Charlotte watched as Crawley’s body slowed... the violent jerks softening into faint, uneven tremors.

She didn’t look away.

She refused to.

Her throat burned raw from all the screaming she had done. The gag pressed harshly against her mouth, soaking up her breath, her saliva, her pain. Each inhale felt too shallow, each exhale caught somewhere between panic and exhaustion. She wanted to bite down on her own tongue, to end it, to escape, but even that was denied to her.

So she watched.

She watched every second of his suffering, every flicker of pain that crossed his ruined body, because he had chosen her.

In both lives.

Her gaze hardened, the last of her tears long gone, leaving only a dry, aching heat behind.

If this was what her second chance had become...

Then perhaps there would be another.

There had to be.

Another life where she would not be broken, not be used, not be left with nothing while others took everything. Another life where she would take it all back, piece by piece, from everyone who had ever wronged her.

But this life...

This might be where it ended.

A part of her, quiet and fading, hoped Dorian would show her mercy, end it quickly, send her after Crawley so she wouldn’t have to exist in this emptiness. She didn’t want to live in the world without Crawley, not even for a second.

In her previous life, she had been nothing more than a puppet.

Her father’s puppet.

Every word she spoke, every step she took, every person she met... it had all been decided for her. She had no dignity of her own, no desires she was allowed to keep. Even the dresses she wore were chosen to serve someone else’s purpose.

Crawley had been the only thing she chose for herself.

The only thing that was hers.

And even that had been ruined.

Maximilian had never cared enough to stop her, only enough to control the damage. He had made it clear: she could do whatever she wanted, as long as she never dared to have a future that threatened his own.

Her children with Crawley... would never be allowed to live.

She still remembered how empty his eyes were when he confronted her about her love affair with Crawley. No anger, no emotions. Just that blank stare, as if she was not worth anything. And her actions meant nothing to him.

Then again, he never treated her as a person. For others, it appeared that she held all the power, the queen who was allowed to carry the King’s seal. But in reality, he never even liked her. She tried. For the first year of marriage, she tried to get into his good side. But he never even looked at her.

He should have at least thought of her as a human to respect her and trust her. But he never did.

The only reason he came to her, was for an heir. And once he got that, he didn’t even bother with her.

Even then, she had clung to what little happiness she could salvage. She had found Crawley then.

But her father had destroyed that too.

That day, when Charlotte had gone to Catherine’s camp while she was in labor, she did so to deliberately place herself in danger. She had hoped for chaos—for pain—for loss she could twist into blame.

She wanted Maximilian to hate Katerina.

She wanted them to fall.

She wanted their happiness to rot.

But Katerina had saved her.

Saved her... and her child.

Even then, Charlotte hadn’t stopped.

That night, when Crawley came to her, eyes burning with intent, telling her he would kill Katerina’s son...

She should have stopped him.

She knew that. But she hadn’t, because she wanted to hurt Katerina.

Katerina, who always stood as though she were above her. Katerina, who somehow managed to win, again and again, without even trying.

Katerina... the one who held Maximilian’s heart.

She had given Crawley that letter, sealed with Maximilian’s crest, telling him to leave it behind, to let it be found. A lie crafted carefully, meant to destroy everything.

And yet... it was she who lost, again.

Crawley had died by Katerina’s hand.

In this life too... she had chosen him. Again and again.

And once again, she lost him. Not to fate. Not to chance. But to someone who wanted what she could never have.

Dorian wanted Katerina.

The realization burned through her like fire.

Charlotte’s eyes remained fixed on Crawley’s stilling body, but something inside her twisted, darkened, sharpened into something far more dangerous than grief.

She didn’t want Katerina to have anything left.

Not love.

Not peace.

Not even a single moment of happiness.

Her throat burned. Her chest ached.

And beneath it all.. Her blood boiled.

"Drop him in."

Dorian’s command cut clean through the air.

Charlotte’s head snapped up. Her eyes widened, and the heart that she had thought had already died lurched violently back to life, pounding against her ribs as if it wanted to break free.

Dorian turned toward her, amused by the shift. "You’ve gone quiet," he noted, studying her.

That same glint lingered in his eyes. That same cruel curve pulled at his lips—unchanged, unbothered, monstrous.

Charlotte forced herself to still.

She knew this game. Katerina had known it too. Indifference drew his attention more than fear ever could. That was why Katerina ignored him, why she never gave him the reaction he craved.

So Charlotte lowered her head slightly, as though none of this mattered to her at all.

Dorian watched her for a moment longer, then gestured lazily. "Take it off."

Rough hands moved to obey. The gag was pulled free, the ropes loosened from her wrists and ankles.

Freedom.

Or something that pretended to be it.

Charlotte slumped back into the chair, her body heavy, her limbs falling into place as if she had no strength left to care. Her gaze drifted upward, settling on the ceiling, her legs stretched out loosely in front of her.

"Nothing?" Dorian asked, tilting his head. "No pleas? No tears?"

Silence.

For a few seconds, it held.

Then longer.

Something flickered in his expression. His expression turned restlessness, with irritation creeping in where amusement had been.

"Dip his head in the acid," he said flatly. "Then pull him back out."

Charlotte’s jaw tightened. Everything inside her screamed to react—to beg, to cry, to stop it.

But she didn’t.

Because she knew. It had been over long before this moment.

The moment she had sent that message to Dorian... she had already sealed her fate.

She had thought he would be different, because she understood what it felt to have your spouse being in love with someone else.

She thought that choosing him this time, choosing someone outside the paths that had always controlled her, would give her an advantage.

But she was wrong.

Going to Dorian had never been any better than being a puppet for her father in her previous life.

Perhaps worse.

Her fingers curled slightly against the armrest, nails pressing into her skin as she forced herself to remain still. She stayed cold, empty and watching.

Because if this was the end... Then she would face it without giving him what he wanted.

"I saw she still had that bracelet..."

Charlotte’s voice came out hoarse, scraped raw from everything she had swallowed back.

It took a moment for the words to settle.

She didn’t look at him immediately. She let the silence stretch, let the curiosity take root, because she had seen it before. The way his eyes lingered. The way his fingers had hovered over it, almost reverent.

But before he could ever touch it...

"Maximilian carried that bracelet his entire life," she continued, her tone sharpening with quiet contempt. "It was a promise. Something he gave her long before..." Her lips curled faintly. "Before you found a way to use my father."

Dorian’s expression shifted, the faint amusement fading as his jaw tightened.

"What bracelet are you talking about?" he asked, his voice colder now.

But something in his gaze betrayed him.

He knew.

Of course he knew.

The bracelet.

The one he had found near where they died. The one he had taken for himself. The one he had altered.

His fingers twitched slightly at his side.

That bracelet... had been Maximilian’s?

"You know exactly what I’m talking about," Charlotte said, finally lifting her gaze to meet his.

Dorian’s eyes widened, something sharp flashing through them—realization, then suspicion.

"What do you know about it?" he demanded. "Is that how he’s keeping her? Is he controlling her with it?"

The thought took hold of him instantly, feeding into everything he already believed.

It made sense.

It had to.

Katerina...choosing Maximilian?

Impossible. Not after everything. Not after a lifetime of hatred. Not after everything he had tried to do. Something had to be wrong. Something had to be forcing her.

Charlotte watched it all unfold across his face.

Slowly... she raised her head fully.

And then...

She laughed.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t hysterical. It was worse. It was a dry, broken sound, edged with something bitter and knowing, something that cut deeper than any scream she could have given him.

Because for the first time... She had something he didn’t.

The truth.