Chapter 1
**Synopsis:** Before her rebirth, Clara Hawthorne felt her life was as bland as plain water sweetened with a hint of lemon—tasteless, yet something she couldn't throw away. As a secretary, she struggled with a fear of men, and while faced with her enchanting yet intimidating boss, Edmund Sterling, she could only be reactive and passive. Eventually, she escaped, only to find herself back in time. Now, reawakened in a new life, Clara is determined to transform herself, wishing to turn that mundane glass of water into a rich hot cocoa—so delicious that she forgets their past conflicts and compels him to fall in love with her. --- After finishing her tasks at the office, Clara Hawthorne stepped outside, the brisk air of Avalon Isle wrapping around her like a comforting shroud. Her thoughts remained entangled with her charming yet infuriating boss, Edmund Sterling. Every moment spent in his presence felt like an intricate dance where she didn't even know the steps. Years ago, she had been terrified of him—his sharp intellect, piercing gaze, and magnetic aura had reduced her to a silent shadow. Now, armed with the knowledge of their past encounters and a fierce determination to reshape her fate, Clara brushed her auburn hair behind her ears, her heart a tumultuous whirlpool. "I can do this," she whispered to herself, gaining confidence with each step toward her future transformation. The clamor of King's Port filled the streets as she navigated her way home. The sights and sounds of bustling life invigorated her resolve. No longer would she be the timid woman cowering in her office corner. This time, she would seize the life—and love—she desired. As Clara arrived at Hawthorne Manor, she paused to behold her family home—a grand but warm structure steeped in memories. Inside, her mother, Lady Margaret, greeted her with a knowing smile. "There's a fire brewing in your eyes, dear. Don't think I haven't noticed." Clara chuckled, realizing the warmth of her family always restored a piece of her spirit. "I'm ready for a change, Mom. I want to be bolder this time." That night, she formulated a plan. She envisioned herself a daring woman—radiant, confident, and desirable—drawing Edmund into her orbit. She would no longer let the fear of men stifle her potential to love and be loved. The following day, as she entered the office at The Traders Guild, the air buzzed with promise and tension. Clara dressed with purpose, donning a tailored navy-blue suit that hugged her curves in all the right places. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she strode through the office with newfound confidence. She could feel Edmund’s eyes on her as she approached his office. The tall, dark-haired man was deeply engrossed in work, but his attention pierced through her heart with a single glance. His demeanor was still that of an enigma—complex and captivating, like the intriguing shadows of The Black Tower that loomed in the distance. "Clara," he finally acknowledged, his voice smooth like rich chocolate. "You look different today." Clara smirked, challenging him. "And I feel different too, Edmund. Ready to explore this dynamic we once overlooked?" His brow arched, a curious spark igniting in his unreadable gaze. "You've certainly caught my interest." Their interactions were a whirl of flirtation, ebbing and flowing like a deliberate tango. A spark lit between them, fierce yet sweet, as the past began to fade into a backdrop for new possibilities. Clara’s laughter danced through the office, disarming her co-workers and captivating Edmund. Day by day, she became bold in her pursuits—each office meeting transforming from a test of will into a step toward a blossoming romance. Soon their banter grew richer, their connection more tangible—a tantalizing tension they both relished. Back at home, Clara confided in her sister, Lydia Fairchild. "I think he's finally starting to see me for who I am, not just the timid secretary." Lydia beamed with pride. "You were always meant to thrive, Clara. You just had to let that fierce fire grow!" As Clara gazed into the mirror late that night, she saw not just a woman, but a force—a woman who could turn the tide of her destiny. The mundane water of her past was gone; she'd concocted a blend so deliciously intoxicating it would leave them both breathless. With every attempt to forge her future, she felt the weight of the former Clara lift. No longer a reflection of cowardice and fear, she was redefining herself as a woman of strength and desire, ready to claim her happiness. And with every stolen glance they shared, Clara knew Edmund was drawn to her transformation—the hot cocoa that was once plain water was brewing into something magnificent, promising a love story that would warm their hearts forever.
Chapter 2
**Unexpected Rebirth** In a seemingly endless void of darkness, time felt like it had come to a standstill. Clara Hawthorne suddenly became aware of her rapid heartbeat, a gasp of cool air filling her lungs as she coughed uncontrollably. The coughing sent waves of pain through her chest, and beads of sweat trickled down her forehead until, a few moments later, she regained her breath. When she finally lifted her hand to wipe the tears from her eyes, she glanced around the dim light of the nightstand lamp and stared in disbelief at her surroundings. This… this wasn’t the old two-story lodge where she used to stay while studying at the academy. Hadn’t she died? Was this just a dream? Pinching her soft, pale skin confirmed it; the sharp pain jolted her mind and cemented her belief that what she saw before her was all too real. She vividly recalled driving her car down the highway, the rain-slicked road causing her to skid uncontrollably before colliding head-on with a massive truck in the next lane. After being blinded by the truck’s glaring headlights, the next thing she remembered was the deafening sound of metal crashing, shards of glass piercing her cheek. Trapped in the mangled wreckage, she could only feel a sticky liquid seeping over her skin. Before the darkness consumed her consciousness, her last thought was a desperate wish: if only she could turn back time, she wouldn’t have been foolish enough to let him go. Could it be? Had the heavens heard her wish, granting her a second chance five years in the past? Back then, Clara Hawthorne had just graduated from the academy, a girl plagued by “androphobia,” who repelled men with great fervor. By chance, through a mutual friend, she met him, someone she barely knew about dating. Interacting with him felt awkward and foreign. He was a workaholic, coldly dismissive of most people, yet somehow he attracted a swarm of admirers who desired to win his affection, hoping to ascend to greatness by his side. She couldn’t recall precisely when her feelings began to change. Perhaps it was the slow build-up of companionship or the proximity that ultimately led them to share a bed. Their relationship felt ordinary, like water with a hint of sugar and lemon—plain yet too valuable to toss aside. For him, perhaps it was merely about having someone to justify his eventual desire for marriage and family. But as she stood before the officiant, dressed in white on what should have been the most significant day of her life, her heart shattered when a friend inadvertently revealed that his parents' tragic deaths were intimately tied to her own father. She simply couldn't marry a son who had lost his parents to murder at the hands of a killer. When her bouquet fell heavily to the ground, scattering flowers everywhere, it felt as though her heart splintered too. At that moment, she became a runaway bride, fleeing Taiwan to roam the world. Now, slowly regaining mobility in her once-numb legs, she stood in the bath chamber in front of the mirror, staring blankly at her reflection. The visage looking back at her had long since faded from her memory. For every time she recalled that face, inevitably, he came back to her thoughts. Her short black hair clung to her damp skin, the diamond earring in her left ear glimmering subtly under the light. Her thick brows framed her deep-set eyes, and a straight nose complemented her tightly pressed lips, all bearing witness to her return to five years prior. After escaping abroad, she had allowed her hair to grow long and dyed it blonde, her eyebrows thinned out considerably, and she had even gone under the knife for double eyelid surgery. The only features unchanged were her nose and lips. She had thought that by altering her exterior, she could transform her emotional landscape, making the pain disappear. Yet, in the end, she realized it was just a way of ignoring the wounds, acting as both blind and deaf to the whispers of her heart. Instead, she had lived a shallow life, reveling in fun until she watched her friends one by one walk down the aisle, their joy in motherhood stirring something deep within her, and finally, she started to listen to her own voice. But what did that realization matter now? She had no standing to seek him out again. Even if they met, how could she approach him? Apologize? Ask for forgiveness? Acknowledge her mistakes? No matter the expression she wore during their reunion, she imagined he would merely offer a subtle smile, keeping their interaction cordial. Then, just when she had mustered the courage to fly back to Taiwan and find him, she heard he was already married. The shock sent her spiraling, and on her dazed drive home, she crashed her car. Now, here she was—reborn—meaning she had the chance to change everything, right? The discomfort from sweat covering her body urged her to turn on the shower, hoping a scalding rinse would clear her head. Suddenly, she realized she didn’t even know what day it was, so she hurried through her shower. After rushing to her desk, she turned on her phone—it was only a little past midnight. Glancing at the calendar, she noted today was the last day of the semester, and tomorrow would be graduation day. If she remembered correctly, she would see him tomorrow…
Chapter 3
"Excuse me, could you let go, please?" The scorching heat of June had arrived, wrapping the campus in a warm embrace. The flamboyant blossoms of the royal poinciana adorned the trees, their vibrant red petals drifting through the air like butterflies, cascading down to the ground as the school day came to an end. Standing in front of her locker, Clara Hawthorne fumbled with her belongings, her mind tangled in a chaotic mess. After just two years here, she felt increasingly disconnected from her classmates, struggling to find relevance in their conversations. She often resorted to playing the fool just to get by. "Hey, Hawthorne, did you not sleep last night? Otherwise, why are you so out of it today?" her best friend, Lydia Fairchild, questioned while she gathered her things, stealing glances at Clara’s profile. "Uh… well..." Clara stammered, a trace of guilt creeping in. Truth be told, she had been knocked out cold the night before. A few too-long strands of hair fell over her forehead, prompting her to absentmindedly push them back, which sparked a wave of surprised gasps among a group of younger girls nearby. "Ah~~ Clara, you look amazing! I can't handle it!" "Wow, even better than the Handsome Knight! I think I'm going to faint!" Clara blinked in confusion as she turned to the giggling girls, who quickly blushed and scampered away. After a moment of dazed realization, she asked, "Lydia, were they talking about me?" "There's only us two here. Did you mean me? Because I'm definitely not dreamy at all. Have you forgotten that you’ve always been the one with deadpan vibes?" Lydia teased, chuckling as she brushed off her friend’s sleepy demeanor. Just then, a glance at the reflection in the nearby window made Clara aware of her current appearance. She wasn’t the flowing-haired beauty she envisioned; instead, she was dressed in a stylishly androgynous outfit, giving off a cool vibe. She had totally forgotten. As Clara processed her appearance, Lydia had already finished packing up and was tugging her outside. "Hey, Hawthorne! Let's hit up the North Gate for some shopping! Yay~ The bus is here, and if we don't squeeze on, we’ll have to wait another hour!" Lydia called excitedly, her eyes on the approaching vehicle. Ugh. Lydia knew how much Clara hated waiting. As the bus doors swung open, people surged forward, jostling for a spot. Instinctively, Clara reached back to grip Lydia's arm, trying to pull her friend along. Just as Clara felt relieved to make it onboard, a deep, magnetic male voice called from behind her, “Excuse me, sir… could you let go?” That voice—one she had dreamt about and wished to forget—startled her. It belonged to the man she could never seem to shake from her thoughts. Slowly, Clara turned around, only to find that it was indeed him, Edmund Sterling. He wore a slight, innocent smile as his beautiful almond-shaped eyes looked curiously at her. In that moment, their fingers were intertwined, and Clara, utterly stunned, tightened her grip as if clinging to a lifeline, stammering out a breathless "You...." Her heart raced, pounding loudly in her ears as she tried to compose herself, wishing she could will her heartbeat to quiet down. How embarrassing! Edmund studied the young man before him, slightly puzzled. Sure, he knew he was attractive, but the guy’s starstruck look was a bit too much—it almost made him laugh. "Hawthorne, do you know him?" Lydia exclaimed, unable to hide her astonishment. Clara's reaction was reminiscent of a long-lost friend, but, to Lydia’s surprise, he was someone who had caught Clara’s attention in a way that was undeniably different.
Chapter 4
Lydia Fairchild's inquisitive voice cut through the air, capturing Edmund Sterling’s attention. He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of suspicion crossing his features. "Do you know me?" he asked, matching her curiosity with his own. With an incredible memory, Edmund couldn’t recall ever meeting this young man before, leaving him to believe he was just another opportunist trying to forge a connection. After all, he had encountered far too many of those types in his life. Clara Hawthorne, about to instinctively nod in agreement, quickly shook her head and reluctantly released Young William’s hand. She could see the subtle change in Edmund’s expression, and it made her heart race. "No... I’m sorry," she stammered, blinking her dark eyes rapidly and quickly averting her gaze from him, trying to appear unaffected. But out of the corner of her eye, she couldn't help but watch him. Just then, a melodic ringtone pierced the atmosphere, and Matron Edith deftly picked up, "Hello, Blackwood." On the other end, a hurried voice shot questions at him. Edmund lifted a long finger to massage his temple in response, a gesture that left the men beside him, old and young alike, entranced. They were captivated by his poise, hearts twisting in admiration. "Clara, are you even listening to me?" Lydia Fairchild couldn’t help but notice the dazed expression on Clara Hawthorne’s face and felt the sudden urge to pull her friend back to reality. Clara’s behavior was unusually strange today. Normally, when around men, she was like someone holding a cockroach—disgusted and distant. Why was she acting differently now? "Uh... I mean, what you said earlier, right? Haha..." Clara laughed nervously, hoping her lifelong friend wouldn’t pry any further, fearing she might give herself away. Luckily, Edmund was preoccupied with the phone call, oblivious to the turmoil swimming in her gaze, or she might have been labeled as having an unrequited crush on him. It was frustrating. Here she was, with her short hair, a loose shirt, and worn-out jeans—no sultry lips to speak of, just a pretty face she thought was more of a misfortune than a gift. She often wondered what had ever drawn him to her in the first place. Edmund had never uttered a romantic word to her; perhaps he was just pressured into marrying her by his old grandmother. In the past, she had always passively stood in the background, quietly following him around. Even their intimate moments had been more about duty than desire—just a routine they went through. But this time, she needed to find a way to capture his heart, igniting a passion that would burn out of control.
Chapter 5
His hand felt so warm. The Black Tower was located in the bustling heart of the city, a standalone fifteen-story structure occupying prime real estate. Passersby couldn't help but be struck by its imposing presence, primarily clad in dark materials that refracted the golden sunlight, creating an air of mystery. Winston Blackwood and Julian Hawthorne were having dinner on the second floor, engaged in their conversation when Julian's gaze drifted toward the window. Winston noticed the intensity of Julian's fixation on something outside and joined him in looking out. A tall figure clad in a black shirt and distressed white jeans smoothly dismounted from a tricked-out motorcycle. He took off his full-face helmet and ran his fingers through his hair, exuding an effortlessly cool demeanor. "Wow, you’re looking a bit too engrossed there," Winston observed, feeling a tingling sensation under his skin. With a mix of curiosity and mild irritation, he asked, "Hawthorne, aren’t guys usually checking out scantily-clad girls? What’s got your attention… a guy?" "That's my sister," Julian replied with a rolled eye and a hint of annoyance in his tone. "I needed a temporary secretary after my boss gave me the news yesterday, so I brought her on board." He had anticipated that asking his younger sister would earn him a few punches, but to his surprise, she had agreed in an instant. So strange for Clara Hawthorne, who typically had little patience for men. When Winston and Julian made their way downstairs, they encountered Clara walking in, a faint smile on her face as she greeted them. The trio then took the express elevator to the fifteenth floor. As Clara glanced at her reflection in the glass, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she resembled a guy more than a girl. Meeting him had kept her awake last night with excitement, so much so that she rummaged through her closet to decide what to wear. In the end, she found nothing but pants—her entire wardrobe was filled with gender-neutral clothing. Though she wished she could borrow a dress from Lydia Fairchild, she knew her friend would ask too many questions. Plus, she struggled to imagine how she would pull off a dress at all. What if it backfired and people thought she was cross-dressing? As she watched the numbers in the elevator’s display slowly climb, her heart raced with anticipation. When the elevator dinged at fifteen, her heart felt like it might leap out of her throat. Stepping out, she heard a smooth voice float through the air, rich and warm like polished wood. "Well, I have plans tonight, so you’re on your own for dinner. We’ll plan to get together another time." Standing at the entrance of the lavish office, Clara watched as the glimmering orange-yellow light framed Edmund Sterling’s profile, giving him an almost divine aura. His tall stature demanded attention, seeming to cast an authority over the entire city. Minutes ticked by as he concluded a phone call, finally turning to them with piercing eyes. Clara felt a thrill course through her as he gave them a charming smile that made all three of them momentarily forget themselves. "Where's Hawthorne?" he asked, his voice deep and steady. Julian understood the underlying meaning of that question—if Hawthorne wasn’t here, things could get messy. He sidestepped quickly, making room for Clara to step into Edmund's line of sight. "Hello, Mr. Sterling," she said, her voice barely masking her nerves. "I’m Clara Hawthorne. You remember me, right?" "Oh, of course! From the bus, right?" he replied, glancing at Clara’s outstretched hand. He instinctively reached out to shake it, the warm, familiar act of social interaction grounding them both.
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