My Second Life with the Broken-Winged Angel

On my twentieth birthday, I had to choose a husband from the six angel heirs.

Everyone thought I would choose Adrian Seraphiel, the brightest golden-winged heir and the man I had loved for years.

In my last life, I did.

Because of me, he inherited eighty percent of House Seraphiel’s fortune and became the next ruler of the angel clan.

But after our marriage, he got involved with Celeste, my adopted half-siren sister.

When my dragon family cast her out of House Drakon, Adrian blamed me. From then on, he hated me.

He surrounded himself with women who looked like her, humiliated me again and again, and finally replaced my life-saving medicine with slow poison.

I died carrying his child, while the last of my dragon blood burned away.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my twentieth birthday.

This time, I decided to let them have each other.

So in front of everyone, I chose Cassian Seraphiel, the sixth son of the angel family.

Broken-winged. Mocked by everyone.

No one believed he could ever inherit anything.

The room burst into laughter.

Adrian looked at me coldly and sneered.

“Elena, are you choosing that useless cripple just to get my attention?”

I ignored him.

Because in my last life, after I died, this so-called useless cripple was the only one who collected my body, found the truth, and avenged me by stripping Adrian of his golden wings.

But then Adrian stepped closer. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Funny,” he said. “That wasn’t who you chose in your last life.”

I had just stepped out of Lord Alaric Seraphiel's west-tower study when I ran into Adrian and his brothers in the gallery.

The moment they saw me, the Seraphiel heirs went quiet.

Then Lucien gave a lazy whistle, and the others burst out laughing.

“Well, look who came crawling back again. Elena Drakon really can't stay away from Adrian's golden wings.”

“The great dragon heiress chasing an angel like a lovesick fool. House Drakon must be bursting with pride.”

“If Lord Evander knew his granddaughter was begging for a man after dying as the Dragon General, his ashes would spit fire.”

They did not bother lowering their voices. To them, I was not the true heir of House Drakon. I was a joke who used an old battlefield debt to cling to House Seraphiel.

Adrian stood in the middle of them with his golden wings half-open, bright enough to fool anyone who had never seen the rot behind the light.

In my last life, that face had fooled me for years. I had believed if I loved him hard enough, those proud wings would one day bend for me. In the end, he replaced my dragon-breath medicine with slow poison and let me die carrying his child, while my dragonfire went cold in my chest.

So when he looked me over with familiar disgust, my heart did not even twitch.

“What are you doing in my grandfather's