Chapter 1

On our wedding night, my husband Dylan Payne handed me a glass of wine.

I drank it with a heart full of joy, only to be met with gut-wrenching agony.

He had his cousin in his arms and just stood there looking down at me while blood was all over my face.

He said, "Charlotte, you're nothing but cheap. I can't even stand to look at you.

"Your family's fortune bought my rise to power. Now that they're all dead, you're next."

When I opened my eyes, I was back to that fateful wedding night.

Dylan was walking toward me, holding the same glass of poisoned wine, looking at me with practiced tenderness.

*****

"Charlotte, have this wine, and we'll be together till the end." Dylan's voice was smooth like honeyed tea, carrying the quiet elegance of a well-read man.

He was dressed in his groom's finest attire, his face flawless and striking, but a flicker of eagerness lurked beneath his calm expression.

I sat on the bridal bed, my fingers digging deep into my palms. The sharp pain was proof this wasn't just some nightmare.

In my last life, that doctored wedding wine burned through my organs, leaving me to die in agony.

Right before I died, Dylan and his cousin Lily Linwood's cruel laughter haunted me, like demons dragging me to hell.

Lily sneered, "Your parents already 'died of illness' on their way to exile. Why are you still hanging around?

"You really think Dylan loves you? He's just after your family's fortune."

Hatred seethed in my chest.

I lifted my head and watched him through the gap in my veil, staring at that phony face of his.

Given a second chance, Dylan, I'd make your entire family's life a living hell.

"Charlotte?" When I didn't move, he frowned ever so slightly, his tone taking on a harder edge. "What, already throwing a tantrum the moment you walk through the door?

"I am a royal scholar. A merchant's daughter marrying a man like me is more than your family deserves. Do I really have to feed you this wine myself?

The same belittling. The same gaslighting.

The Payne Household was dirt poor. My family's money bought him his title and paved his entire career.

Now, he pretended he was the one doing me a favor by marrying down.

The urge to kill him was almost overwhelming, but I forced it down, pretending to be the bashful bride as I reached out, my fingers shaking as I accepted the wine.

"Please don't be upset, Dylan. I'm just... so happy I can hardly contain myself," I murmured, barely above a whisper.

Dylan's eyes flashed with contempt as he pressed, "Drink up. The night won't wait for us."

I slowly raised the glass to my lips.

Dylan was fixated on my throat, his Adam's apple bobbling. His gaze burned with a mix of greedy hunger and murderous excitement.

Just as the wine was about to touch my lips, my wrist snapped, sending the glass flying.

The wine soaked the bridal sheets, blooming into a shocking red, like dried blood.

And a few drops splashed onto Dylan's brand-new boots.

His face instantly darkened with rage.

"Charlotte, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he shouted, his hand shooting up, ready to slap me.

I shrank back, falling onto the bed, shaking like a leaf, tears spilling down my cheeks without warning.

"Forgive me, Dylan. I... I didn't mean to. My hand slipped. Let me clean it for you," I whimpered.

I hurriedly wiped at his boots with my sleeve, making myself as small and humble as possible.

Dylan looked at me, cowering and submissive, and the anger in his eyes turned into outright disgust.

He kicked me aside. "Enough. You idiot. You're cheap through and through. A fancy dress won't change the fact that you're just some tradesman's vulgar daughter."

The kick landed square in my chest, a dull ache spreading through me, but inwardly, I let out a cold, mocking laugh.

Just as I suspected, the wine contained nothing fatal, only something to sedate me or poison me slowly.

If it had been deadly, he'd be frantically trying to cover his tracks, not strutting around like he owned the place.

So he wanted to keep me under his thumb tonight and plot his moves at his leisure.

"Dylan..." I clutched my chest, tears streaming down my face. "It's my fault. Let me pour you another glass..."

"Don't bother." He brushed off his sleeve with a look of disgust, as if he'd touched something filthy. "Just looking at your miserable face kills any mood I might have. I'm sleeping in the study tonight. Use the time to think about what it means to be a proper wife."

With that, he marched out, slamming the door behind him.

The moment the door slammed shut, the fear on my face vanished in an instant.

In its place was a coldness as chilling as a demon from hell.

Study, huh? More like he was off to meet up with his darling cousin Lily.

I stood up, pulled the gold hairpin from my hair, and used it to pick up a shard of porcelain soaked in wine. I brought it to my nose and took a careful sniff.

I caught a faint whiff of bitter almond.

Of course, it was poison.

Not enough to kill, but enough to muddle my mind and make me easy to control.

This time, Dylan, I'd save this poisoned wine for you, and when the moment came, I'd make you drink it with your own hands.