Twice Reborn: The Forsaken Bride's Divine Fate

Clara Heath POV:

The fragile truce in the room shattered. Richard Daniel's exhaustion was instantly replaced by a fresh wave of annoyance and disbelief. He slumped back in his chair, his jaw tight.

"What now?" he demanded.

"My second request is simple," I said calmly. "As of today, I do not want to see Elliott Spears in this estate again."

Richard's brow furrowed, his mind clearly struggling to place the name. "Elliott Spears? Your tutor?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "I no longer require his services. Please dismiss him immediately. And I want him banned from setting foot on any inch of Daniel land."

A look of pure contempt crossed his face, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum over a broken toy. "For a tutor? Clara, your concerns are remarkably petty."

"He makes me uncomfortable," I cut in. "That is reason enough."

Images from my past life flooded my mind. Elliott Spears—the handsome, gentle tutor who had once made my foolish heart race. I had mistaken his coldness for discipline, his insults for motivation. Every shy glance I threw his way, every fumbled attempt at conversation—he had collected them like trophies and shared them with Camilla. They became a private joke between them.

I saw it all now with painful clarity. The way he would "accidentally" spill ink across my essays, then tilt his head with that pitying smile and say, "Clumsy as always, Clara. Perhaps you should try harder next time."

The way he would praise Camilla's intelligence in front of me, then glance my way with a sigh: "Talent, unfortunately, is something one is born with. Some of us simply must accept our limitations."

And the look in his eyes when he gazed at Camilla—a possessive adoration hidden beneath a veneer of respect. He loved her. And because he loved her, he hated me. He hated the "stain" I represented on her perfect life. Camilla, of course, encouraged his silent cruelty. Elliott was her sharpest, most subtle weapon against me.

A familiar warmth flickered at the edge of my vision—a faint gold thread, thin and tangled, curling around a darker cord. Elliott's fate, still forming, still uncertain. In my past life, I had never seen it. Now I knew: whatever future awaited him, it would not be the one he expected.

He was Camilla's most loyal dog. Her tool to monitor me, to chip away at my spirit with a thousand tiny cuts of condescension and disappointment.

But I was no longer the girl who had loved him. That girl had drowned in the river, still longing for a glance he would never give.

This time, he would be the first weed I pulled from my garden.

Richard clearly didn't understand my motives, nor did he care to. The fate of a tutor was insignificant compared to the threat of treason.

He waved his hand impatiently. "Fine. I'll have the butler handle it. Now get out."

I caught the flicker in his eyes before he looked away—a brief, almost imperceptible hesitation. He had expected me to break, to bargain, to cling. He had not expected this calm, detached stranger. For just one moment, I saw something unfamiliar cross his face. Not guilt. Not regret. But perhaps the first stirrings of doubt—the realization that the girl he had discarded might not come crawling back after all.

I had what I came for. Without another word, I turned, opened the heavy door, and left the suffocating study behind me.

I walked down the long, silent corridor. The portraits of Daniel ancestors stared down at me from the walls—their painted eyes cold and judgmental. In my past life, their gazes made me shrink, made me feel small and unworthy. Now, I only felt a detached sense of pity.

A family that had to sacrifice its daughters and rely on deceit to maintain its standing didn't deserve these symbols of honor.

I returned to my room—a small attic space in the most remote corner of the manor. The furniture was sparse and worn: a bed with sheets washed so many times the fabric had gone thin and threadbare, a wooden chair with a wobbling leg, a cracked washbasin that had never been replaced.

Camilla's chambers, by contrast, were a fairy-tale castle. Silk drapes changed every season, fresh flowers delivered daily, a vanity overflowing with jeweled combs and perfumes I could never afford. I remembered standing in her doorway once, as a child, watching her try on necklaces before a gilded mirror, while I stood in my threadbare dress, invisible.

I looked away from the memory. That girl was gone.

I went to the window and pushed it open. The cool night air washed over my face, clearing my head.

I knew Richard had agreed, but I also knew he believed I was a fool. He was certain that once I left the protection of the Daniel name, I would fail. He was waiting—waiting for me to come crawling back, begging for his forgiveness.

I would never give him the satisfaction.

Getting rid of Elliott was just the first step. Our accounts were far from settled. And I already knew my next move: the slums, a boy named Finn, a future I could shape with my own hands.

The next morning, the butler arrived with a lawyer and a contract to dissolve my relationship with the Daniel family.

I read every word, ensuring there were no hidden clauses, no traps.

Under Richard's icy glare, I signed my name: Clara Heath. Just Clara Heath.

The lawyer took the documents to be notarized. I was free.

After signing, I left the dining hall, intending to pack my few belongings.

I turned a corner in the hallway and nearly collided with someone.

It was Elliott Spears. He had clearly been looking for me. His eyes held their usual flicker of impatience and disdain—but beneath it, something else. Confusion. He must have heard the news.