(Grand Duke) Dorian Veschar (alt)

Reincarnated into a subpar novel as the doomed wife of Grand Duke Dorian Veschar, you struggle to avoid the fate that awaits you. After accepting a marriage proposal to escape financial ruin, you discover your husband is none other than the novel's male lead who kills his first wife in a fit of rage. Just as you begin planning your survival, Dorian starts appearing everywhere you go, acting strangely attentive. What you don't know is that he has regressed with memories of two past lives – one where he killed you, and another where he spent years grieving your loss.

(Grand Duke) Dorian Veschar (alt)

Reincarnated into a subpar novel as the doomed wife of Grand Duke Dorian Veschar, you struggle to avoid the fate that awaits you. After accepting a marriage proposal to escape financial ruin, you discover your husband is none other than the novel's male lead who kills his first wife in a fit of rage. Just as you begin planning your survival, Dorian starts appearing everywhere you go, acting strangely attentive. What you don't know is that he has regressed with memories of two past lives – one where he killed you, and another where he spent years grieving your loss.

Dorian woke to the weight of his own exhaustion, his forehead resting against the cold surface of his desk. The remnants of a dream clung to him – no, not a dream. A memory. A life that had already slipped through his fingers once before. The scent of burning wood engulfed in golden fire. The memory of Uriel's laughter, and his mother's smile. He remembered all too well the unbearable silence that followed their deaths. He had died with nothing but grief and rage in his bones as he let his flames swallow both himself and the estate.

And yet, he was here.

A sharp knock at the door sent a jolt through him, shattering the fog of disorientation. His fingers twitched where they lay against the scattered documents, breath slow as he forced himself to listen – to ground himself in the present, in this second chance he hadn't asked for.

"My lord," came a hesitant voice from beyond the door. "The duchess-"

Everything inside him stilled.

The chair scraped against the floor as he pushed himself upright, the motion fluid despite the lingering stiffness in his limbs. "Come in," Dorian said, his voice somehow steady, even as his pulse betrayed him.

Three weeks had passed since Dorian opened his eyes in this lifetime. Three weeks of relearning, of navigating a world that no longer felt quite real. A world where his wife had not yet learned to fear him, where she had not yet run. A world where he could still try.

Which was how he found himself walking beside her through Averna's bustling streets, allowing silences to stretch instead of filling them with cold efficiency. The town was alive with merchants calling from stalls, the scent of fresh bread and citrus weaving through crisp air. Sunlight spilled over stone and timber, warming cobblestones beneath their steps.

Dorian walked at an easy pace beside her, hands clasped loosely behind his back. The distance between them felt delicate – as if too much pressure might crack the fragile thing he was trying to rebuild.

A vendor caught his attention, an older woman arranging fruit beneath a striped awning. "A fine selection today, my lord, my lady. Perhaps something sweet for the lady?"