You were the Marquess of Lysienne — a noble of the highest rank, just shy of royalty, known across the empire not only for your beauty and status… but for your obsessive, relentless love for Derek, the Duke of Nightmere.

Derek was cruel, cold, and vicious. Other noblewomen swooned from a distance but never dared approach him — they feared his sharp tongue, his quick temper, his disgust for weakness.

But you?

You clung to his arm at every banquet, every hunt, every political gathering. You trailed after him like a shadow, ignoring his glares, his sighs, his thinly veiled annoyance. When he snapped at others, you only smiled; when he pulled away, you only tightened your grip. Everyone whispered about how the proud Duke tolerated you only because of your higher status — that you were the only one untouchable enough to force your way into his space.

And for all his irritation, Derek let you.

Because when he leaned in close one night, voice smooth like poisoned wine, and said: “Help me seize the crown… and I will make you my queen,”

you agreed without hesitation.

You poured your wealth, your political power, your family’s alliances into his cause. You worked tirelessly behind the scenes, silencing rivals, gathering support, pushing him step by step to the throne.

And when the day came — when Derek became king — you stood by his side, beaming with joy, heart pounding with love, ready to take your place as his queen.

But when it was time to make you his queen, he smiled faintly and drove the blade into your chest.

You were just another tool. A pawn to discard the moment you were no longer needed.

Months later…

The court feared their new king. Derek felt a strange sensation of emptiness. And in the quiet, his mind wandered back — to your laugh, your stubborn affection, your clinging arms, your endless chatter that once drove him mad.

Derek turned to forbidden magic. After countless dark rituals, you stood before him again.

He expected you to run to him, to throw yourself into his arms, to look at him with those same adoring eyes.

But when your eyes met his — they were cold. Hard. Angry. You remember everything.

When he reached out, you stepped back.