Dinner came faster than I was ready for—which, to be fair, wasn't that fast. My brain was still somewhere between "Did I just die?" and "Why do I have hair that looks like it belongs in a shampoo commercial?" But apparently, this new body of mine had an appetite, and it wasn't subtle about it.
So there I sat. At a ridiculously long dining table that looked like it had hosted actual kings. The chandeliers above were glowing like something out of a romance movie, and the food in front of me? Holy crap. This wasn't hospital mush or juice boxes. This was roasted meats, buttered vegetables, warm rolls straight out of some magical bread oven, and more silverware than I knew what to do with.
I picked up a spoon—real silver, mind you, not the flimsy plastic kind I used to eat pudding with in a hospital bed—and just stared at it.
Was this really my life now?
I mean, yeah, technically, I had flatlined. I'd pulled the plug—literally. And then woke up in this medieval dollhouse of nobility. Maybe the original "Lady Elisha" had also croaked at the same time. Maybe we'd high-fived spiritually in the void before trading places. Cosmic switcheroo.
Whatever happened, I wasn't just Marie anymore. I was… both. Marie's memories, Elisha's body. One big, beautiful identity crisis wrapped in lace and trauma.
I took a breath and glanced around the room, trying to piece things together.
Apparently, the original Elisha came from a noble family—the House of Belmont. Fancy title, sad situation. The dukedom had seen better days, and now it was hanging by a thread. They had land, a title, and... not much else. Their influence had withered, their money was tight, and judging by the absence of staff, they weren't exactly throwing balls every weekend.
And of course, Elisha's dear old dad—the Duke himself—was absent. Always busy, most likely in his study, trying to stop their finances from doing a swan dive off a cliff.
Then there were her brothers. Oh boy.
Three of them. Because why not?
The eldest, Alexander, sat at the head of the table like he was carved out of stone and told to look mildly disappointed forever. Stoic, intense, painfully upright. I didn't even know if the man could slouch.
Next to him was Leonard—second son, serial smirker, and far too charming for his own good. He looked like the kind of guy who could sweet-talk a dragon out of its hoard and then forget where he put the gold.
And finally, there was Julian. The baby of the family. Maybe ten years old and practically glowing with innocence. He was seated next to me, legs swinging, face lighting up every time he looked my way.
This wasn't the family I left behind. No hospital walls, no pitying doctors, no lawsuit-hungry parents. Just this messy, struggling house full of pride and quiet desperation. And for the first time in forever, I felt… weirdly like I belonged. Or like I could belong. Maybe. Someday.
"Elisha, you've barely touched your food," came a calm voice from across the table.
I blinked. Alexander. Of course.
He was looking at me like I was some kind of puzzle he hadn't finished yet. Calm expression, but those eyes were sharp. Watching. Calculating. I didn't know how "Old Elisha" acted around him, but I had the sneaking suspicion she didn't just sit there zoning out like she was watching reruns in her head.
"Oh, I was just lost in thought," I said, flashing what I hoped was a believable smile. "It's nothing to worry about."
Leonard grinned beside him. "You? Thinking? That's rare."
"Leonard," Alexander said, in the same tone one might use to scold a disobedient dog.
Leonard just winked and bit into a slice of bread like he'd just won a round in their eternal sibling poker game.
Meanwhile, Julian tugged gently on my sleeve. "You were acting weird all day, Eli. Are you sure you're okay?"
His big blue eyes blinked up at me, and my heart did something annoying and warm. God, this kid. He looked so much like his brothers, except with more softness and less annoying. He didn't deserve this crumbling noble life.
None of them really did... on second thought.
I reached over and ruffled his hair. "I promise, Julian. Just a bit tired. Too many weird dreams."
He nodded and went back to poking his potatoes with a little hum. But Alexander didn't stop watching me. I could feel it. That "you're hiding something" look. He didn't say anything, though. Just filed it away somewhere in his mental war cabinet, I was sure.
The rest of dinner passed with quiet conversation and clinking silverware. I didn't speak much—just observed. The way Leonard lightened the mood, how the servants moved in perfect rhythm despite their strained expressions, and the way Alexander's hand tensed every time trade or politics were mentioned.
This house was on the brink.
The Belmonts were barely holding it together, and I could feel it in every crack of silence and every half-finished plate. If this was my second chance at life, then the life I'd landed in wasn't exactly a fairy tale.
But it was mine now.
"So," Leonard said, stretching lazily. "Father's skipping dinner again?"
Alexander sighed. "He's handling negotiations with the Lionhearts. We can't afford another failed trade agreement."
Trade agreement. That made my stomach twist. I knew enough about poverty to recognize desperation when I saw it. If their supplies were already running thin, then a failed negotiation could be the final nail in the coffin.
And I wasn't about to starve to death in this life, too. No way. Not after everything.
I watched the plates disappear, the servants clearing the table with quiet, professional ease. My brothers started to rise from their chairs, chatting softly, but my mind was already racing ahead.
This time, I wouldn't just drift through life like I had before. I wouldn't wait for other people to save me—or ruin me.
If this family was going down, then not on my watch.
I pushed my chair back, stood up, and opened my mouth before I could stop myself.
"Where is Father's room?"
Alexander paused mid-step. Leonard tilted his head. Julian blinked.
Three pairs of eyes locked on me.
And I smiled sweetly, as if I hadn't just declared war on fate itself.