A sharp, persistent knocking ripped Chloe from the cold, endless darkness.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Her senses flooded with information that didn't make sense. The scent of fresh lilies. The feel of soft, high-thread-count silk sheets against her skin. The warmth of sunlight on her eyelids.
She forced her eyes open.
Not a grimy warehouse ceiling, but an ornate, cream-colored one with intricate crown molding. She sat up with a jolt, her hands flying to her chest. There was no wound. No blood. Just smooth, unbroken skin beneath an expensive silk pajama top.
The knocking came again, more insistent this time, followed by a voice. A sickeningly sweet voice she had prayed she would never hear again.
"Chloe? Are you awake? We're running out of time!"
It was June Powell.
Chloe froze. Pure, undiluted hatred, the last thing she had felt before dying, surged through her veins like a jolt of electricity. Her heart hammered against her ribs, not with fear, but with a chilling, predatory rage.
The door clicked open and June swept in, using a keycard. She was a vision of sisterly concern, her face a perfect mask of worry. "Oh, you're finally awake! I was getting so worried."
Chloe stared at her. June looked... younger. The triumphant cruelty Chloe had last seen on the tablet screen was gone, replaced by the familiar, feigned innocence she had known for years. Six years younger, to be exact.
Her eyes darted to the full-length mirror across the room. She saw her own reflection: younger, healthier, her face free of the terror and pain that had been etched upon it in her final moments.
June walked to the edge of the bed, her expression softening into manufactured sympathy. "You can't be having second thoughts now, Chloe," she said, her voice a gentle coo. "I know you don't want to marry Damian Montgomery."
The name hit Chloe like a physical blow. Damian Montgomery.
It all came rushing back. The arranged marriage. The powerful, reclusive CEO. The rumors that he was a monster.
Today. Today was her wedding day. Her wedding to Damian.
This was the day it had all started. The day June had convinced her to jilt Damian at the altar, to run away with Braden, setting in motion the chain of events that led to her ruin and death.
She had been reborn.
She was back. Six years in the past, on the single most pivotal day of her life.
The knowledge didn't bring joy. It brought a cold, terrifying clarity. A sense of purpose so sharp it felt like a shard of ice in her chest.
June continued her script, oblivious to the storm raging behind Chloe's eyes. "He's a monster, Chloe. A cripple in a wheelchair. Everyone knows what happened to his last three fiancées. They all ended up in mental institutions. You can't marry him."
June placed a comforting hand on Chloe's arm. "Braden is waiting for you," she coaxed. "He loves you. He has a car waiting downstairs. You should run away with him. I'll help you. I'll cover for you."
In her past life, Chloe had clung to those words like a lifeline. She had believed June was her savior, her only ally in a world that terrified her.
Now, she saw the predatory glint in June's eyes, the barely concealed eagerness for Chloe to self-destruct. The touch of June's hand on her arm felt like a viper's bite. Chloe flinched away, pulling her arm back as if it had been burned.
June looked momentarily surprised by the sharp, instinctive rejection.
Slowly, deliberately, Chloe swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her mind was racing, processing the miracle of her return, the impossible second chance she had been given.
She remembered the consequences of her past choice. Jilting Damian had disgraced both the Powell and Montgomery families. Running to Braden had made her an outcast, completely dependent on him and June, making her the perfect, helpless target for their schemes.
This time, there would be no running.
This time, there would be a wedding.
June, misinterpreting her silence as fear, pressed on. "Don't be afraid, Chloe. It's the right thing to do. Your happiness with Braden is all that matters."
Chloe looked up, meeting June's gaze directly. A slow, predatory smile touched her lips for the first time. It was an expression so foreign, so cold, that it made June take an involuntary step back.
The script for this day was about to be rewritten. And Chloe was holding the pen.
