Chapter 3

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.

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