The butler, whose name was Alden, hurried down the grand staircase, his polished shoes clicking softly against the marble steps.

  In his hands, he carried a silver tray bearing a gss of water and a slice of buttered toast for Master Vayne—or whoever this new version of him was.

  I thought Master Vayne would love his whiskey even after the coma...weird.

  Alden couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed about the duke, though he dared not voice such thoughts aloud. Instead, he focused on his task, weaving through the halls of Arkwright Manor with practiced precision.

  As he turned a corner near the east wing, he nearly collided with Seraphina herself. Her presence filled the corridor like a storm cloud, her silver hair shimmering faintly in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Blue eyes locked onto him instantly, sharp and assessing.

  "Your Grace!" Alden excimed, bowing deeply, nearly dropping the tray in his haste to show respect.

  "Forgive me! I didn't see you there."

  Seraphina raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking to the tray in his hands.

  For a brief moment, her expression hardened as she noticed the absence of whiskey. Dark tendrils of energy coiled around her fingers, crackling faintly with suppressed fury.

  "What is this?" she demanded, her voice colder than ice.

  "Did he drink already? So soon after waking up?"

  Alden swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming at the side of his head.

  He straightened slightly, clutching the tray tightly.

  "N-no, Your Grace" he stammered, shaking his head fervently.

  "Master Vayne… he requested water instead. And toast. Nothing more."

  Her eyes narrowed, suspicion warring with confusion.

  Water? Since when did Vayne ever ask for water? That man lived off whiskey and arrogance, drowning himself in both until the world blurred into oblivion. Yet here was Alden, holding a simple gss of water as if it were some kind of peace offering.

  She was curious to say the least. Reaching out, she plucked the gss from the tray, her fingers brushing lightly against Alden's trembling ones. Without another word, she dismissed him with a curt nod, watching as he scurried away before turning toward the office door.

  Standing outside the heavy mahogany door, Seraphina hesitated.

  The weight of memories pressed down on her, vivid and painful. This room wasn't just an office—it was a monument to betrayal. She could still picture the scene as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.

  Vayne seated on his chair, his face twisted into a smug grin as he fucked her, Lady Callista Duval, the rival duchess who had made Seraphina's life insufferable for years.

  Callista moaned loudly, her ughter cutting deeper than any bde. Seraphina had walked in unannounced, only to find them together, their indiscretion funted like a victory fg.

  It hadn't just been infidelity; it had been calcuted cruelty, designed to humiliate her in every possible way.

  Her jaw tightened as the memory faded, repced by the present moment.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door without knocking.

  Inside, Aric sat at the desk, sipping casually from the can of Chaos Brew he'd manifested earlier. The foreign bel gleamed under the sunlight pouring through the windows, making it look almost alien compared to the vish surroundings.

  His eyes flicked up as Seraphina entered, surprise fshing across his features.

  "Hello." he said simply, raising the can slightly in greeting.

  For a split second, Seraphina froze, staring at the unfamiliar sight of him drinking something other than whiskey. Then, her lips curled into a bitter smile, devoid of warmth or humour. Crossing the room in three swift strides, she snatched the can from his hand before he could react, her fingers brushing roughly against his.

  "What is this garbage?" she spat, examining the bel with disdain.

  "Another one of your tricks? Did you steal this too? Who did you steal it from!?"

  Aric blinked, startled by her sudden aggression. "No, I—"

  "Don't lie to me!" she snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence.

  She hurled the can across the room with surprising force, sending it crashing against the wall. Liquid sprayed everywhere, leaving a sticky mess on the pristine wallpaper.

  "You're magicless, Vayne! Everyone knows it. So who are you trying to fool? Is this some pathetic attempt to make yourself look useful?"

  Before he could expin, she smmed the gss of water onto the desk, sending droplets spshing over the scattered documents.

  Her blue eyes burned with fury, her voice rising until it filled the entire room.

  "What part of staying out of our lives do you not fucking get!?" she hissed, leaning in close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off her.

  "You've done nothing but ruin everything you touch! And now you waltz in here pretending to be productive? Acting like you care about fixing things? Give me a fucking break!"

  Each word hit him like a hammer, driving nails into the fragile armour he'd tried to build around himself.

  Inside, Aric felt the cracks widening. Her accusations weren't just aimed at Vayne—they mirrored the failures of his own past life.

  The war, the lectures abandoned, the family lost—all of it came rushing back, threatening to drown him.

  But outwardly, he remained composed, forcing himself to meet her gaze.

  "I'm sorry." he said quietly, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.

  "It's not stolen. I created it myself—with Creation Magic."

  Her ugh was sharp and cutting, echoing off the walls like shattered gss.

  "Creation Magic? Seriously? What, so you can just create whatever you want?" She gestured wildly toward the ruined can dripping liquid down the wall.

  "That's rich, even for you. Stop making excuses. You think I'll believe some sob story about magic when we both know you're completely useless and magicless?"

  Before he could respond, dark trendil erupted from her feet, wrapping around the legs of his chair and yanking it backward with enough force to make him stumble. The sudden movement caught him off guard, but he managed to steady himself, gripping the armrests tightly.

  "You recovered enough, Vayne." she snarled, advancing toward him.

  "Your amnesia or whatever excuse you're using—it's bullshit. You're bullshitting it."

  A flick of her wrist sent the chair sliding further across the room, smming it against the wall and making Aric fall down.

  Fuck me man, just how much does she hate this man? I'm not even your husband dammit!

  "Don't fuck up anything else. I'm done with your games."

  "I'm sorry..." he said quietly.

  "Your apologies mean nothing" she hissed, her blue eyes bzing with disdain.

  "They're empty words from a man who doesn't know the first thing about accountability. You've burned bridges, destroyed lives, and trampled over everyone who ever trusted you—including me."

  She leaned in close, her breath hot against his face.

  "And now you sit here acting like you care? Like you're some kind of hero trying to redeem yourself? Save it, Vayne. I don't believe a single word you say."

  With that, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, smming the door behind her with enough force to rattle the chandelier hanging above.

  The silence that followed was deafening. Aric slumped back in the chair, his chest heaving as though he'd just run miles without stopping. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

  Inside, however, the dam broke. Memories of his old life flooded his mind—his wife remarrying, his children calling another man "Dad"

  Each failure stacked atop the next, building a tower of regret too high to climb.

  He buried his face in his hands, dragging them down slowly until his features stretched thin. The guilt was suffocating, pressing down on him like a physical weight. He wasn't Vayne, but he couldn't deny the parallels between their lives. Both men had hurt those they should have protected. Both men deserved the scorn they received.

  Even though Seraphina isn't truly my wife, her words hurt. Why did they hurt me so much? Was it because she reminded me of my ex-wife or was it simply that her hatred felt so real, so raw?

  Words always hurt him, especially when they came from someone he once loved. Even now, years ter, he could still hear his wife's voice in his head like a broken recorder;

  "You're not the man I married." Those six words had haunted him every day since, repying endlessly in his mind like a broken record.

  And now, Seraphina's tirade echoed alongside them, amplifying the pain.

  Ivy. he called mentally, his voice trembling. What do I do? How do I even fix this marriage?

  There was a pause, longer than usual. When Ivy finally responded, her tone was softer, tinged with empathy.

  [Start small, Aric. Redemption isn't built in grand gestures—it's earned in tiny steps. Show her you're different. Even if she won't believe you yet.]

  He nodded silently.

  [Well? Do you remember the documents? Or are you still drowning in self-pity?]

  Aric exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face to wipe away the single tear that had escaped.

  "Yes" he muttered finally, his voice low but steady. "Thanks to my… hyperthymesia."

  Ivy tilted her head, intrigued.

  [Hyperthymesia? That's new. I didn't know your old brain came with such useful quirks.]

  "It's not exactly a quirk" Aric replied dryly,

  "More like a curse. My mind retains everything—every detail, every word. Even now, without Vayne's memories, I can piece together what these documents say."

  One document caught his attention first when he was reading it: a promissory note signed in bold, arrogant handwriting that he assumed belonged to Vayne.

  The borrower listed was Lady Callista Duval—the very same rival duchess who had humiliated Seraphina in this very room.

  Debtor: House ArkwrightCreditor: Lady Callista DuvalAmount Owed: 500,000 gold sovereignsDue Date: Six months prior (already overdue)Purpose: "Funding for trade expansion into eastern territories."

  Another page detailed an even rger loan from the Royal Treasury itself.

  Debtor: House ArkwrightCreditor: Crown Regent Lord Edmond GreavesAmount Owed: 2 million gold sovereignsDue Date: Three months remainingPurpose: "Reconstruction of war-torn estates following border skirmishes."

  And then there were countless smaller debts—merchant guilds, private lenders, even neighbouring noble houses—all demanding repayment with interest rates that would cripple any ordinary household. The total sum exceeded 3 million gold sovereigns.

  In total? Nearly 6 million in gold sovereigns.

  Aric clenched his jaw, his mind racing as he processed the sheer scale of the numbers.

  Vayne hadn't just gambled away resources; he'd mortgaged the future of House Arkwright to fund reckless ventures and petty rivalries. No wonder Seraphina hates him.