Chapter 1
**No Second Chances, Just This Life** "What are you doing? No!" The cold night blanketed the forest, shrouded in darkness, where a dilapidated warehouse echoed with anguished screams that tore through the silence like a dagger. A man—freshly disheveled, elegant yet battered—stumbled from his wheelchair, dragging his lifeless legs across the gritty floor. With desperate determination, he crawled towards the woman lying motionless in a pool of crimson. Her clothes were torn, blood-soaked, a living canvas of lacerations and scars that told a horror story of its own. Her once lovely features were marred by disarray, but even in this chaotic state, her eyes—brilliant and fierce—cut through the dim light like shards of glass, as if they could pierce the ugliness of the world around her. The oppressive stillness of the night was shattered by the rumble of thunder, dark clouds boiling overhead. A flash of silver lightning spilled through a cracked window, illuminating the anguish etched on the man’s face, transforming him into a macabre vision of sorrow as half of him sank back into the shadows. Surrounding him were a dozen men clad in black suits, all towering figures with an intensity that spoke of brutal training. Among them, a pair held down a struggling man and woman—Richard Morrow, the supposed husband of the fallen woman, and his secret love, Isabella Garrison, Eleanor’s cousin. The dust-coated fabric of the man’s suit was the least of his worries; his heart was tethered to Grace’s frail body. As he reached her, he cradled her in his arms, the tears he fought to hold back streaming down his face. “Grace, baby…” he whispered, his voice a broken thread. “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t protect you.” “Sorry…” Eleanor's face was as white as a ghost, but a small smile flickered across her lips as she watched the man frantically pressing his hands against her wounds. A glimmer of warmth touched her deep inside. “Henry, am I... am I dying?” Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth as she spoke, but he shook his head vigorously. “No! Not now. You promised me you’d keep fighting.” “Please... don’t leave me here alone. I can’t...” “Just hold on... please.” Tears erupted like a storm, soaking Eleanor's face as she reached out, trembling fingers gently brushing the wetness on his cheek. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t keep my promise... if there’s an afterlife…” “Don’t! I don’t want a next life! I need you to survive, Grace. Just stay with me!” In that moment, Henry's composure crumbled, his striking features twisted with desperation and dread. “Please, I can’t wait—” Before her sentence could finish, Eleanor's eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted into an unforgiving slumber. “No... no!” A gut-wrenching scream erupted from Henry, filled with despair as he shook her, blood staining his hands. He watched her go pale, her vibrant eyes dimming, the warmth fading fast. She was slipping away, blood pooling beneath her, unstoppable. His instinct kicked in, pressing his hands against the openings of her wounds as if sheer will could reverse the flow. Henry's gaze burned into the ground where Richard and Isabella collapsed, fury igniting within him. “Get them out of here—don’t kill them yet.” Eleanor's final glimpse of the world was marked by the chilling detachment in his voice, where once there was only tenderness. Now, it was colder, harsher—a reflection of a heart shattered and hardened, an appetite for vengeance replacing the love that once warmed him.
Chapter 2
Rebirth If only the first person I fell in love with was you, how wonderful that would be… In this second chance at life, I’m grateful that the moment I opened my eyes, I met you; you became my redemption… —Eleanor Garrison The night... An endless expanse of darkness blanketed everything. Eleanor Garrison was running, her heart pounding as panic clawed at her throat. But she couldn’t see where she was going. No light broke through the gloom, no sign of hope. It felt like she was drowning, something heavy lodged in her chest, suffocating and unrelenting. Her long lashes fluttered like the delicate wings of a butterfly. Eleanor blinked awake, staring at the ceiling in a daze. This wasn’t Garrison Manor, was it? Her gaze dropped to a shadowy figure in front of her, and her heart skipped a beat as she suddenly lunged towards the man in the wheelchair. “Henry, I’m so sorry…” Grace's voice trembled with a mix of remorse and raw emotion. Henry Garrison’s rigid form seemed to freeze, the grip of his hands tightening on the armrests. “You…” His glassy eyes widened in shock, and he slowly looked down. Didn’t she… really despise him? So why did she look at him now like this? “It’s so good to see you again!” Eleanor threw her arms around Henry's waist, tears spilling over before she could stop them. “You…” “Wait!” Lost in her thoughts, Eleanor suddenly snapped back to reality. She reached out and pinched the man’s chiseled face. Henry Garrison: … “Whoa, it’s actually warm!” Eleanor’s eyes widened in disbelief as she studied the man before her. Could it be that she hadn’t died after all? As a haze of memories from her previous life began to flood back, images raced through her fragile mind, leaving her pale and breathless. “I’m not dead?” Eleanor rubbed her aching forehead. “You just hit your head. You’ll be fine.” His voice, deep and raspy, held a hint of detachment, but the tightness of his brow contradicted his calm exterior. Yet, Eleanor was oblivious to his turmoil. “Hit my head?” The pain coursed through her body, a cruel reminder of the past. All because of the man she loved most. Eleanor blinked in confusion, surveying the room filled with familiar details, then her eyes landed on the vibrant Henry Garrison. Something inside her erupted. She wasn’t actually…? Before Henry could say anything, Eleanor jumped up and dashed into the bathroom. Henry Garrison: … He stared at the closed door, his eyes dark and lonely, fingers curling into fists, his lips pressed tightly together—fragile like rose petals. Was it true then… she still hated him? Inside the bathroom, Eleanor raced to the mirror. Staring at the reflection in front of her, she saw a version of Grace—youthful and striking, with skin like porcelain. Her face, painted with heavy makeup, was a stark contrast to her innocence. The bold lipstick was far too dramatic for a girl her age, even though she’d taken Isabella Garrison's advice back then to wear it every day. Her long, dark hair spilled over her shoulders, her delicate skin exposed to the air, yet the frumpy blue dress she wore made her seem more like a child playing dress-up than an eighteen-year-old. The gauze bandage on her forehead was stained with faint crimson, and she could feel the throb of pain from the wound. The room was familiar; the clothes were familiar; the entire setting felt like a déjà vu… Had she really… been reborn? Hot tears spilled from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks, until the laughter she couldn’t contain erupted unexpectedly. If there’s a next life… Was this Heaven giving her a second chance? “Are you okay?” Outside the bathroom, Henry’s low, restrained voice carried a note of hidden concern.
Chapter 3
**A Lifetime of Warmth** If you listen closely, the signs are all there. But Eleanor Garrison, in her past life, had poured every ounce of her heart into Richard Morrow. How could she have possibly looked at any other man? “I’m fine!” Eleanor twisted the faucet and splashed cold water on her face, desperately trying to wash away the evidence of her tears. But the redness around her eyes wouldn’t budge. She forced a smile at her reflection, raising two fingers in a peace sign. If memory served her right, today was supposed to be her engagement party with Richard Morrow—the origin of all her mistakes. The first order of business? Figure out what was going on and call off the engagement. It was time to distance herself from that scumbag. And then there was him… The exasperatingly devoted fool who had never left her side in her past life, sacrificing everything for her. It was only at the end that she realized the depth of his love and the scope of his sacrifices. This time, she owed it to him to repay his kindness. Suddenly, the bathroom door swung open, and a small figure stepped through the fog of steam. “Um… why did I pass out?” Eleanor asked tentatively as she walked to the edge of the bed, sitting down in front of Henry Morrow. “Don’t you remember? You fell down the stairs.” Henry’s voice was smooth, laced with confusion and a hint of anger. His darling girl was so naive, always letting her heart be open, even when others were plotting against her. Eleanor frowned, recalling how, at her last engagement party, she had stumbled on the stairs. She remembered her cousin, Isabella Garrison—her former rival—had been ascending just as she was descending. Something had tripped her, sending her tumbling down. Henry watched her in silence, his hands flexing anxiously, memory of her past avoidances lingering in the air between them. Finally breaking the silence, he stood up. “I think I should go.” He knew she would rather he didn’t stay. She had a way of shoving aside anything he offered, treating his gestures like trash, some of which seemed to vanish entirely. The thought tightened around his heart, making it hard to breathe. “Wait…” Eleanor felt a pang of panic. She suddenly remembered; in her past life, Richard had pushed her away from Henry, all to humiliate him. Richard was who she loved, that horrible man whose every word she hung on. But in doing so, she had hurt Henry—so much more than she realized. She chastised herself internally, imagining slapping her own face for being so cruel. Growing up, Henry had showered her with affection, endlessly giving her gifts—clothes, jewelry, toys—everything she’d treated with disdain. Looking up at the man sitting in the wheelchair, his posture straight and proud, she felt her throat tighten. She rushed to close the distance, kneeling before him to block his escape. “Henry, I promise you this time around, I’ll give you a lifetime of warmth…” Maybe she couldn’t guarantee how much she loved Henry now. Much of it was driven by a desire to repay him for all he’d done in her past life. But she knew one thing: if there was anyone who would care for her selflessly, it was Henry Morrow. He was the only person, aside from her father, Albert Garrison, who would open his heart to her without a second thought. She wanted to protect him. “Henry,” she said softly. Grace knelt before him, lifting her gaze to meet his. Her bright, sparkling eyes shimmered with anticipation and vulnerability, and her sweet voice trembled just a little. Henry felt his insides melt. “Aw, my sweet girl, always so innocent!” He knew then and there that it was his responsibility to shield her from the world.
Chapter 4
He slowly closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, a veil of mist blurred his sight. How long had it been… How long since she’d last called him that? “Henry, I’m really sorry! I was so ridiculous before, bullying you. I swear I’ll never do it again.” Eleanor pouted, her determination shining through as she raised three fingers in a solemn vow. Henry’s gaze flickered, his head lowering as he sank into a whirlpool of thoughts. “Henry, can you forgive me?” She felt a flicker of confidence knowing how much he cared for her, but that confidence began to wane in the face of his silence. He replayed the day’s events in his mind, never imagining that his precious Eleanor would one day speak to him with such calmness, would smile at him, tease him—just like in the beginning, back when everything seemed so uncomplicated. Thoughts tumbled through his mind like loose threads, confused and tangled. Abruptly, Eleanor leaped into his wheelchair, her legs swinging to either side, trapping him between her thighs as her arms coiled around her neck. Henry stared, dumbfounded, at the woman before him with her playful, beautiful face just inches away, unable to process what was happening. “Get down!” he insisted, forcibly trying to pry her arms from around his neck, his expression serious, but she refused to relent. “No! If you don’t forgive me, I’m not going anywhere.” She tilted her head defiantly, a cheeky glint in her eyes. Henry felt a flash of exasperation; she had him right where she wanted him, exploiting his weaknesses to her advantage. “Grace, get down.” “No way! If I get down, you’ll just bolt,” she shot back, crossing her arms in stubborn determination. Ha! She wasn’t that naive! Henry remained silent. “Come on, get down.” His low, firm voice left no room for argument, but Eleanor just pouted harder, her grip tightening around him. “I won’t! You don’t say you forgive me; I’m sticking around.” Eleanor’s face inched closer, and Henry’s heart skipped a beat as he quickly cut in. “Baby, don’t mess around! There’s nothing to forgive; we’re clear on that—” What was he even saying? Today was supposed to be the day of her engagement party—his Grace, the girl he had loved for so long, was about to become someone else’s fiancée. Soon, he would only be her brother, or maybe not even that. Eleanor froze for a moment, unable to process the weight of those words. She never expected to hear something like this, and her heart ached with a sudden pang. Looking at Henry, she was reminded of the girl she used to be. The one who would give everything for love, not asking for anything in return. Even as the person she loved played with her heart, hurt her, and insulted her, she’d still willingly give her all. “Henry, I’m really sorry.” “And thank you.” She had never expected that there would be someone in her life willing to do everything for her. Yet in her experience of love, she was the one pouring all her affection into a jerk. She had reduced herself to a status that couldn’t get any lower, giving him her heart and only receiving mockery, disdain, and betrayal in return. Deep down, she made a silent vow that today’s engagement party wouldn’t last; she wouldn’t allow herself to be tied to that scumbag any longer. Henry remained quiet, watching the woman nestled in his lap, holding him tightly. The position was laden with unspoken tension, and though it felt dangerously intimate, he couldn't bring himself to push her away… He just couldn't let go.
Chapter 5
**Waiting for My Aunt** It had been years since he and his baby had felt this close. But perhaps Grace would never understand that what he truly wanted wasn’t an apology or a word of thanks. What he wanted... Henry Morrow lifted his gaze to Eleanor Garrison, his eyes dark and penetrating, revealing a depth she struggled to decipher. Eleanor shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Right now, the priority was to break off the engagement—before it was too late. “Henry," she said, her voice sweet and soft like honey, “could you do me a favor?” “...Sure.” She had a power over him, a gentleness he simply could not resist. Even if she asked him to drop everything and face doom, he wouldn’t think twice. “Thanks, Henry! I knew you’d be the best.” Eleanor's eyes sparkled with relief. She was grateful to be reborn on the day of their engagement party, and even more grateful to have him by her side. He was the one constant in her life, even when everyone else turned their backs on her. “Henry, can you help me with those people downstairs...?” She leaned closer, whispering secrets only he could hear. The light in his eyes shifted—he briefly retreated into his thoughts—but then he replied quietly, “Okay,” before turning on his heel and walking away. As the door clicked shut, Eleanor felt a sudden rush of guilt swell inside her, creeping like a shadow through her heart. “Henry, I’m sorry. I was too foolish in my past life to see how good you were to me.” She looked down, her fingers nervously twisting the ribbon at her waist. In her previous life, she had followed the footsteps of a toxic man, never recognizing the worth of those around her. Only in her darkest moments had he swooped in, pulling her from despair. But in the end… she still died. The memory of his tear-soaked face clinging to her lifeless body haunted her, cutting through her like a knife. Eleanor shook her head, banishing the memories as she turned toward the closet. No matter what, she vowed never to repeat her past mistakes—not this time. She knelt before her wardrobe, rummaging through piles of clothes until her fingers grazed something distinctive. A stunning, ornate box caught her eye, and her heart lifted as she carefully pulled it out. Eleanor walked to the bed, opening the box to reveal a delicate lavender evening gown. Next to it were matching lavender high heels and a set of shimmering jewelry. This gown was a gift from Henry, one she adored. She had discarded everything he ever gave her, yet this piece remained—the sole memento of his affection. Pastel colors, especially lavender, were her favorite. Years earlier, fueled by Isabella Garrison’s manipulation, she had convinced herself that Richard Morrow preferred women who exuded maturity. So, she had stashed away her most beloved princess dresses, opting for darker, more severe outfits. Like the one she was currently wearing... Eleanor’s gaze dropped, a flicker of disgust dancing in her eyes. Though she could pull off dark colors and heavy makeup, they never fit a girl in her teenage years. Her austere wardrobe had been for Richard, but truthfully, he never gravitated toward girls who dressed like that; it was just Isabella's cunning ploy to keep him from her. Isabella Garrison! Her cousin, the daughter of Charles Garrison and the obstacle of her prior life. The wellspring of all her pain. A cruel smile curled on Eleanor’s lips, feral and sharp. Richard Morrow, Isabella Garrison—just wait... What you owe me, I’ll reclaim piece by piece. She glanced at her own deep blue dress, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. Henry Morrow: Oh, his Grace! Kind-hearted to a fault! If only he didn’t have the misfortune of caring for Richard's awful soulmate...
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