.

"Are you hungry? I had the kitchen cook up soup and your favorite chestnut cakes. They're still warm on the stove. Do you want them now?"

Vanessa's heart seized up, as if an invisible hand had gripped it tight.

She had never liked chestnut cakes.

She'd always been sensitive to nuts. When she first transmigrated here, she'd told Alexis she didn't like nuts at all; her favorite was pumpkin pie.

But Ida, who'd been prone to chills since childhood, ate nuts year-round to strengthen her body. Her favorite treat was always chestnut cakes.

She hadn't known this until after Ida's death in her previous life.

A terrifying thought slithered into her mind like a venomous snake, making her blood run cold.

Vanessa looked into Alexis's gentle eyes, her voice still raspy from just waking up as she asked, testing the waters, "What made you decide to have chestnut cakes made? Didn't I tell you I don't like nuts?"

For a brief moment, Alexis's gaze froze.

It happened so fast, Vanessa almost missed it—so fleeting, she wondered if she'd imagined it.