Rebirth of the Scheming Queen

The day Yancy Shepherd died, Benedict Page poisoned our dinner. His eyes were wild, and bloodshot, as he watched me writhe in agony. There was a madness in his gaze, but worse was the hatred, a disgust so deep it twisted his face into something unrecognizable.

"If it weren't for you forcing your way into our lives, Yancy wouldn’t have died from heartbreak. You ruined us! It’s all your fault!"

A photo slipped from his trembling hand and landed at my feet—Yancy at twenty, looking radiant, her smile as bright as a blooming flower.

I collapsed to the ground, my strength fading fast like a rose withering in the final grasp of winter. Helpless, I waited for the darkness to claim me, consumed by despair and bitter regret.

Why hadn’t I listened to the system and killed him when I had the chance?

But when I opened my eyes again, everything was different. I stood watching Benedict flee our engagement ceremony. My brother moved to chase after him, but I quietly raised a hand, stopping him. This time, things would be different.

As I clutched my chest and fell to the ground, Benedict Page's twisted smile was maddening, the blood at the corner of his mouth making him look like a vengeful demon.

"Lucia! You should have died a long time ago! From the moment you forced me to marry you, I wanted nothing more than to tear you apart! Yancy is dead, and you’re going to join her."

I opened my mouth to speak, but a sudden gush of blood spilled out instead. I didn't understand. He was the one who begged me to save him back then.

Why?

I watched as Benedict's trembling hand pulled out a ring made from a soda can tab. He collapsed to the ground, unable to hold himself up, yet his grip on that makeshift ring remained firm. His dark eyes were filled with tenderness.

I saw him shakily slide the cheap ring onto his middle finger.

"Yancy, I’ve avenged you. I’m coming to you with the ring you gave me."

With that, he closed his eyes, utterly content.

From beginning to end, he refused to give me even a glance.

The wedding rings we exchanged lay desolate in a pool of blood.

Blood and tears mingled, etching crimson trails down my face. What had my three decades amounted to?

Pain engulfed me, and overwhelming hatred made everything go black.

As I lost consciousness, only one thought remained.

“I was wrong, system. Villains... don’t deserve redemption. He should die!”

…

When I opened my eyes again, I was standing on the stage in a formal dress, facing Benedict, whose body trembled before he abruptly shoved me away.

Caught off guard, I stumbled and fell to the ground.

My brother, Lucas Howard, hurried forward to help me up, his voice cold.

"How dare Benedict push you!"

I bit down hard, forcing myself to suppress the hatred rising within. I couldn’t stop thinking about what