The Beloved Granddaughter Of Monster Duke ?
Firentia Lombardy had lived a life marred by betrayal and tragedy. From a young age, she endured the scorn and resentment of her own family, treated as an outsider and a burden. Her uncle, Lord Vittorio Lombardy, wielded his authority with a cold and calculating demeanor, his disapproval of Firentia palpable in every interaction. It was under his hand that Firentia met her untimely end, accused unjustly and condemned without mercy. But fate had other plans for Firentia. Inexplicably thrust back into the past, she found herself reliving the years she had desperately tried to forget. Initially, Firentia harbored no illusions of reconciliation or forgiveness towards her family. She had no intention of seeking their approval or affection, having learned the bitter lesson of their cruelty all too well. Yet, as time passed, Firentia discovered that beneath the facade of animosity and indifference lay hidden truths and unexpected gestures of kindness. Her mother, long dismissed as a mere maid and a source of family shame, held secrets that could unravel the very fabric of Lombardy legacy. Before Firentia could delve deeper into these revelations, however, her world began to shift. Her uncle's once icy gaze softened, his actions betraying a newfound tenderness towards her. Her grandfather, who had always distanced himself, now sought her company with earnest excuses. Even her cousins, who had tormented her relentlessly, began to show unexpected acts of protection and kindness. Most puzzling of all was the Crown Prince, previously indifferent to her existence, now shadowing her every move with a strange devotion. Firentia found herself caught in a web of conflicting emotions. Confusion warred with suspicion as she navigated the treacherous waters of newfound familial attention. The very people who had ostracized and hurt her now seemed determined to atone for their past transgressions. Yet, Firentia couldn't shake the nagging feeling that their sudden change of heart held ulterior motives. "What the hell is wrong with all these people around me who don't even let me live peacefully now," Firentia wondered bitterly. The newfound attention and gestures of kindness felt suffocating, threatening to unravel her resolve and stir emotions she had long suppressed. As Firentia unraveled the mysteries surrounding her family and herself, she faced a choice: embrace the warmth offered tentatively by her newfound allies, or guard herself against the potential for deeper betrayal.
Journey To Past
As the sun began its ascent, casting a golden glow over the grand estate of the Lombardy family, a somber scene unfolded on the elevated platform in front of the manor. The air was heavy with tension and a sense of finality as Firentia Lombardy knelt before her uncle, Lord Vittorio Lombardy. He stood tall and imposing, his sword gleaming in the morning light, his expression as cold and unyielding as the steel in his hand.
Firentia's heart pounded in her chest as she glanced up at Vittorio. For the first time in her life, she felt no warmth or affection as she looked at him. She had always tried to smile in his presence, to win his approval, but now her face was devoid of any such pretense. Her eyes, wide with a mix of sorrow and defiance, met his icy gaze.
The crowd below the stage watched in silence, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and pity. They listened intently as a herald read out the list of crimes Firentia was accused of, each one a lie designed to justify her execution. She was being punished for treason, conspiracy, and betrayal—crimes she had never committed.
In the distance, Firentia could see the rest of her family—those who had once been her family, or so she had thought. Her cousins, Giovanni and Marco, stood with the same cold expressions as their father, their eyes filled with contempt. Next to them was Isabella, the adopted daughter of Vittorio, who pretended to hide behind her brothers, feigning fear. But Firentia saw through her act; she could see the smirk playing on Isabella's lips. Firentia had once cherished Isabella like a sister, only to be repaid with betrayal.
Beside her cousins stood her grandfather, Lord Alfonso Lombardy, a man who had never accepted her. His hatred was rooted in her lineage—she was the daughter of his elder son, who had defied the family by marrying a maid. Alfonso's expression was a mask of indifference, but Firentia knew the resentment that lay beneath. She had spent her whole life trying to gain his affection, only to be met with scorn.
Firentia's mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. She felt a deep, aching sadness, not just for herself but for the love and acceptance she had never received. She felt anger at the injustice of her situation, but most of all, she felt a profound sense of betrayal. She had spent her entire life trying to belong, only to be cast out in the cruelest way possible.
With a pained smile, she looked up at Vittorio one last time. "Uncle," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, yet steady. Vittorio's eyes flickered, but his expression remained cold. "If you ever find out the truth and regret killing me, just for once, come to my grave and—"
She never finished her sentence. Vittorio's sword swung through the air with a swift, merciless arc, silencing her forever. Firentia's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, and in that moment, the crowd gasped. The execution was complete, and with it, any hope Firentia had clung to was extinguished.
Vittorio sheathed his sword, his expression unchanging. To him, she had been nothing more than a pawn, a means to an end. Giovanni and Marco looked on without a hint of remorse, their eyes hard. Isabella stepped forward, her face a mask of false sorrow, but Firentia's blood on the stage was a testament to her treachery. Alfonso turned away, his back as unyielding as his heart had always been.
As the crowd began to disperse, murmurs of the unjust death spread among them. Firentia's final, unspoken plea hung in the air, a haunting reminder of the innocence that had been so cruelly destroyed. The sun continued to rise, indifferent to the tragedy it illuminated.
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The morning light filtered through the heavy, opulent curtains, casting a soft glow over Firentia's luxurious bedroom. The room was a testament to wealth and status, with its ornate furniture, rich fabrics, and intricate decorations. Firentia woke up with a start, her heart racing as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. She quickly scanned the room, the familiarity of it both comforting and unsettling. This was her old bedroom, the one she had lived in before Isabella's arrival turned her world upside down.
As she sat up in bed, her eyes landed on Greta, her old nanny, who stood at a respectful distance. Greta's expression was as cold and detached as Firentia remembered. The stern lines of her face and the icy gaze made it clear that Greta was a woman who did not tolerate nonsense. Firentia's breath caught in her throat. Greta had died years ago, and Firentia herself had been executed moments ago—or so she thought. The confusion and disbelief were almost too much to bear.
"My lady, your highness is waiting for you in the dining room as per your request," Greta said, her tone formal and devoid of any warmth.
Firentia's mind raced as she tried to process what was happening. She glanced down at her hands and legs, noticing how small they were. Her fingers were slender and childish, her legs short and unblemished by the trials of her previous life. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks—she was a child again. "How old am I?" she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.
"You are nine years old this year, my lady," Greta replied without hesitation, her voice as cold as ever.
Firentia closed her eyes, letting the flood of memories from her past life wash over her—the death glares from her family, their cold and dismissive attitudes, the cruel words and harsh treatment she had endured. The weight of their disdain had crushed her spirit once, but now, with this second chance, it only fueled her resolve. A dark chuckle escaped her lips as she thought about the irony of it all. Here she was, given another chance, a chance to rewrite her fate.
When she opened her eyes again, she fixed her gaze on Greta with a cold, unyielding expression. There was no fear in her eyes, no desperation to win affection or approval. For the first time, Firentia looked at her nanny without the underlying anxiety that had plagued her in her previous life. Instead, her gaze was hard and calculating, as if she were assessing an opponent rather than a caretaker.
Greta, noticing the drastic change in Firentia's demeanor, seemed taken aback. The nanny's usual coldness faltered slightly, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. She was not used to seeing Firentia like this—so composed, so unafraid. "Shall we get ready for your lunch with his highness?" she asked, trying to maintain her usual composure.
Firentia's response was calm and detached. "How long did it take for him to agree?" she inquired, her voice steady and devoid of the usual timidity.
Greta hesitated for a moment, clearly unsettled by the change in Firentia's behavior. "After a month of your regular trying, he finally accepted," she answered, her voice softer now, tinged with a hint of confusion.
Firentia continued to stare at her nanny, her gaze cold and unyielding. She was no longer the timid child who feared rejection. Instead, she was a determined soul, reborn with the knowledge of her past and a burning desire to change her future. She sat in silence, her mind already forming plans for the days ahead.
Greta, clearly disconcerted by Firentia's silence and the coldness in her eyes, waited for a response. But Firentia said nothing. She remained quiet, her expression unreadable, her thoughts her own. The nanny, unsure of how to proceed, finally turned away to begin preparing her young charge for the day.
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Firentia walked through the grand hallways of the Lombardy mansion, her mind sharp and her resolve unwavering. She made her way toward the dining room, where her uncle, Lord Vittorio Lombardy, awaited. At the entrance, she was greeted by Sir Adrian, her uncle's personal guard. He was a stern man but had always been fair to her in her past life. This time, he greeted her with a genuinely welcoming gesture.
"My lady," Sir Adrian said, inclining his head slightly. "His highness is expecting you."
Firentia offered a polite smile, masking her inner turmoil. "I appreciate it, Sir Adrian, but I'm feeling unwell today," she said calmly. "I wouldn't want to make his highness uncomfortable, so it's best if I don't attend this lunch."
Sir Adrian's eyes widened in surprise. "But, my lady—"
Firentia didn't wait to hear the rest of his words. She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving both Sir Adrian and Greta, who stood nearby, in stunned silence. They exchanged bewildered glances, unsure of how to react to this uncharacteristic defiance from Firentia.
Inside the dining room, Lord Vittorio Lombardy was already eating, his cold demeanor unchanged by the presence or absence of anyone else. The room was lavishly set, the finest silverware and porcelain laid out impeccably. Vittorio sat at the head of the table, a stark contrast to the warmth and richness of the room.
Sir Adrian entered cautiously, his footsteps echoing slightly in the quiet room. He approached Vittorio, bowing his head respectfully. "Your highness, Lady Firentia asked me to deliver a message."
Vittorio continued eating, his expression unchanging. "Speak," he said curtly, not bothering to look up from his meal.
"She said she is feeling unwell and doesn't wish to make you uncomfortable. She thought it best not to attend the lunch."
For a moment, there was no reaction. Vittorio's movements remained steady, his cold demeanor impenetrable. He continued to cut his food with precision, as if Sir Adrian had said nothing at all. The silence stretched, making the atmosphere even more oppressive.
Sir Adrian stood there, unsure if he should repeat himself or if he had been dismissed. Finally, Vittorio spoke, his voice as icy as ever. "Very well," he said simply, continuing to eat without missing a beat.
The guard bowed again and left the dining room, returning to his post. Outside, Greta and Sir Adrian exchanged another look, both of them still processing Firentia's unexpected behavior.
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Firentia wandered through the expansive back gardens of the Lombardy estate, finding solace among the meticulously manicured hedges and colorful blooms. The air was crisp and fragrant with the scent of flowers in full bloom, creating a tranquil atmosphere that belied the turmoil within her.
Clutched tightly in her arms was an old, worn teddy bear—a childhood relic that had somehow survived the years of neglect and indifference from her family. Its once vibrant fur was now faded and threadbare, but it remained a symbol of comfort and resilience for Firentia.
As she walked along the winding paths, her expression was cold and distant, her thoughts consumed by the events of the day. The surreal return to her childhood, the confrontation with her uncle's guard, and Luca's unexpected encounter—all weighed heavily on her mind.
Suddenly, a mocking voice shattered the peaceful ambiance of the garden. " Looks like dumbster like to walk a lot , isn't it ?"
Firentia froze, her heart sinking at the familiar, mocking tone. It was her....