Chapter 1
**Reborn as the Heir’s Punching Bag** The acrid scent of antiseptic jolted Elowen Blackwood awake. She blinked against the glaring whiteness surrounding her. A hospital. What the hell was she doing here? Elowen took in her surroundings—this room was disgustingly lavish, surely not something she could afford. Money had always been tight, and the thought of the outrageous hospital bill made her heart sink. She threw the sheets off and swung her legs over the side of the bed, preparing to face whatever trouble awaited her. Just then, the door swung open. A strikingly handsome man stepped inside, a living sculpture with sky-high legs and a tailored suit that screamed privilege. He stood nearly six-and-a-half feet tall, exuding an air of wealth and authority. Elowen blinked, her brow furrowed in confusion. She didn't recall knowing anyone this impressive. “Who are you?” she challenged, masking her unease. The man moved closer, brushing aside any pretense of politeness as he gripped her chin in his hand. His narrowed eyes were cold and fierce, an anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Still thinking about going after Isolde, Rowena Blackwood? Have you lost your conscience?” His voice was dark and foreboding, undermined by an aura that pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe. But just as quickly, Elowen regained her composure. After all, she was no stranger to intimidation as a key player in the Arcane Brotherhood. She slapped his hand away, her tone icy. “Get your hands off me. I don’t even know this Isolde person you keep talking about.” The man—Cedric Fairclough—looked momentarily stunned, his expression hardening even further. “Playing dumb won’t work. You think I believe you’re really that forgetful? Rowena Blackwood, you make me sick.” Anger surged within her, and Elowen bolted to her feet. “Are you—” “Crazy” was on the tip of her tongue, but then she caught a glimpse of a woman in the mirror across the room. The reflection staring back at her was ethereal—a delicate beauty with eyes like a tranquil lake and lips blooming like fresh cherry blossoms. This face was so stunning and yet so foreign, giving her a hollow feeling. A cascade of memories rushed in, flooding her brain with knowledge she couldn’t comprehend. Rowena Blackwood—the adopted daughter of the wealthy Blackwood family. Twenty-three years old, married three months ago to none other than Cedric Fairclough, the man standing in front of her. Isolde, he mentioned? That was Rowena’s adoptive sister, who had suffered a devastating accident, leaving her in a comatose state. The Blackwood family, desperate, had turned to Rowena to marry Cedric in Isolde’s place. Oh, and Rowena had harbored a secret love for Cedric. She had jumped at the chance to step into the role, only to find herself drowning in a nightmare. Cedric blamed her for Isolde’s condition, believing her ambition knew no bounds. For three months, he hadn’t laid a single gentle touch on her, let alone a kind word. And to top it off, Rowena had been diagnosed with stomach cancer that very morning, collapsing from the shock—what an ironic twist. Cedric mistakenly thought she was there to prolong Isolde’s suffering. Elowen couldn’t help but smirk at the ridiculousness of this scene. It was straight out of a painfully familiar romance trope; the classic tortured hero and the misunderstood heroine. She could almost hear the dramatic music swell. But before she could further piece together the absurdity, Cedric approached her, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. “What do you think you’re doing?” His eyes were like daggers, and Elowen felt compelled to stand her ground. “Are you out of your mind?” she retorted, pushing him back. Taken aback, he stumbled, vein in his forehead pulsing as he glared at her. “Rowena Blackwood, are you looking for trouble?” Elowen felt her temper flare. How dare he speak to her like that? “Shut it. I’m in no mood to entertain you. Now move aside.” With that, she shoved past him and bolted for the door. But just as she was about to escape, another thought raced through her mind. The original her, she realized, was long gone. Memories flooded back, unearthing the moment of her own death in a tragic accident involving Fenris Mortimer’s crushed car. To save the child of a client, she had thrown herself beneath the wreck, the explosion erasing her past. Elowen’s eyes hardened. Three years ago, she’d consulted her own fortune. The reading had warned her of perilous consequences before rebirth. But she never expected this rebirth would come with so much baggage. As she stepped outside, determined to carve her own path, two towering bodyguards grabbed her, one looking apologetic. “Sorry, Elowen. Mr. Cedric wants us to bring you back.” Fury sparked within Elowen as she strove against their grip. “Let go of me before I make you regret it.” The second agent remained stoic. “This is Mr. Cedric’s order.” Before she could protest, they pushed her into a waiting car, and she suddenly felt weak as if the original Rowena’s frailty was bleeding into her own strength. Minutes later, they arrived at Hillcrest Manor, the opulence of her surroundings striking her. They pulled her from the car with more force than she appreciated and escorted her inside, where Cedric was waiting. He lounged on a pristine white couch, the tailored jacket of his suit removed, unveiling a fitted white shirt that hugged his physique just right. If you were to judge him solely on looks, Cedric Fairclough was perfection. With a cigarette perched between his fingers, he watched her through narrowed eyes, smoke curling lazily around him. Upon seeing her, he raised an eyebrow and flicked the ash errantly. “Look who learned to run away.” Elowen noted the bodyguards stationed at the door. For now, she couldn't make a break for it. She took a seat opposite him, crossing her arms defiantly. “What else could I do? Wait for you to level more accusations at me?” Cedric’s patience thinned as he extinguished his cigarette, the ashtray taking the blunt of his frustration. “Don’t even try to move this conversation off course. What were you doing at Saint Felicity's Infirmary?” Suddenly, the reality of Rowena’s cancer diagnosis crashed down on her. The doctor had warned that without surgery, Rowena had at most three years. Elowen felt the clock ticking already. She couldn’t afford to stick around a man who equated her with treachery. Elowen lifted her chin, meeting his angry gaze with her own. “Think what you want, Cedric Fairclough, but I’m done. I want a divorce.” Cedric’s expression froze, caught between disbelief and outrage. Did she really just say that?
Chapter 2
**The Green Tea Incident** Cedric Fairclough squinted, his handsome face shadowed by a simmering rage. In a flash, he stood up, gripping Elowen Blackwood’s shoulders hard enough to elicit a grimace of pain. “Say that again.” Elowen’s eyes narrowed further as she felt his fingers digging into her skin like a vice. “Let go of me, you lunatic.” She attempted to shove him away, but her strength was nothing compared to the iron grip he had on her. It dawned on her then; she was no longer the formidable leader of the Arcane Brotherhood she once was. To avoid further pain, she softened her tone, though her defiance remained intact. “Didn’t you want to get a divorce? I’m giving you what you want. Why aren’t you happy?” The lines on Cedric's face deepened at her words. Her voice, deceptively soothing, exuded an air of contempt that only fanned the flames of his irritation. It was a stark contrast to Rowena Blackwood’s familiar charms, and he couldn’t shake the perception that Elowen was nothing more than a bothersome insect to be crushed. With a violent motion, he threw her aside. “Divorce? Not a chance. Do you think Fairclough is a playground you can just wander in and out of?” Elowen rolled her eyes, recognizing the dramatic flair straight out of a romance novel. It was almost laughable; she had scoffed at such hyperbole in stories before, but here it was, playing out in her life. “It’s quite sadistic to keep someone around who repulses you. What do you gain from torturing me? No matter how much you try to hurt me, it won’t change the fact that Isolde Blackwood is a vegetable.” At the mention of Isolde Blackwood, Cedric's head snapped around, his gaze fiery enough to incinerate her on the spot. “Say Isolde’s name again, and you’ll find yourself in the cage in the backyard.” Elowen recalled Cedric's three massive Tibetan mastiffs; she shuddered at the idea of being imprisoned with those beasts. To avoid the looming threat, she decided to bide her time, but the divorce was a necessity; she had to address it again. “Let’s talk divorce. What are your demands? What will it take for you to agree to it?” Cedric almost laughed in disbelief, his fury boiling over. This woman had the audacity to bargain? “Rowena Blackwood, unless you’re six feet under, you’re not getting out of the Fairclough house.” He stormed out, throwing on his coat and kicking the door behind him. A cacophonous barking erupted outside, the ferocity of it unsettling Elowen. Something was off—there had to be a reason for the dogs to be so worked up. She instinctively glanced back at Cedric, momentarily catching a glimpse of an unusual dark marking along his elegant neck, like a shadow of something sinister. Before she could study it further, he slammed the door, and moments later, the sound of an engine revving echoed as his car pulled away. The barking stopped abruptly, leaving an uneasy silence behind. Puzzled by the dark marking, she recalled the five ghosts she had previously encountered, noting that they bore similar circular fugue-like shapes on their hands. A chilling thought struck her: was Cedric somehow implicated in the death of her former self? The idea made her uneasy, and in a fit of determination, she swung open the door only to be halted by two towering bodies. “Sorry, Miss Blackwood, but Mr. Fairclough instructed us to keep you inside.” “Please don’t make this difficult,” one of them added. Seeing the two hulking bodyguards, a familiar flush of anger flared in Elowen’s chest. Hadn’t she once stood at the pinnacle of the Arcane Brotherhood? Yet here she was, reduced to this pitiful state. But then a spark lit up her eyes; just because her body was weak didn’t mean her power was gone. Quickly, she retreated into her room and traced a couple of runes into her palm. As she re-entered the hallway, the guards barely had time to react. “Elowen, wait—” Before they could complete their warning, she slapped her hands on their heads. “Sleep.” The command rang out, and they both crumpled to the floor without a sound. Elowen dusted her hands off, smirking. “With two clowns like you, I might as well be the queen of this place.” Stepping out of Stonewell Manor, Elowen caught a ride to Fairclough Guildhall based on the memories of her predecessor. As she approached the imposing skyscraper, her brow furrowed in concern. No wonder Fairclough had been struggling. The building's architecture was absurdly flawed—tall on either side and absurdly low in the center, resembling a three-tiered incense burner. According to superstition, it was bad luck; anyone burning the wrong kind of incense would face perilous circumstances. Building in this manner practically invited calamity. Taking a few steps closer, she noticed the odd arrangement where two of the buildings leaned into one another, almost as if they were shielding the central structure, which was cluttered with electronic billboards. This design was no accident; it was practically a breeding ground for bad luck. But her focus remained on Cedric’s marking. Adjusting her outfit, she stepped inside the building. “I’m looking for Mr. Cedric.” The receptionist perked up, smiling brightly. “May I ask who you are?” Before she could answer, a voice interjected, dripping with condescension. “Rowena Blackwood, you schemer! How dare you show your face around here?” Elowen turned to see a young woman dressed in a flashy red dress, the kind that screamed desperation. With a designer handbag slung across her shoulder and nails done up like an art installation, the sight was almost comical. Elowen recognized her immediately—Fiona Ashford, sister to one of Fairclough’s shareholders, and practically a vulture hovering around Cedric. Sickened by her presumptuousness, Elowen smirked. “No matter how much you despise me, I’m still Cedric Fairclough’s legally wedded wife. Just deal with it.” In memories that flowed through her mind, she’d seen how Cedric had adored Isolde Blackwood; he dismissed every other woman as irrelevant, including her. Now Fiona was no different, a pathetic wannabe vying for what she could never have. Fiona’s expression darkened, her cheeks burning. “Rowena, you conniving little weasel! You stepped on everyone to get here, and you’ve got the gall to gloat?” Elowen shrugged nonchalantly. “And what about you? Stalking Cedric like a hungry mosquito? I can practically feel his disgust from here.” Fiona reeled, stunned by the counterattack. Her entire narrative had been turned upside down; for the first time, Elowen wasn’t the pitiful wallflower she had expected. Fuming with humiliation, Fiona lifted her hand, aiming a slap at Elowen’s face. “You’re the real pest!”
Chapter 3
**Trouble Calls** Elowen Blackwood leaned to the side, easily grabbing Fiona Ashford’s wrist. Fiona froze, caught off guard by the quick move from that insufferable woman. Before she could process what had just happened, a sharp slap landed on her cheek. Elowen believed firmly in her motto: “Don’t mess with me, and I won’t mess with you. But if you cross me, I won’t hold back.” Now reeling from the unexpected hit, Fiona spun around and landed hard on the floor. After a brief moment of shock, she sputtered angrily, “Security! Are you all asleep? Someone get this bitch out of here!” Security, already familiar with Fiona Ashford, rushed toward Elowen as soon as they saw her strike their boss's friend. Elowen swiftly sketched a few quick gestures in the air but didn’t need to act. Just as the elevator doors slid open, a chilling voice rang out, cutting through the chaos. “Stop right there.” The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. A tall figure stepped from the elevator, dressed in a sharply tailored suit, his handsome yet fierce face unmistakably belonging to Cedric Fairclough, the president of Fairclough Enterprises. Behind him trailed a couple of secretaries and a few imposing bodyguards, their presence radiating authority. Cedric’s eyes glinted like daggers as they locked onto Elowen’s, his expression almost frozen in ice. “Who let you into Fairclough?” Fiona scrambled to her feet, tears streaming down her cheeks as she rushed into Cedric’s arms. “Cedric, she hit me! You have to help me!” Oh, the irony of an evildoer crying foul. Elowen shot Fiona a derisive glance, crossing her arms. “What, does Fairclough have a no-fighting policy? Are strangers not allowed to visit?” Cedric’s voice dropped, full of ice. “Get out. Now.” What a lunatic. It was impossible to reason with a madman. Elowen felt the rising heat of frustration. She’d come to observe the mark on Cedric’s neck, wrapped up in her thoughts of a petty squabble with a self-important jerk. Sure, she was a big shot in the Arcane Brotherhood, and here she was being belittled by a mere mortal. It was a waste of breath to argue with him. Instead, she stepped closer, raised her hand, and slapped his forehead with some force. “Get down on your knees.” What unfolded next was utterly humiliating for Elowen. Cedric, standing cool as ever, didn’t flinch or react in the slightest. This audacious woman dared to strike his head and commanded him to kneel right in front of everyone. The onlookers held their breath, stunned into silence by the spectacle. Elowen stared at him, perplexed. This spell should’ve worked. It never failed her before. Was it the mark doing something? Or did Cedric have some protective charm? In her reverie, Cedric had seized her collar, his gaze fierce enough to kill. “Rowena Blackwood, are you asking for death?” Elowen remained dumbfounded. This had never happened before. Even if her spell wasn’t drawn in vermilion, it shouldn’t have gone this wrong. She finally realized Cedric was dragging her towards the door. In a moment of recklessness, she kicked his knee and shouted, “Let me go! I came to talk business. Your interior designs are a disaster, and you have major issues yourself!” “You're the one with issues,” he shot back, flinging the car door open as if tossing away refuse. Fiona had managed to break free, and upon seeing the commotion, a sly grin spread across her face. She rushed to Cedric’s side, wrapping her arms around his elbow like a koala. “Cedric, don’t listen to her! This woman’s a lunatic.” Elowen kicked the car door open, yelling after Cedric, “Cedric Fairclough, take a look at the building’s layout! Doesn’t it look like a short incense burner with two tall pillars? If you don’t believe me, check the feng shui!” Cedric strode away, not bothering to respond. “Stuff her back in the car.” Watching him retreat filled Elowen with a furious resolve. “Cedric Fairclough, you’ll regret this! In less than a week, misfortune will be at your door!” Cedric either didn’t hear or didn’t care, disappearing back into the corporate tower. He was headed out before this chaos, a nuisance brought on by that ridiculous woman. Misfortune? Cedric snorted at the thought. He took charge of Fairclough at twenty, based on skill and cunning. The idea of a woman meddling in superstition was laughable. Meanwhile, Elowen found herself back at Hillcrest Manor, sneezing as she stepped inside. The two previous bodyguards had awakened, equally baffled at seeing Elowen returned, escorted by Cedric’s muscle. Fuming, Elowen plopped onto the sofa. That jerk, Cedric Fairclough, would come to regret underestimating her. Just as the thought registered, a flutter of anticipation rushed through her chest, as if something was about to unfold. She gathered a few coins for divination, but in a moment of hesitation, decided to direct her query toward Cedric Fairclough instead. The coins clanked together, and fell, reading “The Mountain Retreat.” A dire omen. An unsettling mix of elements, two pitfalls stacked upon one another. She cast another set, this time favorable, indicating no clear danger. It appeared her warning stemmed from Cedric—or perhaps from the past self she had inherited. Elowen paced the room, mulling it over. She decided she needed to venture out again. Taking a calculated risk, she clapped her hands on the heads of the two guards again, sending them back to sleep. She called a ride straight to the city, calculating that Cedric would be towards the east. The cab pulled up in an area brimming with restaurants. As soon as she alighted, she spotted Cedric’s sleek black Cayenne parked nearby. She was about to head in when the screech of tires caught her attention. Turning, she found Fiona Ashford watching her with a smug grin. “Look who decided to show up,” Fiona sneered, kicking open the passenger door, as two bodyguards clambered out, closing in on Elowen. Drawing her symbols as a precaution, Elowen was undeterred. These spells weren’t going to fail her this time. Fiona’s order rang out, “Grab her! Get her out of here!” Just as Elowen prepared to counter, it dawned on her: “Cedric, what are you doing here?” Turning quickly, she bumped into a solid mass. Their eyes met—Cedric Fairclough’s expression hardened as he uttered a cold whisper. “Get lost.”
Chapter 4
"Let me see what you’ve got." "Fairclough, can't you say anything else?" Elizabeth Blackwood felt her frustration rising, her hair practically standing on end. If she were still empowered like she used to be, she would have sent him six feet under by now. "Cuff her," Cedric Fairclough ordered flatly. In an instant, Elizabeth felt the grip of a bodyguard holding her down, just as Fiona Ashford slithered too close for comfort. With a sweet, shaky voice, she purred, "Cedric, why didn't you call? I could’ve come kept you company." Having just spotted Elizabeth, Cedric’s mood had already plummeted to rock bottom. He had zero interest in Fiona's dramatics. With a sharp, dismissive shove, he brushed Fiona aside. "I’m busy." Fiona, feeling the sting of his rejection, managed an awkward laugh. "But Cedric, I can help! Just tell me what you’re doing, I’ll tag along." As he watched Elizabeth being shoved into the car, Cedric abruptly turned away from Fiona. "Home." With a slam, the car door shut, and the vehicle shot off like a rocket, leaving the hotel behind. But inside, Cedric's agitation was only intensifying. He had a deal that was practically in the bag, and the moment he arrived, his competitor swooped in and snatched it away. This kind of thing had been happening too often in the past three months. Despite spending a fortune on investigations, he still had no leads. Having an enemy lurking in the shadows while he remained out in the open was like an invisible hand tightening around his throat. No wonder he felt like everything was stacked against him. Elizabeth, for her part, was clueless about Cedric's inner turmoil, but her instinctual sense of danger kept growing. It was a visceral feeling of impending doom. As the car approached a curve, she suddenly shouted, "Don’t take that road!" No sooner had the words left her mouth than one side of the car jolted violently upwards. A ghastly, terrifying face pressed against the window, eerily lifting the vehicle off the ground. She hastily drew up a protective symbol in her palm, but hesitated. If she acted now, her true identity would be exposed. In a flash, she seized Cedric’s hand and bit down sharply on his middle finger. Cedric stared in shock as pain blazed through his digit, feeling her grip tighten as she pressed his bleeding finger against the glass. His blood—hot and potent—was her only option since she couldn't access the blood from his tongue. The vengeful spirit let out a wailing shriek before dissipating into smoke. Seconds later, a loud crash echoed as the car fell back down to earth. The bodyguard whirled around, panic etched on his face. "Mr. Fairclough, are you okay?" "I'm fine," Cedric replied tersely, his gaze swinging back to Elizabeth. She let go of his finger, sheepish. "Sorry, that was an accident." An accident? She had bitten him on purpose. Cedric's dark, piercing eyes bore into her unapologetic face, and he couldn’t help but recall a tale his grandmother once told him. He couldn't remember the specifics, but there was one line that stuck: blood from the middle finger could ward off evil spirits. He quickly pushed those nonsensical thoughts aside. In this day and age, there was no such thing as evil; simply a woman trying to get back at him. Half an hour later, they clocked back into Hillcrest Manor. Needing to assess the mark on Cedric's neck, Elizabeth decided to tone down her frigid demeanor and pulled out a first-aid kit. "Take a seat. I’ll wrap your finger." Cedric swiftly threw the adhesive bandage to the ground. "Rowena Blackwood, save your theatrics. You’re disgusting me." As he stormed up the stairs, Elizabeth's hands flew to her hips, seething with indignation. Who did he think he was? If she wasn't digging into business, she wouldn’t waste a glance on him. Back in the day, countless people would grovel to meet her; but here was Cedric Fairclough, acting like he was a big deal. She spat in discontent, but then heard the unmistakable sound of running water from the second floor. If she wasn't mistaken, Cedric was in the shower. A wicked smile crept onto her lips. This could be the perfect opportunity. With cat-like stealth, she ascended the stairs. Sure enough, the bathroom door was fogged up with steam, and through the patterned glass, she could make out a tall silhouette. Wow, he's got style. That glass door had a unique pattern, adding to the tantalizingly vague view. Even someone as composed as Elizabeth couldn’t help but swallow hard. What was she even thinking? She was there for business, not ogling some guy. Settling down on the sofa on the second floor, she waited patiently for Cedric to finish. Minutes dragged by, and finally, the bathroom door swung open. Cedric emerged, clad only in a bath towel, water droplets still clinging to his hair. The minute he spotted Elizabeth, his mood soured instantly. "What do you want?" Seeing him approach, a flicker of unease rippled through Elizabeth. Her charms didn't seem to work against this man. But she forced a defiant smirk. "I can't sit here? Is that a problem?" Cedric closed the gap, and the sight of his well-defined legs abruptly made her cheeks flush red. This man was far too close. To project indifference, she remained still, but her demeanor irked him further. Leaning in, he sneered, "You really want to play this game, huh? Fine, let’s see where it goes." In one swift motion, he ripped her shirt, sending buttons flying, one of which landed square on her forehead. Stunned, she felt for the button, pride stinging. “You pervert! Don’t you dare take advantage of me.” Cedric let out a grunt, doubling over; Elizabeth used the opportunity to spring to her feet and dart into the adjacent room. But a fleeting glance at his exposed form set her heart pounding furiously. Never in her life had she gotten this kind of close look at a man—her cheeks felt like they were on fire. Cedric stood back up, undeterred. With her little move, she hadn’t hurt him much at all. In fact, he was intrigued by how strange she was acting today. In the past, she would have been all over him, hanging on his every word; but now, she was running from him. Recalling her earlier boldness while dealing with Fiona Ashford, Cedric furrowed his brow, stepping forward to the door. "Open up." Elizabeth turned away, her back to him, heat tightening around her cheeks. "Get lost, you creep." “Teeth grinding, Cedric turned to The Library, retrieving a keyring. With a quiet click, he unlocked the door. Elizabeth’s heart raced; she pressed her palm against it, but her strength was no match for his—he easily pushed it open. Staring at the water-slicked man before her, Elizabeth adopted a wary stance. "What do you think you’re doing?" Cedric’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Drop the seduction act. What’s your angle?” "Angle?" Elizabeth shot back, suddenly serious. "I need to see your neck." That finally broke him. In a swift, practiced move, he shoved her against the wall, his voice low and menacing. "Rowena Blackwood, I could toss you into the doghouse right now if I wanted to."
Chapter 5
**The Watcher Behind** Elowen Blackwood felt the weight of Cedric Fairclough's gaze on her, his cold eyes set against the rigid lines of his face. There was no doubt in her mind that he could do anything—anything at all. Outside, the dogs in the backyard continued their relentless barking, releasing a bunch of pent-up energy that seemed to echo her frayed nerves. Elowen shrank slightly, scoffing under her breath, “Fine, don’t let me see. It’s not like I’m dying to get a glimpse of it.” Cedric’s expression tightened, and Elowen caught a flicker of something in his eyes as he leaned closer. Rowena Blackwood had always been terrified of dogs—odd, considering she fed the damn things every day. Elowen slipped past him, already plotting her revenge against this scummy man once she regained her strength. Cedric shot her a quick look, his eyes flickering like a candle about to burn out. Just then, the yapping outside shot louder, scraping at his patience. “Vivian Foxglove,” he barked, “go check that out.” “Yes, Mr. Fairclough.” A loud bang echoed through the hall as Elowen slammed the door shut behind her. Downstairs, with Cedric now out of the window’s line of sight, it felt quieter. He took a swig of coffee and reached for a cigarette, his mind circling back to the bizarre events of the day. The car had been fine, cruising along when suddenly one side lifted off the ground. He still couldn’t understand how blood had splattered across the window before the car landed again. Just an unfortunate twist of fate, or was something darker afoot? Who was out for Fairclough? The question pestered him like a fly buzzing in his ear. Meanwhile, Elowen's curiosity tugged at her from the window. The northern view revealed a sizeable iron cage vibrating with three hefty Tibetan mastiffs bouncing around in a frenzy. The image of them tearing into her flashed in her mind and sent a shiver down her spine. Yet fear aside, she had a mission. Elowen resolved to start digging at the dirt from Cedric’s neighbors. With the ease of someone familiar with her phone, she punched in her password and breezed into the local news website. The headline hit her like a sucker punch: “Blackwood Girl Dies in Accident on Raven’s Way; Funeral to Be Held Tomorrow.” A smaller subheading followed suit. “Over a hundred cars lined up outside the funeral home; the girl’s identity remains a topic of discussion.” Stunned, Elowen scanned the crowd, realizing she recognized many wealthy faces. Though she knew plenty of affluent people, her own pockets were empty. Within the Arcane Brotherhood, she was said to be cursed with five shortcomings; money was hers. If only she had some, disaster would certainly follow. All the earnings from her hustle had gone to various altruistic causes - schools, hospitals, rural elders, struggling college students - the list was endless. Now faced with a throng gathered for her own funeral, a pang of true sorrow knotted in her gut. But it struck her: was the one who had hurt her hidden among them? No matter the answer, she had to see for herself tomorrow. If she turned up empty-handed, then targeting Cedric would be her next move. Decidedly, Elowen pushed aside her worries and climbed into bed. Sleep rarely eluded her; just like that, she was out as soon as her head hit the pillow. Cedric, glide back into his own room, caught sight of her sprawled across the bed, completely unrestrained. Seeing her like this ignited his temper again. He contemplated yanking her thin ankle and tossing her onto the floor. But just as he neared the bed, Elowen rolled over, clutching a blanket that had seen better days and muttered dreamily, “I miss you, Alfred Silverstone.” The coldness returned to Cedric’s eyes. Who the hell was Alfred? Suddenly, the memory of Elowen in his office, asking for a divorce hit him like a punch. His temples throbbed, and with a tight jaw, he walked out of the bedroom, heading directly down to the first floor. “Vivian Foxglove, find out who Rowena Blackwood has been in contact with these last few days.” “Yes, sir.” The sun rose on the next day, and Elowen awoke early, the house eerily quiet; Cedric Fairclough was long gone. She tidied up quickly and dashed down the stairs. Time was running out—she had to make it to her own funeral. To her surprise, the guards outside didn’t stop her as she slipped past them. An hour later, she stood outside the funeral home, eyes wide at the sea of people gathered like a shore replete with tides. After wrestling through the crowd, she finally made it into the viewing room. The sight of a girl, draped in white satin—a scattering of flowers surrounding her—made her gasp. The girl’s delicate features still faintly showed through the veil of white sand covering her. Elowen stepped closer and noticed the stitched-together parts of the body, her fists clenched with rising rage. How dare they do this? The Blackwood legacy couldn’t end here—there would be vengeance. Her fingers traced the glass casket, and she sketched an invisible hex across the surface. A Ghost Binding spell, designed to alert her if anything dark approached. Swept away in the crowd, she maneuvered to the side, trying to stay alert, when a familiar figure caught her eye—Fiona Ashford. What was she doing here? Elowen couldn’t recall extending a hand to her. Distracted, Elowen missed Fiona slipping into the viewing room, but as soon as the haughty woman neared the glass case, Elowen felt a shiver run down her spine. Could Fiona be involved in this? The old Elowen had no disputes with her, yet a dark veil covered the truth as Fiona disappeared from sight. Then she noticed it—a new sigil displayed across the glass. The Soulbinding sigil. Someone was not only intent on her death but also wanted to ensnare her spirit. But her soul had already nested into Rowena Blackwood's form. If anyone knowledgeable probed this scene, they would certainly uncover the truth. Elowen swiftly rubbed her fingers against the surface to block a breach, ready to vanish at the moment the body burned. Once the ashes spilled, nobody would suspect a thing. Solidifying her intent, Elowen clung to the edge of the glass case. Just as she prayed for the fire to ignite soon, Fiona Ashford suddenly materialized beside her. “Slut, I didn’t realize you even knew Selene Blackwood.” Her choice of words momentarily flared Elowen’s temper, yet she couldn’t recall any association with the woman. One glance shifted to the necklace that hung off Fiona’s chest—something she hadn’t worn yesterday. It was a gold pendant in the shape of a nail, adorned with tiny diamonds aligned one after another, forming the outline of that very Soulbinding spell. Elowen frowned, cutting straight to the chase. “Where’d you get that?” Fiona smirked, her voice laced with disdain. “You think it’s any of your business? Get lost; people like you don’t deserve to take Selene Blackwood down.” Elowen's eyes turned to ice. “You’re the one who needs to get lost.” Fiona lunged forward, gripping Elowen’s collar tightly. “Bitch, this isn’t your playground. Scram.” With resolve ignited, Elowen’s composure shattered, and before she calculated her next move, she raised her hand and slapped Fiona hard across the face.
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