The butler, whose name was Alden, hurried down the grand staircase.

In his hands, he carried a silver tray bearing a glass 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.

"Your Grace!" Alden exclaimed while bowing,

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

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

"What is this?" she demanded, "Did he drink already? So soon after waking up?"

Alden swallowed hard,

"N-no, Your Grace. 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 is Alden, holding a simple glass of water as if it were some kind of peace offering.

She was curious to say the least. Reaching out, she plucked the glass from the tray. Without another word, she dismissed him with a curt nod, watching as he scurried away before turning toward the office door.

Standing outside Vayne's door, Seraphina hesitated.

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 Lady Callista Duval, the rival duchess who had made Seraphina's life insufferable for years.

Callista moaned loudly, her laughter cutting deeper than any blade. Seraphina had walked in unannounced, only to find them together, their indiscretion flaunted like a victory flag.

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

Her jaw tightened as the memory faded, replaced 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 label gleamed under the sunlight pouring through the windows, making it look almost alien compared to the lavish surroundings.

His eyes flicked up as Seraphina entered.

"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,

"What is this garbage? 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 made it with mag—"

"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.

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"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 explain, she slammed the glass of water onto the desk, sending droplets splashing over the scattered documents.

Her blue eyes burned with fury, "What part of staying out of our lives do you not fucking get!?" as she leaned 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, "It's not stolen. I created it myself with Creation Magic."

Her laugh was sharp and cutting, "Haha! 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 by 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, slamming 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 blazing 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, slamming 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. 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 does it hurt 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 later, 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, replaying endlessly in his mind like a broken record.

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

Ivy. he called mentally, 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, "Yes...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:

The borrower listed was Lady Callista Duval.

Debtor: House Arkwright Creditor: Lady Callista Duval Amount Owed: 500,000 gold sovereigns Due Date: Six months prior (already overdue) Purpose: "Funding for trade expansion into eastern territories."

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

Debtor: House Arkwright Creditor: Crown Regent Lord Edmond Greaves Amount Owed: 2 million gold sovereigns Due Date: Three months remaining Purpose: "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 6 million gold sovereigns.

Aric clenched his jaw 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.

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