My hands tremble as I trace the red thread wrapped around my wrist—the same one I wore when they carried me lifeless from the bridal chamber. I’m back. One month before the wedding. The air smells of osmanthus and impending rain, just like it did then.

I promised myself I’d run this time. Burn the contract. Flee to the southern islands. But when the carriage arrived with the Shen family crest, something in me stilled. Curiosity? Fate? Or the ghost of a love I never let myself feel?

Now I stand at the gates of the estate, veil half-lifted, staring into the eyes of the man who killed me with indifference. He steps forward, slow, deliberate. 'You’re early,' he says. But it’s the way he looks at me—like he’s seen me die—that freezes my blood.

And then, softly, he whispers, 'Welcome back, Nian.'

My breath catches. Does he remember? If he does, is he my salvation… or my doom?