I had a good imagination and could imagine vivid scenarios. But my mind never came close to creating the scene before me.

A man who was famous throughout the empire and a literal stranger who didn’t know me was offering to save me.

I stared at the hand extended toward me, then at the man who owned that hand.

As the Archduke, Evan Cromwell was second in line to the throne after Crown Prince Neiman. He possessed power second only to Emperor Neiman.

Rumors of his vast wealth claimed it far surpassed even the Emperor’s.

In other words, Evan wasn’t a man you ever said no to.

"Come with me, Cassandra." He said in a tone that was almost seductive. "Your freedom awaits."

Staring at his hand, I weighed my options.

The decision wasn’t hard.

When I took his hand, something inside me woke up. I had to fight down a gasp.

Why did I feel such a visceral reaction to touching this man?

His reaction told me he felt the same way. His eyes widened, and his nose flared. It disappeared so quickly that I wondered if I had imagined it.

It didn’t change my decision. By taking Evan Cromwell’s hand, my fate had changed.

***

The air inside the carriage was clean and soothing, yet the iron stench of the dungeon still clung to me.

Even though I was no longer behind those cold stone walls, even though the damp chill had been replaced with the warmth of the moving carriage, the weight of my imprisonment had not lifted.

Evan sat across from me, composed and relaxed.

The carriage rocked gently over the cobblestone streets, the rhythmic sound of hooves filling the silence between us.

Outside, the capital city of Eldric stirred with early morning life, oblivious to the fact that a prisoner had just been plucked from the imperial dungeons under the watchful eye of the Archduke himself.

I had been dragged from my cell in the dead of night. Not by an executioner, nor by a royal decree of pardon.

No, my fate had been rewritten by the man seated across from me, watching me with an unreadable expression.

He had ordered my release with a quiet authority that no one had dared challenge. The guards had unshackled me without question, their eyes downcast, avoiding my gaze as though I were already his possession.

A woman who looked just like me had been thrown inside the cell. Even the scar on her face was the same. My stomach had twisted, a sick realization settling over me. They hadn’t just replaced me—they had made sure no one would question my ‘death.’

Evan later told me she was a vicious murderer, someone sentenced to death long ago but mysteriously spared by Prince Neiman. Even knowing this fact, a strange unease crept up my spine.

He had been right to tell me. I would’ve lost too much sleep over an innocent person taking my place.

I stared from beneath my lashes at the man who had just become my savior.

He had barely spoken since we left the prison.

I wasn’t naïve. There were no rescues without a price.

I exhaled, trying to find some balance.

I looked at the luxurious cloak that had been thrown over my shoulders as we left the prison.

Then I broke the silence, saying, “I suppose you expect me to thank you for this?” My tone was dry enough to soak up spilled wine.

My dirty hands stroked the fine cloak.

Evan crossed his arms, looking amused. “If you wish.”

I held his gaze. “And if I don’t?”

His lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. “Then don’t.”

This time, I didn’t let the silence stretch between us.

“What now?” I asked.

Evan leaned back slightly, watching me as if there was something that only he could see.

“You seem remarkably calm for a woman who was nearly executed for treason.”

“I’ve had time to think,” I replied. “Sitting in a cell gives one perspective.”

“And what perspective have you gained?”

“That I was never meant to leave that dungeon alive.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in the air between us shifted. He had expected me to ask why he had pulled me from the depths of that prison.

Instead, I had cut straight to the truth neither of us needed to say aloud.

If he hadn’t intervened, I would be dead. I was given neither a trial date nor access to an attorney. I was going to become just another name erased from history.

Evan's gaze displayed his approval. “You’re right.”

The blunt confirmation sent a slow chill through me, but I didn’t flinch. I refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Then that leaves only one question.” I folded my hands in my lap. “What do you want from me?”

Evan exhaled softly as if pleased that we were finally arriving at the heart of the matter.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a single sheet of parchment, unfolding it with deliberate ease before laying it on the seat beside him.

The flickering lantern inside the carriage illuminated the bold Cromwell seal pressed into the thick paper.

A contract.

I didn’t need to read the words to know what it was. The archduke was notorious for turning members of the nobility into “his people.” And once you were one of his people, you could never change that.

Evan watched me expectantly. “Do you understand what this means?”

I felt my throat tighten. “An employment contract.”

“I prefer to think of it as… a rare opportunity. I don’t usually offer lifelines to people on death row,” he corrected. “But technically, yes, it’s an employment contract.”

I swallowed down the fear that threatened to rise for the first time since he had arrived to rescue me from sure death.

I had expected a demand, a price for my freedom, but this was more than a bargain. It was a sentence of its own.

“Ah, yes. Signing my life away. Let me guess—does this contract also include eternal servitude, an unreasonable non-compete clause, and a lifetime supply of regret? Do I at least get a gold pocket watch and a matching pen with my indentured servitude?”

He shrugged. “If that’s how you see it.” His eyes searched mine, appraising. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, Lady Inglerad. Long enough to know I want you in my inner circle.”

“And if I refuse?”

Evan’s expression remained friendly, a sharp contrast to his calculating tone. “Then you’ll find that the imperial dungeons are far less forgiving a second time.”

A threat. A warning. A fact.

I exhaled slowly. “I see.”

My glare was unflinching. So was his answering smile.

“Surely there are easier ways for the Archduke of Cromwell to gain staff than coercion. Have you tried posting a job listing? Maybe something catchy like: Looking for loyal henchwoman, must be a criminal and excellent with having a target on her back.’”

He leaned forward, his face showcasing the excited eyes of a predator.

“Because I see in you something that neither you nor the world has yet to discover.”

“Which is?” I asked. “Because if you say ‘an excellent work ethic,’ I’m leaving this carriage.”

He sat back and smiled. “If I tell you now, I’d ruin all the fun.”

When I let out a huff of frustration, he gave a low chuckle.

Evan watched me for a moment longer before reaching forward, lifting the contract as if weighing it in his hands. “I suggest you decide quickly.”

The carriage rocked slightly, the wheels shifting as we turned down a new road.

My decision had already been made the moment I stepped into this carriage.

There was no escape.

Only survival.

And I had always been good at surviving.

Unrecognizable

The first thing Evan took from me was my face.

He led me deep into the estate, down winding halls to a chamber that smelled of crushed herbs and candle wax.

Inside, a woman awaited us.

She was older than me—perhaps in her thirties—and her raven hair was streaked with silver. A heavy cloak draped over her shoulders, but I could see golden rune tattoos peaking through her sleeves.

“Arielle,” Evan greeted her. “I trust you are prepared?”

She inclined her head, eyes alert as they flicked to me.

“This is the one?” she murmured.

Evan nodded.

Arielle stepped closer, inspecting me with an appraising gaze. I didn’t like how she looked at me—as if I were one of her specimens in her lab experiments.

“So much power,” she murmured, almost to herself. “And yet, something is… missing.”

Wonderful. She was diagnosing me like a broken magical teapot.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

Arielle ignored the question. “Let’s begin.”

Before I could object, she lifted her hands, and the air around me crackled.

A rush of warmth flooded my skin, a strange hum vibrating through my bones. It wasn’t painful—not quite—but it was unlike anything I had ever felt before.

Then, suddenly, a burning sensation spread across my left cheek.

I gasped. My hands flew to my face, but Evan caught my wrists before I could touch it.

“Don’t,” he said calmly. “It will only make it worse.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the panic.

For years, my scar had been my curse, the reminder of Brynda’s cruelty. She had done it on purpose. Spilled boiling tea down my face when we were children—not because of some accident, as we were all led to believe, but because she had wanted to turn me ugly.

But it hadn’t worked.

Instead of making me a pariah, my injury had only earned me sympathy. And no matter how badly the skin had twisted, I had never stopped being beautiful in the eyes of high society.

Now, I felt the tissue shift and tighten as if something was unraveling.

And then—the pain stopped.

Arielle exhaled, lowering her hands. “It is done.”

I touched my cheek. The skin was smooth.

The scar was gone.

I barely had time to process it before Arielle moved again, muttering under her breath as a wave of cool air swept over me.

My hair burned. Not painfully, but as if fire raced through the strands.

I half expected steam to rise and reveal the new me like some dramatic unveiling at a noble fashion show.

When I opened my eyes, the color was different.

I reached up, letting the strands slip through my fingers.

My once golden locks were now a deep chestnut.

“Lovely,” I muttered. “Now I just need a tragic backstory and a mysterious nickname, and I’m ready to start fresh.”

Arielle wasn’t finished. She touched my chin, and I felt another shift.

I gasped as I turned toward the mirror in the corner of the chamber.

My eyes.

They had always been a clear green, like my father’s. Now, they were a stunning shade of violet.

I barely recognized the woman staring back at me.

“This is the face of your new identity,” Arielle said. “Your past is gone.”

Evan studied me, expression unreadable. “Are you satisfied?”

Was I? Not exactly. But there wasn’t a return policy on magical facelifts.

I exhaled.

This wasn’t me.

But Cassandra Inglerad was already dead.

And whoever this new woman was, she would be the one to destroy Brynda Vale.

I turned to him, my expression cold. “Yes.”

***

Over the next few months, Evan introduced me to his inner circle.

I met men who knew the secrets of the court, women who held power behind the scenes, and tutors who trained me in politics, business, and deception.

Under Evan’s guidance, I learned what it meant to truly survive.

My family, though wealthy, wasn’t well-educated or influential among the nobility.

Although I was taught basic things like playing instruments, reading, writing, and social etiquette, I wasn’t educated on the ways of the aristocracy—not where it counted.

With Evan’s team, I learned how nobles manipulated currency and trade. How they spoke in riddles to disguise their intentions. How laws could be bent or broken, depending on whose hands they fell into.

One evening, I lingered in the study as Evan spoke quietly with Arielle in the next room.

I turned away, running my fingers along the spines of old books.

Then, I heard Evan’s voice lower. “You sensed it too, didn’t you?”

I frowned, moving closer to the door so I could hear them.

Arielle exhaled. “Yes.”

There was something in her tone. A hesitation.

“The girl has mage energy,” she admitted.

I froze.

Great. Next, they’ll tell me I’m secretly a long-lost duchess or a dragon hatchling.

Evan didn’t seem surprised. “Then why hasn’t she shown signs before?”

Arielle shook her head. “Something is blocking it. I cannot say what. But if we can help her unlock her power…” She trailed off.

Evan’s tone darkened, but a hint of pride rose in his voice. “Then she’ll be more powerful than anyone ever imagined.”

A strange shiver ran down my spine.

I turned, staring at my hands. I had never felt magic before. Never considered the possibility.

My talents up until now had been limited to sharp comebacks and staying alive through pure spite.

But now…something inside me stirred. Waiting. Watching.

And for the first time since this nightmare began, I wondered: What was I truly capable of?

Armed with that knowledge, I devoted myself even more intensely to my lessons. The months flew by faster than before.

I memorized names. I memorized weaknesses.

And with every lesson, I thought of Brynda. I thought of her wearing my family’s wealth. Sitting in my place. She thought she had won.

She had no idea what was coming.