Eleanora's eyes snapped open. She gasped, sucking in a massive lungful of air. Her hands flew up automatically, crossing over her face to block the scorching flames.
There was no fire.
Instead of a crushed car roof, a crystal chandelier cast a warm, expensive glow across a pristine white ceiling.
She inhaled sharply again. The metallic stench of blood and gasoline was gone. The air smelled of clinical antiseptic and fresh lilies.
Eleanora lowered her trembling hands. She stared at her fingers. The skin was pale, smooth, and completely unblemished. There was no blood. No cracked nails. No blisters.
She threw off the heavy silk blanket. Her legs. She stared at her legs. They were whole. She wiggled her toes. The heavy, terrifying numbness was gone.
The heart monitor beside the bed began to blare a rapid, high-pitched warning as her heart rate skyrocketed.
Eleanora ripped the IV needle out of the back of her hand. A bead of dark red blood welled up on her skin, but she didn't feel the sting. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and stumbled across the thick carpet toward the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door.
She gripped the edges of the mirror. The girl staring back at her was pale and her eyes were red-rimmed, but she was young. She was flawless. There were no scars.
Her eyes darted to the nightstand. A sleek, late-model smartphone sat next to a glass of water. She lunged for it, her fingers slipping on the smooth glass before she managed to press the power button.
The screen lit up.
October 12th, 2018. Her mind raced. 2018... That was the year she turned twenty. Five years. She had gone back five years.
The phone slipped from her numb fingers. It hit the carpet with a dull thud.
Eleanora clamped both hands over her mouth. She slid down the side of the bed until her knees hit the floor. Her shoulders shook violently. A massive, suffocating wave of shock collided with an explosive surge of relief.
Five years ago. This was the day she had swallowed a handful of sleeping pills. She had done it because Destiny told her it was the only way to force their parents to cancel the prenuptial agreement with Heinrich Mcdowell.
Rapid footsteps echoed in the hallway. The heavy oak double doors of the VIP suite burst open.
A team of nurses in high-end private clinic scrubs rushed in, their eyes wide as they saw Eleanora sitting on the floor, the heart monitor still screaming.
Eleanora dropped her hands from her face. She lowered her head, letting her long, dark hair fall forward to hide the violent, murderous light in her eyes. She forced the chaotic storm in her chest down, locking it away.
The head nurse approached in a sudden panic, holding a fresh IV line. "Miss Kensington, what's wrong? Please get back in bed, your heart rate is dangerously high! We need to re-insert the line immediately."
Eleanora took a slow, deep breath. When she raised her head, her face was a mask of cold, absolute calm.
She swatted the nurse's hand away. The movement was sharp and dismissive. She grabbed the edge of the mattress and pulled herself up to her feet.
"Get out," Eleanora said. Her voice was weak from the stomach pumping, but the tone carried a heavy, crushing authority that brooked no argument.
The nurses froze.
"I don't need any medical intervention," Eleanora stated, her eyes sweeping over them like they were dust. "I want absolute silence. Leave."
The head nurse swallowed hard, clearly intimidated by the sudden, chilling shift in the usually hysterical girl's demeanor. She nodded quickly, gesturing for the others to follow. They backed out of the room and pulled the doors shut.
The silence returned. Eleanora walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. The glittering skyline of Manhattan stretched out below her.
She looked at her own reflection in the glass. Her eyes were dead and cold. She remembered exactly what happened next in her past life. She had woken up, screamed at her parents, and thrown a glass at her brother Dalton when he tried to calm her down. She had destroyed her family's heart that day.
Her fingernails bit into the soft flesh of her palms. The sharp sting grounded her.
God had given her a second chance. She would not be the stupid, easily manipulated ATM ever again. She would take Destiny and Justen, drag them into the light, and crush them in the very high-society circles they worshipped.
But first, she had to stop the domino effect she had started. She had to stop her father from canceling the prenup.
She turned away from the window and walked to the closet. She stripped off the hospital gown, letting it pool on the floor. She pulled a Chanel tweed jacket from a hanger and slipped it on over her shoulders, buttoning it up.
She walked to the heavy metal door handle. She gripped it, her knuckles turning white, and pulled the door open to face the storm waiting outside.
