Pain.

Then nothing.

And then—light.

Elias Ashcroft gasped awake, his lungs burning as if he’d been drowning. His heart hammered against his ribs, frantic and too loud in the silence. He lay tangled in silk sheets that smelled of lavender and old money, staring at a ceiling he hadn’t seen in five years.

Not possible.

He sat up too fast. The room spun. Heavy velvet drapes, the massive four-poster bed, the antique desk still littered with empty wine bottles and crumpled gambling notes. His old bedroom in the Ashcroft ancestral manor.

He was twenty-three again.

Elias pressed a trembling hand to his chest. The scar from the dagger that had ended his first life was gone. The broken ribs, the bruises from that final beating—they were all gone. Only the memories remained, sharp as fresh blood.

The betrayals. The slow, methodical dismantling of his family. The way his own relatives had smiled while driving the knife in deeper. And at the end, when the estate burned and the last of the loyal servants fled or died… only one man had stayed.

Elias swung his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet hitting the cold marble floor. His reflection in the tall mirror across the room looked exactly as he remembered being at this age: tousled dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and the reckless glint in grey eyes that had made half the nobility call him the Ashcroft Devil.

Back then, he’d earned the name. Drinking, fighting, gambling away small fortunes, bedding whoever caught his fleeting interest. A disappointment. A chaos engine. Easy to dismiss.

Easy to kill.

But not this time.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Master Elias?” The voice was low, perfectly modulated, and painfully familiar. “You asked to be woken at eight. Breakfast is prepared in the east parlor.”

Elias’s throat tightened.

“Come in.”

The door opened soundlessly. The man who entered carried the quiet authority of someone who ran an entire household without ever raising his voice. Tall, slender, with neatly combed black hair and calm hazel eyes that revealed nothing. He wore the dark uniform of the Ashcroft butler with effortless precision, white gloves immaculate.

Adrian Vale. Twenty-six years old. The youngest head butler in the family’s history—and the only person who had refused to abandon Elias even when the rest of the world turned its back.

Adrian’s gaze flicked over him once, assessing. “You look… unwell, my lord. Shall I call for the physician?”

“No.” Elias stood, the nightshirt hanging loose on his frame. A crooked smile curved his lips—the same reckless grin that had once masked everything. “Just a bad dream, Mister Butler.”

Adrian’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in those hazel eyes. Exhaustion, maybe. Or the weight of secrets he carried far too well.

“Very good, my lord. Your father has requested your presence in his study after breakfast. There are… matters regarding the upcoming gala.”

Of course there were. The gala where the first major crack in the Ashcroft empire would appear. Elias remembered every detail now. The poisoned wine. The whispered conversations. The way certain guests would never leave alive.

He crossed the room slowly, stopping just short of Adrian. Close enough to catch the faint scent of starch, soap, and something like rain-soaked cedar that always seemed to cling to the man.

Adrian remained perfectly still, the picture of professional composure. But Elias could see it now—the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the almost imperceptible tension in his shoulders. The butler was already carrying too much.

“You’ve been working late again,” Elias said softly.

“It is my duty, my lord.”

“Duty.” Elias let out a quiet laugh. In his first life, he had thrown that word back in Adrian’s face more times than he could count. “One day that sense of duty is going to get you killed, Mister Butler.”

Adrian’s brows drew together the tiniest fraction. “If that is all—”

“Not quite.” Elias reached out before he could stop himself, fingers brushing the crisp sleeve of Adrian’s uniform. “Tell me something. If the manor were under attack tonight… would you still stand by this useless young master?”

The question hung in the air, too raw, too revealing for this moment in time.

Adrian studied him for a long second. “I serve the Ashcroft family. That has not changed.”

Not the answer Elias wanted, but it was honest. He dropped his hand, the reckless smile returning like armor.

“Good. Because things are about to get interesting around here.” He turned toward the wardrobe. “Lay out the charcoal waistcoat. The one that makes me look less like a complete disaster.”

Adrian moved to obey without question, though his gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary.

As the butler’s efficient hands sorted through the clothes, Elias watched him in the mirror. In his past life, he had been blind to the quiet strength beside him. Blind to the man who had dragged his broken body from the flames, who had stayed until the very end.

Never again.

Tonight the assassins would come.

And this time, Elias Ashcroft would be ready.

He met Adrian’s eyes in the reflection.

“Shall I save you, Mister Butler?” he murmured under his breath.

Adrian didn’t hear it.

But he would. Soon.

The east parlor smelled of fresh coffee, warm pastries, and the faint metallic edge of tension that always lingered in the Ashcroft household.

Elias took his seat at the long mahogany table, rolling his shoulders beneath the charcoal waistcoat Adrian had chosen. It fit perfectly—just as it had in his memories. Across from him, his father, Lord Reginald Ashcroft, was already halfway through the morning papers, silver hair impeccably combed, expression carved from decades of cold calculation.

“You’re early,” Reginald noted without looking up. “That’s new.”

“Miracles happen,” Elias replied lightly, accepting the plate Adrian set before him. The butler’s gloved fingers brushed his for the briefest moment. Elias felt it like a spark.

Adrian stepped back seamlessly, refilling his father’s tea without a word. Always there. Always invisible to everyone else.

Elias cut into his eggs, forcing himself to eat despite the knot in his stomach. In his first life, he would have skipped breakfast entirely, already nursing a hangover and snapping at the servants. Today he ate like a man who knew how quickly everything could vanish.

His younger sister, Cecilia, swept in late, her golden curls bouncing. At nineteen, she was the family’s shining jewel—beautiful, ambitious, and utterly blind to the knives aimed at their backs.

“Brother, you look almost respectable this morning,” she teased, taking her seat. “Did hell freeze over while I slept?”

“Careful, Cece. I might start behaving just to spite you.” He flashed her the old crooked grin, but his eyes were scanning the room. The footman by the door. The maid dusting the sideboard. Any of them could be the first leak.

Adrian moved silently along the table, adjusting silverware, pouring juice. Elias tracked every motion. The butler’s posture was flawless, yet Elias now noticed the way his left hand occasionally flexed, as if it ached from writing too many letters or carrying too many burdens.

After breakfast, Reginald summoned him to the study.

The heavy oak door clicked shut behind them. Sunlight slanted through tall windows, illuminating ledgers and correspondence spread across the desk.

“You’ve been avoiding your responsibilities long enough,” his father began. “The gala tonight is critical. The Duke of Valmont will be there, along with several investors. I expect you to be charming, not chaotic.”

Elias leaned against the desk, arms crossed. In the past, this conversation had ended with him storming out and getting spectacularly drunk. Not today.

“I’ll behave,” he said. “But Father… have you reviewed the security for the estate lately? The western gate has been suspiciously quiet.”

Reginald’s eyes narrowed. “Since when do you concern yourself with such matters?”

“Since I decided I’d rather not see our name dragged through the mud.” Elias kept his voice casual, but his mind raced. The assassins would enter through the western gardens tonight. He remembered the screams. The fire.

His father waved a dismissive hand. “Speak with Vale about it if you’re truly worried. That man notices everything.”

He does, Elias thought. More than you know.

He found Adrian in the main hall, directing two maids with quiet efficiency. The butler turned at his approach, expectant.

“Master Elias?”

“The western gate,” Elias said without preamble. “Double the guards tonight. Quietly. And I want you close during the gala.”

Adrian’s hazel eyes sharpened. “Is there something I should know, my lord?”

Elias stepped closer, lowering his voice. Servants moved around them, but the space between him and Adrian felt strangely private. “Let’s just say I have a feeling. A very strong one. Humor me, Mister Butler.”

For a heartbeat, Adrian studied him with that unreadable gaze. Then he inclined his head. “As you wish.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of preparations. Elias threw himself into the role of the reformed heir—reviewing guest lists, suggesting adjustments to the menu, even sitting through a tedious fitting for his evening attire. All while watching Adrian orchestrate the household like a shadow conductor.

By late afternoon, the manor buzzed with anticipation. Crystal chandeliers sparkled. Fresh flowers filled every vase. And beneath it all, Elias felt the clock ticking.

He cornered Adrian in the library as the sun began to set, the room bathed in warm amber light.

The butler was returning a heavy tome to its shelf, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. A rare glimpse of the man beneath the uniform.

“You should rest before the guests arrive,” Elias said from the doorway.

Adrian turned, startled for once. “There is still much to—”

“I’m not asking as your master right now.” Elias crossed the room, stopping near the large oak table where he’d once spent nights drinking alone. “You look like you haven’t slept properly in weeks. Let someone else handle the final checks.”

Adrian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It is my duty to ensure everything is perfect. Especially tonight.”

“Duty again.” Elias smiled, but it was softer this time. He reached out, straightening the butler’s already impeccable collar. His fingers lingered. “One day I’m going to make you say something selfish.”

Adrian froze under the touch. His breathing remained steady, but a faint flush colored the tips of his ears. “My lord… this is highly irregular.”

“I know.” Elias dropped his hand, stepping back with that familiar reckless grin. “Consider it an order, then. Take an hour for yourself.”

He left before Adrian could protest, heart pounding harder than it had any right to.

Night fell.

The gala began with music and laughter, the grand ballroom glittering with jewels and silk. Elias played his part—charming smiles, witty remarks, dancing with daughters of influential lords while keeping one eye on the shadows.

Adrian stood near the wall, directing footmen with subtle gestures. Their eyes met across the room more than once. Each time, something unspoken passed between them.

At half past eleven, Elias felt it—the shift in the air.

He slipped away from the crowd and found Adrian in the corridor leading toward the western wing.

“Something’s wrong,” Elias said urgently. “Stay with me.”

“My lord, the guests—”

“Forget the guests.” He grabbed Adrian’s wrist, gloved fingers warm beneath his own. “That’s an order.”

Adrian searched his face, confusion breaking through the perfect mask for the first time. “What is happening?”

Before Elias could answer, the first scream tore through the manor.

Shouts. Breaking glass. The clash of steel.

The assassins had arrived.

Elias’s grip tightened. His crooked grin returned, fierce and determined.

“Stay behind me, Mister Butler.”

Adrian’s eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away.

Chaos erupted like a storm breaking over the manor.

Shouts echoed from the ballroom. Glass shattered. The orchestra faltered into discordant screams as masked figures in dark cloaks poured through the western doors, blades flashing under the chandeliers.

Elias moved before the first guest even realized what was happening. He pulled Adrian into a side corridor, heart slamming against his ribs.

“Stay close,” he hissed. “Do not play hero.”

Adrian’s composure cracked. “My lord, we must alert the guards—”

“They’re already compromised.” The words slipped out sharper than intended. Elias cursed himself silently. He couldn’t reveal everything yet. Not without sounding mad.

They slipped through the servants’ passages, the narrow hallways Elias had once used to sneak out for midnight escapades. Now they felt like a lifeline. Behind them, steel clashed and a woman’s scream cut short.

Adrian kept pace, surprisingly light on his feet. “You knew this would happen.”

It wasn’t a question.

Elias glanced back. In the dim lantern light, Adrian’s face was pale but steady. Those hazel eyes held a thousand questions.

“I had a feeling,” Elias said, the old reckless smile flashing. “Call it a premonition from hell.”

They emerged near the library. Elias barred the heavy door behind them and shoved a chair under the handle. The room smelled of aged leather and ink—the one place in the manor that had always felt like sanctuary.

Footsteps thundered past in the hall outside. Then silence. Too sudden.

Elias pulled a letter opener from the desk, a pitiful weapon, but better than nothing. Adrian moved to the window, peering through a gap in the curtains.

“Three men in the garden,” he whispered. “They’re searching.”

Elias joined him. Moonlight revealed the intruders moving with military precision. This wasn’t random violence. This was planned. Just like before.

But this time he was ready.

“Adrian,” he said quietly, using the butler’s given name for the first time in this life. “If we get separated—”

“We won’t.” The reply came firm, almost fierce. Adrian turned, and for a moment the mask slipped completely. Exhaustion, loyalty, and something sharper flickered across his features. “I have served this family for eight years. I do not abandon my post. Or my master.”

The words hit harder than Elias expected. In his first life, those same words had been spoken over his broken body as the manor burned. He had died thinking no one truly cared.

Not this time.

A loud crash sounded from the main hall. Elias made a decision.

“Follow me. We’re ending this tonight.”

They moved together through the manor’s hidden veins—servants’ stairs, back passages, forgotten storage rooms. Elias’s knowledge of the future guided them. Twice they evaded patrols. Once, Elias pulled Adrian into an alcove, bodies pressed close as assassins passed mere feet away. He could feel the butler’s steady heartbeat against his own chest.

When they reached the western gate, the fight was already underway. Loyal guards clashed with intruders, but the numbers were uneven.

Elias didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a fallen sword from a wounded guard and threw himself into the fray with the chaotic energy that had once been his greatest flaw. Now it was a weapon.

Steel rang. He disarmed one man with a reckless flourish, then drove his elbow into another’s throat. “Adrian—behind you!”

The butler moved with surprising skill, using a silver candlestick like an improvised club. He cracked it across an attacker’s skull with precise force.

Together they turned the tide at the gate. The surviving assassins fled into the night, melting into the trees. But not before their leader—a hooded man with a scarred jaw—locked eyes with Elias across the bloodied grass.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” the man snarled. Then he was gone.

Elias stood panting, blood on his sleeve that wasn’t his own. The manor behind them still rang with distant panic, but the immediate threat had broken.

Adrian approached, breathing hard, one glove torn. “My lord… how did you know?”

Elias wiped the sword on his ruined evening coat. The reckless grin returned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s just say I’ve had time to think about the family’s enemies.”

They made their way back inside. Guests were being herded to safety by shaken servants. Reginald Ashcroft barked orders, face flushed with rage. Cecilia clung to a friend, wide-eyed.

But Elias’s focus stayed on Adrian.

In the aftermath, they retreated to the small sitting room attached to Elias’s chambers. A fire crackled in the hearth. Adrian insisted on checking him for injuries, his touch clinical yet careful as he cleaned a shallow cut on Elias’s arm.

“You fought like you’ve done this before,” Adrian said softly, not meeting his eyes.

“I’ve had… dreams. Nightmares, really.” Elias watched the butler’s face. “Ones where tonight ended much worse. You died protecting me.”

Adrian’s hands stilled. The silence stretched.

“I would have,” he admitted finally. “It is my duty.”

“Duty be damned.” Elias caught Adrian’s wrist gently, forcing their eyes to meet. “You’re more than that. You always have been.”

The air between them thickened. The stolen moment in the alcove earlier, the shared danger, the way Adrian’s usually perfect mask kept cracking—it was all there, unspoken.

Adrian pulled back first, but not before Elias caught the faint tremor in his fingers.

“I should tend to the household,” the butler said, voice steady once more. “There will be questions. Investigations.”

As he reached the door, Elias spoke again.

“Adrian.”

The butler paused.

“Whatever secrets this family is hiding… I intend to drag them into the light. And I want you with me. Not as a servant. As a partner in this mess.”

Adrian didn’t turn around. But his shoulders tightened, then slowly relaxed.

“As you wish, my lord.”

He left.

Elias sank into a chair by the fire, staring into the flames. The attack had been thwarted earlier than in his memories. The future was already shifting.

But the scarred assassin’s words haunted him: You weren’t supposed to be here.

Someone had known about his rebirth? Or was there another layer to the conspiracy—one even his past self had never uncovered?

A single folded note had been dropped during the fight. Elias pulled it from his pocket now. The seal was unfamiliar, but the message inside was clear:

The heir must die before the solstice. The bloodline cannot inherit what is coming.

Twist upon twist.

Elias smiled into the fire, sharp and dangerous.

Let them come.

He had five years of foreknowledge and a loyal butler at his side.

This time, the Ashcroft Devil would rewrite the game.