...
{3rd Pov}
Ram was pretending to clean—ahem—was actually cleaning the garden in her sister's absence.
With Rem gone, someone had to make sure the mansion didn't mysteriously burn down before her return, and that responsibility had, unfortunately, fallen on her.
She carried out her duties as she always did, with a bored expression and minimal enthusiasm, moving through the task purely out of obligation.
Everything was perfectly normal.
Then, without any warning, her body suddenly froze.
All movement stopped at once, as if something had forcibly cut the connection between her mind and limbs.
Her eyes went completely blank, losing all focus, and her strength vanished.
She collapsed forward without even having time to react, falling straight to the ground.
Her face planted directly into the dirt with a dull thud, her body going completely limp.
For a brief moment, there was nothing.
Then—
"Cough—cough!"
Ram coughed violently as air rushed back into her lungs.
She gasped sharply, her body jerking as consciousness returned in a rush.
Her head throbbed as she slowly pushed herself up from the ground, dirt clinging to her face and clothes.
She staggered slightly as she stood, her vision spinning and her mind still dizzy, struggling to make sense of what had just happened.
"Where am I? Hubby? Where are you?" she said urgently as her vision finally began to clear.
The dizziness faded just enough for her to realize that she was not where she expected to be.
The surroundings felt unfamiliar—yet at the same time, deeply unsettling in a way she couldn't immediately explain.
It was as if she had seen this place before, lived here even, but those memories had been buried so far back that they felt almost unreal.
Panic crept into her chest.
She turned around quickly, her eyes scanning her surroundings, and then she realized where she was standing.
She was in the middle of a large, well-kept garden, surrounded by trimmed hedges and open space.
Looming nearby was a massive mansion, its structure imposing and unmistakable.
The moment she focused on it, something inside her reacted.
Memories surged forward without warning.
"W–Wait a minute… I remember this place," she muttered, her voice trembling slightly.
She stopped mid-sentence.
Something was wrong.
Her voice sounded different—noticeably so.
It was clearer, sharper, and far more youthful than she remembered.
The usual hoarseness was gone, replaced by a colder, unfamiliar tone that sent a chill down her spine.
Her breathing quickened.
Slowly, she looked down at herself.
Her eyes widened.
She was wearing a maid uniform.
Not just any uniform, but one she recognized far too well.
"That's not possible…" she whispered.
Her heart pounded violently as the truth began to sink in.
She looked at her hands, raising them in front of her eyes.
The skin was smooth.
Unmarked.
Young.
There were no signs of age, no wear, no weakness.
She froze completely, her body locking in place as disbelief overwhelmed her.
She was young again.
Her head moved upward slowly, almost mechanically, until her gaze returned to the mansion before her.
As she stared at it, blurry memories continued to surface—fragmented at first, then clearer with every passing second.
"R–Roswaal's mansion? How is this possible?" she muttered in disbelief, her voice low and unsteady as recognition finally struck her.
There was no doubt about it.
This was Roswaal's mansion—the very place where she had once worked during her early days.
Every detail matched her memories far too well.
The layout, the garden, the structure itself—it was all unmistakable.
And yet, it should have been impossible.
That mansion had burned down long ago, reduced to nothing but ashes after the attack of the Gut Hunter.
She remembered that clearly.
The destruction, the chaos, the aftermath—none of it was vague or uncertain.
There was no world in which this place should still exist.
Her thoughts spiraled as she struggled to understand what was happening to her.
Why was she here?
Why was she in a younger body?
And why was she standing in a place that should have been destroyed years ago?
None of it made sense.
For several long moments, she remained completely still, rooted to the spot as her mind tried to process the situation.
She forced herself to think back, retracing her last clear memory.
The last thing she remembered doing before this—
She had been dying.
Dying peacefully, cradled in the arms of her husband, her body finally giving out due to old age.
That memory was vivid, filled with warmth and finality.
'I am dead…', she thought slowly.
'No, I was supposed to be dead…'
Her breathing became shallow as another possibility surfaced, one she didn't want to accept.
'But instead… am I back in time?'
The realization terrified her.
And yet, doubt followed immediately after.
'Or is this something else?', she wondered.
'Is this some kind of hallucination? A final illusion before death claims me completely?'
She stood there, caught between disbelief and fear, unable to decide which explanation was more terrifying—the idea that she had truly returned to the past, or the possibility that none of this was real at all.
She raised a hand and pinched her cheek as hard as she possibly could, not holding back at all.
The pain was immediate and sharp.
She hissed slightly as her skin burned, and when she lowered her hand, she could feel the spot throbbing.
Her cheek was already red.
It hurt.
Which meant this was not a hallucination.
"W–What does this mean?" she thought, her breathing growing uneven.
'Am I really in the past?'
The possibility was terrifying, but she refused to accept it blindly.
Panic would solve nothing.
She needed certainty—absolute proof that could not be dismissed or explained away.
Then an idea struck her.
'The only way to know for sure is to verify it with something concrete,' she reasoned.
Yes.
She needed proof.
And what proof could possibly be stronger than confirming the existence of someone who should be dead?
Without wasting another second, she turned and ran toward the mansion.
Her footsteps echoed across the garden as she searched for an entrance, her heart pounding violently in her chest.
She found one quickly and rushed inside, pushing through the doors without hesitation.
The moment she entered, a wave of nostalgia hit her hard.
The interior was exactly as she remembered it—or at least how she remembered it from long ago.
The scent of the halls, the structure of the corridors, the familiar atmosphere—it all came rushing back at once.
For a brief moment, her movements slowed as memories threatened to overwhelm her.
She forced herself to keep moving.
Finding her destination, however, was not easy.
Her feet hesitated at intersections, her eyes scanning hallways that once felt familiar but now seemed confusing.
The routes she had memorized so effortlessly in her youth were no longer clear.
The paths blurred together, and she found herself second-guessing every turn.
'I remembered all of this so well back then,' she thought irritably.
'Or was that when I was in my twenties?'
Another thought followed immediately.
'Or am I supposed to be eighteen now?'
It didn't matter.
She shook her head sharply and pushed the question aside.
Her current age was irrelevant.
What mattered was what she needed to confirm.
Ignoring the confusion, she resumed her search with renewed urgency, moving deeper into the mansion.
Her goal was clear in her mind.
She was looking for the old spirit of the library.
The one who was supposed to have died alongside this mansion.
If that spirit still existed—if she could find it alive—then there would be no denying the truth anymore.
After searching for nearly half an hour, she finally found it.
Standing before her was a familiar door—one that should not have been easy to locate.
The library never stayed in the same place for long.
It shifted throughout the mansion according to rules only its inhabitant understood.
Remembering that fact alone made Ram's chest tighten.
With trembling hands, she pushed the door open.
"Why is the oni maid here?" a sharp, irritated voice immediately rang out.
"Disturbing Betty's reading, I suppose?"
Beatrice looked up from her book, one eyebrow twitching as she stared toward the entrance.
Her crimson eyes locked onto Ram, who stood frozen in the doorway, her expression pale and shaken—as if she had just witnessed something utterly horrifying.
"Y–You're alive…" Ram muttered weakly.
The words slipped out before she could stop herself.
Her legs nearly gave out beneath her, and she stumbled forward slightly, almost falling to her knees.
It wasn't that her body lacked strength—far from it.
She simply wasn't used to having this much strength again.
"The hell is that supposed to mean, I suppose?" Beatrice snapped, her confusion quickly turning into irritation.
Her gaze swept over Ram from head to toe, noting something important.
"And why are you here without sweets or pastries, I suppose? That's unacceptable."
Ram forced herself to straighten, slowly pushing herself back up to her feet.
As she did, she became keenly aware of how light her body felt—how full of energy it was.
This wasn't the body she remembered having toward the end.
She really was young again.
"I–I have something I need to do," Ram said abruptly, her voice still unsteady but filled with urgency.
Before Beatrice could ask another question—or complain further—Ram turned around and stepped back out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind her with more force than necessary.
"???"
Beatrice stared at the closed door in complete disbelief.
She swore she had never been this confused in her entire existence.
"What was that even about, I suppose?" she muttered irritably, crossing her arms as dissatisfaction settled on her face.
The library fell silent once more.
…
Onis were a race that had been artificially manufactured by an ancient entity, created with a very specific purpose in mind.
Their primary function was to detect and sense the Witch's scent.
Ironically, despite being designed for that role, most Onis never even awakened this ability, making their original purpose almost laughable in hindsight.
Physically, they were far from ordinary.
Onis possessed two horns, each capable of directly absorbing mana from the surrounding atmosphere.
This unique trait granted them a tremendous boost in both physical strength and magical power.
Their bodies could handle levels of mana that would overwhelm most other races, allowing them to fight longer, hit harder, and cast stronger spells with less strain.
For a long period of time, Onis were regarded as the mightiest among the demi-human races.
Their sheer power set them apart so completely that few dared to challenge them.
Victory came easily, and over time, that strength bred arrogance.
They began to see themselves as superior beings.
Other races—human or demi-human—were viewed as weak, flawed, and unworthy of standing alongside them.
This sense of superiority gradually warped their worldview, reinforcing the belief that coexistence with so-called inferior creatures was beneath them.
Eventually, that arrogance reached its peak.
The Onis chose isolation.
They deliberately withdrew from the rest of civilization, cutting themselves off from other races and societies.
They refused to live among those they deemed inferior, believing their strength entitled them to separation and dominance rather than cooperation.
That decision, born from pride and arrogance, would later prove to be one of their greatest mistakes.
The Onis worshipped an Oni God, a figure believed to have been the strongest Oni to ever exist in their entire history.
They held the belief that this God would one day be reborn, and because of that, they became obsessed with preserving what they considered a "pure" and powerful bloodline.
In their minds, strength was sacred, and weakness was an unforgivable sin.
To uphold that belief, they did not hesitate to commit atrocities.
Any Oni who lost a horn, was born weak, or was born with only a single horn was deemed unworthy of living.
Such individuals were executed without hesitation, often by their own kin.
The practice became even more horrifying in the case of twins.
Because twins naturally split the horns between them, the birth of twins was seen as a defect rather than a blessing.
It became ritualistic.
Newborn twins were murdered at birth, killed by their own parents and clan members with nothing but disgust and contempt.
Compassion had no place in their society.
Tradition and belief outweighed basic morality, and over time, these acts became normalized within Oni culture.
Their deep-rooted racism, overwhelming superiority complex, and complete isolation from the rest of the world eventually sealed their fate.
The Witch Cult took notice.
To the Witch Cult, the Onis were simply convenient targets.
Isolated, proud, and cut off from alliances, they were easy to hunt down and sacrifice to their Demonic Goddess, Satella.
One by one, Oni settlements were attacked and wiped out, their people slaughtered without resistance strong enough to matter.
Ironically, there was no prejudice or racial hatred involved on the Witch Cult's side.
The Onis were not targeted out of ideology or malice—only practicality.
They were simply easier to kill and easier to use.
Meanwhile, the isolated Oni communities remained completely unaware of what was happening beyond their borders.
Blinded by arrogance and convinced of their own superiority, they failed to recognize the danger until it was far too late.
By the time they understood the consequences of their isolation, their race was already on the brink of extinction.
Rem and Ram had been born in one of those isolated Oni communities.
However, when Ram thought back on her origins, she only remembered being born alone.
The memories didn't felt incomplete from her view point, but from her hubby's descriptions they were fractured in a way that still unsettled her.
The sister she once had—whom she had forgotten—had her memories eaten.
And before Ram could ever truly recover or even understand what had been lost, that sister died during the events of the Sanctuary, alongside Emilia.
By that point, there had been no chance for reconciliation or clarity.
To Rem, Ram had effectively been her sister.
She remembered growing up with her, working alongside her, and relying on her presence.
That bond was real, even if the truth behind it had been distorted or so her hubby told her about her relationship with her sister.
As for Roswaal, the feelings she once harbored toward him now filled her with nothing but disgust.
What she had once mistaken for affection or devotion now felt repulsive in hindsight.
She had met her husband—Natsuki Subaru—after returning from the Capital, following the incident where he had managed to save Emilia.
Yes, Emilia.
That naïve half-elf whom her husband had been completely head over heels for during his early days.
Just thinking about that woman caused irritation to flicker in Ram's eyes.
The feeling came naturally, sharp and immediate.
Still, she was forced to admit something to herself, no matter how much she disliked it.
She hadn't been any better back then.
According to her husband, after losing all memories related to her sister, she had latched onto Roswaal instead.
With her past erased and her emotional foundation shattered, she had convinced herself that Roswaal was the only thing she had left in the world.
Whether that attachment was love, dependency, or desperation no longer mattered—it had been unhealthy regardless.
Now, with those memories restored and time having given her perspective, she could finally see how warped her mindset had been.
What once felt justified now felt hollow and embarrassing.
And yet, all of it had led her to where she eventually ended up.
With Natsuki Subaru.
That was the only part she did not regret.
Her earliest feelings toward her husband had been nothing but disgust and frustration.
At that time, he hadn't seemed like a capable man in the slightest.
In fact, he appeared unreliable, reckless, and deeply suspicious.
The way he had saved Emilia made no sense to her.
They hadn't even known each other properly, and yet he behaved as if they shared some kind of long history.
What irritated her the most was how he kept talking about things she had supposedly done for him—help she had no memory of giving.
To her, it sounded delusional, as if he were confusing reality with some imagined past.
'My hubby was truly stupid in those early days,' she thought dryly.
'Though… I wasn't any better myself.'
That much she could admit now.
Yes, she had become capable of acknowledging her own flaws alongside pointing out those of others.
In truth, she had always been good at criticizing people—almost too good.
Making sharp remarks about others had never been difficult for her.
What had changed was her willingness to turn that same critical eye inward.
Ahem.
Back then, dealing with his incompetence had been exhausting.
What made it worse was that his uselessness mirrored her own laziness in an uncomfortable way.
Neither of them was particularly impressive at that point.
They stumbled through daily tasks, annoyed with each other, yet somehow managing to get by.
Days passed like that—awkward, frustrating, and unremarkable.
And then, just as they were settling into that fragile routine, the village was attacked by Mabeasts.
That was when everything began to change.
In her memories, it had been her and Subaru who accomplished the impossible together.
A weak human boy and a hornless Oni—two people who should never have been enough—somehow managed to save the entire village.
At the time, it felt unreal, almost absurd, that the two of them had pulled it off.
However, her husband had always insisted that the majority of the credit belonged to someone else.
Rem.
She couldn't deny that moment of confusion when she learned she had apparently gained a sister out of nowhere.
It felt wrong, disorienting.
And what made it worse was Subaru's behavior afterward.
He constantly praised this "Rem" in front of her, recounting her bravery and deeds in detail.
Every time he did so, it felt as though he was erasing Ram's own experiences—denying her the time she remembered spending with him and instead attributing those moments to someone else entirely.
For the first time in her life, Ram felt jealousy.
It was ugly, sharp, and unfamiliar.
She also remembered receiving that letter—empty, vague, and devoid of explanation.
At the time, she had truly believed Subaru had betrayed Roswaal.
The thought nearly broke her.
She had felt abandoned, deceived, and foolish for trusting him even a little.
Later, when she learned about the things Subaru had done back in the Capital, she began to question her own conclusion.
Had he broken under pressure?
Had the situation forced him into something he couldn't control?
Or had he truly chosen that path himself?
She never fully knew.
What she did know was this: at that point in time, her feelings for Subaru had already begun to bud, whether she liked it or not.
At the same time, her loyalty to Roswaal remained firm and unquestioned.
Caught between those two conflicting emotions, she made a decision.
If Subaru ever returned—if he dared to show his face again—she would kill him herself.
And when he did return, she was prepared to follow through.
But instead of resisting or denying it, Subaru explained everything.
He laid out the entire situation, step by step, until she finally understood.
What she thought was betrayal turned out to be a misunderstanding born from fear, secrecy, and circumstances far beyond either of them.
That moment didn't erase her anger.
But it changed everything that came after.
After that, she heard about how foolishly he had participated in the hunt for the White Whale—and how, against all expectations, the majority of the credit had gone to him.
Even now, that part still felt strange to her.
She remembered him mentioning a man named Julius during the future events, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't recall such a person at all.
It was as if that name had never existed in her life to begin with.
At one point, she and her husband had even wondered whether that man's name had been eaten by Gluttony as well, just like so many others.
There was no way to confirm it, no evidence either way.
For now, it remained nothing more than an unanswered mystery.
After the White Whale's subjugation, her husband went on to help in the killing of the Sin Archbishop of Sloth.
From there, events moved rapidly, skipping ahead to the time of the Sanctuary.
Just thinking about that period made a deep sense of disgust rise in Ram's eyes.
Disgust toward her past self.
And disgust toward Roswaal.
She hated her past self for having loved someone as selfish, manipulative, and inhumane as Roswaal.
Looking back now, that devotion felt humiliating and revolting.
At the same time, she hated Roswaal himself—not just for what he had done, but for what he was.
There was no deeper justification behind that hatred.
She hated him simply because she hated him.
She bit down on her fingernail as she carefully thought about the point in time she had returned to.
The more she replayed recent events in her head, the clearer it became.
Considering everything she remembered, this was most likely the period when her husband had gone to the Capital—and humiliated himself in front of everyone.
That realization made her jaw tighten.
'If I had returned any earlier,' she thought bitterly, 'I would have stopped him.'
The idea lingered for a moment before another thought surfaced, far more dangerous than the first.
'Did he return in time as well?'
The possibility made her breath hitch slightly.
Hope flickered in her eyes, fragile but undeniable.
'It should be possible,' she told herself.
But as soon as that hope appeared, doubt followed closely behind.
Her brow furrowed as she noticed something that felt painfully obvious in hindsight.
'An ability to return to the past…' she thought slowly.
'How did I never notice it before?'
Her thoughts shifted toward her husband.
'Did he have the same ability?'
Memories began lining up one after another—his suspicious actions, the way he always seemed to know what was about to happen, how he reacted perfectly to situations that should have caught him completely off guard.
He had always acted as if he already understood the outcome, as if he had seen it before.
At the time, she had brushed it off as intuition, luck, or madness.
Now, she wasn't so sure.
'Was he able to return to the past as well?', she wondered.
The thought struck deeper than she expected.
A sudden pang of pain tightened in her chest, sharp and uncomfortable.
Her fingers curled instinctively against the fabric of her uniform as another realization followed.
'If that's true…'
'Then why didn't he ever tell me?'
The question hurt more than the uncertainty itself.
She couldn't help but wonder why her husband—who had shared so much of his suffering with her—had kept something like that hidden.
And whether he had been carrying that burden alone the entire time.
She knew her early self had been a bitch.
There was no denying that.
Back then, she had been selfish, sharp-tongued, and cruel in ways she didn't fully understand until much later.
But even so, after everything that happened in the Sanctuary—after all the horror, loss, and suffering—they had spent the rest of their lives together.
Because of that, he should have told her.
He should have told her about something so important long ago.
'Was he the one who sent me back to the past?', she wondered, doubt briefly flickering in her eyes.
But just as quickly as it appeared, she pushed the thought away.
'No,' she decided.
'He must have had a reason.'
There had to be a reason he couldn't tell her.
Perhaps it was a contract.
Perhaps it was a limitation tied to his power.
She remembered how her husband, despite never being a Witch Cultist, always carried the Witch's scent so strongly.
That alone suggested there were rules and consequences she had never fully understood.
More questions surfaced in her mind, piling up one after another, each one unanswered.
It was overwhelming.
And yet, despite all of that, there was one thing she was absolutely certain of.
Her husband would never betray her.
He would never hurt her.
He would never do something cruel for his own sake.
In her mind, he was still the sweetest man in the world.
No amount of doubt or confusion could erase that belief.
As she reassured herself of her unwavering loyalty toward Subaru, another realization hit her suddenly—one that made her breath catch.
She had no children.
None of them existed yet.
All of her children—every one of them—had not been born in this timeline.
Her chest tightened.
'This… no,' she thought sharply.
'My husband would never do something like that.'
Then another thought followed, colder and more frightening.
'Wait… does he even remember our time together?'
She thought about how much her husband had loved their children.
How deeply he cared for them.
It didn't make sense that he would undo all of that—erase their existence—just to live another life with her.
That wasn't the kind of man he was.
If anyone were capable of making that choice… it wouldn't be him.
The bitter truth settled in her mind.
The chances were far higher that she would do something like that, if she were ever given such power.
That realization raised an even more troubling questions, again in her mind.
'Did my husband return to this time with me?'
'Or am I the only one who was sent back?'
The uncertainty gnawed at her relentlessly.
She desperately hoped she wasn't alone in this—hoped that somewhere out there, he existed in this timeline with his memories intact, just as she did.
The idea of facing everything by herself made her chest feel heavy.
As another thought surfaced, a sharp headache formed at her temples.
Roswaal was still alive.
That meant she would have to deal with that clown all over again.
The irritation alone was enough to make her grind her teeth.
But worse than that was the fear lurking beneath the annoyance—the fear that her husband might not remember her at all.
The possibility threatened to shatter her composure entirely.
If he didn't remember her… she wasn't sure how she would handle that.
She exhaled sharply, her fingers curling into fists.
'Fuck it.'
Even if the worst case was true—even if he had no memory of her, of their life together, of everything they had built—she wouldn't give up.
'Even if I have to make my husband fall in love with me all over again,' she thought fiercely, 'I will do it.'
She bit down on her lip, the sting grounding her as resolve slowly but unmistakably appeared in her eyes.
Whatever awaited her in this timeline—pain, rejection, or heartbreak—she would face it head-on.
She had already lived one lifetime for him.
Doing it again would change nothing.
Also, She needed answers.
She needed to know why she had been sent back to the past in the first place, and whether
Subaru had returned as well—or if he still possessed the ability to rewind time on his own.
That uncertainty mattered more than anything right now.
Understanding that difference would determine how she acted from this point onward.
More importantly, this situation presented an opportunity that could not be ignored.
This was a chance sent straight from heaven.
She now had knowledge of the future—knowledge that could allow her to destroy the Witch Cult far more efficiently than before.
She knew the identities of the Sin Archbishops, their methods, their habits, and the circumstances under which they would eventually be exposed and slaughtered by the Sword Saint in the future.
That information alone was priceless.
However, remembering how those events unfolded made her expression darken.
The cost had been horrifying.
Entire regions had been devastated.
Lives had been thrown away without mercy.
One memory, in particular, stood out sharply—the moment when the Sword Saint sacrificed an entire city, hundreds of thousands of innocent people, just to kill the Sin Archbishop of Greed.
That alone proved how monstrous those beings truly were.
Still, she also remembered something crucial.
She knew his weakness.
That information had eventually been made public by the Sword Saint himself. The Sin Archbishop of Greed's power was not absolute—it was dependent on his wives. Without them, his authority would collapse entirely.
'I just need to kill all of them,' she thought grimly, clenching her fists tightly.
'That's all it takes to get rid of him.'
Unlike before, she wouldn't be acting blindly this time.
With her husband at her side—and with experienced fighters like Wilhelm or even the Sword Saint himself—it would not be difficult to end these monsters early.
Before they killed hundreds of thousands.
This time, she intended to finish the Witch Cult before it ever reached that point.
'But first, I need to handle my immediate priorities,' she thought firmly, forcing herself to focus.
She would wait.
She knew her husband would eventually come to her with a warning, just as he always had.
She already understood what was going to happen ahead of time, and this time she would not hesitate or second-guess herself.
She would act before events spiraled out of control, before anyone else had the chance to ruin everything again.
When the moment arrived, she would evacuate all the villagers to the mansion and convert it into a proper stronghold.
It had the space, the structure, and the defenses needed to protect them.
From there, they could hold out against the Witch Cultists instead of allowing the situation to descend into panic, bloodshed, and needless deaths.
There was absolutely no way she was going to the Sanctuary again.
She refused to relive that nightmare.
No matter what it took—manipulation, force, deception, or outright destruction—she would find a way to avoid it entirely.
On top of that, there was another problem she could no longer ignore.
Roswaal.
She needed to deal with him once and for all.
Permanently.
Whether that meant exposing his true nature, removing him from the equation, or outright getting rid of him did not matter.
She no longer cared about methods.
She only cared about results.
No matter how many challenges waited ahead, one thing was beyond doubt.
She would reunite with her husband.
And this time, she would face everything alongside him.
Not from the sidelines.
Not blinded by misplaced loyalty or ignorance.
She would never again be the fool she once was—the woman who had been hopelessly in love with Roswaal and too stupid to recognize what kind of vile, selfish man he truly was.
That version of her was gone.
If she had to start from zero, then so be it.
She would rebuild everything properly this time.
She would choose correctly.
She would act decisively.
She would fix what had gone wrong, no matter how much effort it took or how many lines she had to cross.
She had promised her husband that she would take care of him for the rest of his life.
That promise did not vanish just because time itself had been reset.
Being sent back to the past did not invalidate it—it only gave her another chance to fulfill it.
She would spoil him.
She would protect him.
And if it came down to it, she would pamper him relentlessly, shamelessly, until he was completely and hopelessly in love with her all over again.
Just thinking about it was enough to make a smile slowly spread across her face.
To be continued...