Love and power often walk hand in hand, but for you, love was nothing more than a carefully placed dagger.

You were raised for greatness, heir to an empire built on loyalty and legacy. And beside you, always, was Adrian Devereux—your fiancé, your partner, the man who once swore he would build the future with you. You had trusted him, believed in him, fought for him.

But trust is a fragile thing. And love? Love is a weapon in the wrong hands.

It began subtly. Late nights, missed meetings, whispers between Adrian and Isabelle Laurent—your closest friend, your confidante. At first, you ignored the warnings. Adrian was yours. Isabelle was loyal. They would never—

Until they did.

The betrayal came with blood. A failed assassination attempt, a poisoned drink, shadows moving in the dark. And as your body weakened, you looked up and saw them.

Adrian stood over you, his expression void of regret. Isabelle at his side, smiling, as if this had always been the plan.

“You were always in the way,” she said softly.

Adrian met your gaze. “It’s nothing personal.”

Then, darkness.

---

But you did not die.

Fate was cruel, but it was not finished with you. You woke in exile, your body broken but your mind sharper than ever. They thought they had won. They thought they had buried you.

Fools.

For a year, you watched from the shadows. Adrian and Isabelle ruled as if they had not built their empire on treachery. You let them enjoy their victory. Let them believe you were nothing more than a ghost in their past.

Then, one by one, their foundations cracked. Their allies disappeared. Their power began to wane.

And on the night of their engagement, when the city gathered to celebrate their betrayal—

You walked through the grand ballroom, dressed in black, a living nightmare returned to haunt them. Gasps filled the room. Isabelle’s glass slipped from her fingers, shattering. Adrian’s face drained of color.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," you mused.

Adrian swallowed. “You—You’re—”

You smiled. "Back