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Born an illegitimate princess, Ophelia spent her childhood at the mercy of the queen’s cruelty and with a father who never once acknowledged her.
The only person to ever show her kindness and call her by her pet name was her half-sister, Cassandra.
Perhaps that was why she never doubted her.
Not even for a moment.
“Make Ophelia barren when the time is right. We’ve already gone to the trouble of k＊lling Veronica, another pregnancy would be troublesome.”
The sister she trusted had murdered her child.
Soon after, Ophelia followed her daughter into death.
When she opened her eyes again she saw plump, white cheeks tinted with a faint peach hue.
Small, rosy lips. Tiny limbs, no thicker than a curled fist.
“Veronica?”
She had returned to a time when her baby, burned and lost so horribly, was still alive.
This time, she vowed to protect her.
She would return everything exactly as it was — or twice as much.
To watch Cassandra fall from the highest peak.
But then….
“You will remain a Wilhelmir, even in death.”
“…..”
“Do not harbor foolish hopes.”
Her estranged husband, Renoir, was acting strangely.
