Reborn: Marrying The Cold Disabled Marquis

In our past life, I was chosen for the royal court, ascending to the throne as Queen, only to discover I was merely a shield for the King's true love, eventually dying by a poisoned chalice. Meanwhile, my half-sister married the powerful Marquis of Blackwood. But when he was crippled in an accident, she vented her bitter regret by abusing his adopted sons, ultimately being cast out and becoming the laughingstock of high society.

When we both opened our eyes and returned to the morning our fates were decided, my sister lunged forward and desperately snatched the royal selection brooch from my hands.

"The supreme glory of the court belongs to me this time!" she sneered.

I lowered my head to hide a cold smile. Go ahead, sister. Take that golden death warrant.

Without hesitation, I picked up the remaining marriage proposal and chose Lord Dylan Lucas, the ruthless and fearsome Marquis of the North.

On our wedding night, my new husband looked at me with eyes like winter frost. "I will not offer you my affection, my companionship, or my bed," he declared coldly. "You are merely here to be a nominal mother to my three adopted sons."

"I understand, my lord," I replied meekly, secretly thrilled. A loveless marriage with wealth, power, and adorable children? It was the perfect retirement plan for a woman who had barely survived a palace bloodbath.

I played my part perfectly. I used my hidden medical skills to heal his frail youngest son, effortlessly outmaneuvered his hostile relatives, and brought life back to his gloomy estate. I asked for nothing but peace.

But I miscalculated one thing.

The "cold and ruthless" Marquis wasn't supposed to watch me from the shadows with darkening, possessive eyes. He wasn't supposed to investigate my past. And he certainly wasn't supposed to shatter his own rules.

"You've conquered my household and my sons, Gabriella," he whispered one night, cornering me in the study, his stormy grey eyes pinning me in place. "Tell me... when do you plan to conquer me?"

--

Gabriella Curtis's eyes snapped open. Before she could even gather her wits, her half-sister, Seraphina, lunged forward and snatched the brooch from her hands.

It was a deep purple velvet flower brooch.

"Give me your brooch, and I shall reluctantly yield the opportunity to marry Lord Dylan to you."

Having seized the brooch, Seraphina made no effort to conceal her intentions, adding a seemingly inexplicable remark. "Do not blame me, for the supreme glory of the royal court is something a baseborn daughter like you will never be fit to possess."

Gabriella's pupils dilated. A tremor coursed through her entire body.

Her gaze darted to the silver-framed mirror resting on the vanity. The face staring back had smooth, unblemished skin. This was not the haggard, hollow-eyed woman of twenty-four she remembered, but a young maiden of eighteen.

She had been reborn!

Seeing the ugly sneer on Seraphina's face, a sudden realization struck her: her dear sister must have been reborn as well.

In her past life, on this very day, a marriage proposal had arrived at the manor from Lord Dylan Lucas, the heir to the House of Blackwood.

Back then, Seraphina had long been infatuated with the Lord and eagerly snatched up the proposal, only to be left abandoned on her wedding night.

Shortly thereafter, an accident during a disaster relief mission left Lord Dylan crippled.

Filled with bitter regret, Seraphina began to vent her resentment upon the Lord's three adopted sons, subjecting them to endless abuse and beatings. Within a year, Lord Dylan cast her out of the house, turning her into the laughingstock of high society.

Gabriella, on the other hand, had attended the royal selection. Because of the deep purple velvet flower brooch pinned in her hair, she had caught the King's eye instantly. She was swept into the royal family and eventually became Queen, seemingly living a life of boundless glory.

But no one knew that the King's true love had always been another woman. Gabriella was nothing more than a living target, a shield meant to draw the jealousy and assassination attempts of other women away from his beloved.

Needles hidden in pillows, forced kneeling in the freezing rain, poisoned wine, being pushed into icy lakes... She had faced endless treacherous schemes, countering them one by one.

After ten years in the palace, she finally ascended to the throne as Queen, only to be fed poison by the King three days later, paving the way for his true love to take her place.

Since Seraphina wanted to enter that man-eating palace in this life, she was more than welcome to it!

Gabriella lowered her gaze, her lashes casting long shadows that concealed the cold, calculating gleam in her eyes.

Her shoulders trembled slightly, and a single tear slipped down her cheek, making her look utterly pitiful.

"Seraphina," she whispered, her voice choking. "How could you do this?"

Seeing Gabriella's weakness only fueled Seraphina's arrogance. She lifted her chin and said sharply, "This is for the good of the family. You should be grateful."

Her stepmother, Beatrice Curtis, appeared in the doorway. Her expression was icy, tacitly approving of the scene. She had always despised Gabriella, the living proof of her husband's infidelity.

"Gabriella," Beatrice said, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "Since Seraphina desires it, you should let her have it. A proposal from Lord Dylan Lucas is a highly respectable match for someone of your standing. It is far more than you could ever hope for."

Gabriella let out a muffled sob and collapsed onto the bed, her body shaking with 'grief', her cries smothered by the pillow.

She heard Seraphina's light, triumphant laughter, followed by Beatrice's approving whispers. They exchanged a knowing, satisfied glance over the broken, unresisting girl on the bed.

The moment the door clicked shut, Gabriella's sobbing ceased instantly.

She pushed herself up. Her eyes were clear and resolute-not a single tear remained, only a burning thirst for vengeance.

She walked to the vanity and picked up the remaining proposal from Lord Dylan Lucas. The thick parchment felt solid and real beneath her fingertips.

This was no dream.

A low, soft laugh escaped her lips. It was the sound of a woman who had walked through hell and returned, ready to burn everything to the ground.

She reached for the small silver bell on the nightstand and rang it firmly.

Her personal maid, Eliza, rushed in, her face etched with worry. But she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw her mistress, who looked anything but heartbroken.

"My lady, you..." Eliza stammered.

Gabriella handed her the proposal, her eyes shining with an intense light Eliza had never seen before.

"Eliza," she said, her voice steady and commanding. "Send a reply to Lord Dylan."

She paused, letting the weight of her next words fill the room.

"I, Gabriella Curtis, accept his proposal."