REINA'S POV The doctor's words didn't feel real. A few months. I stared at the crack in the ceiling tile instead of his face, counting it like it could give me more time... I promised Dad and mum I would live a happy life. My hands were shaking on the blanket. Ten years married. Ten years of my mother-in-law's eyes dropping to my stomach every single time we met, ten years of silence where a baby should have been. And still - I was calm. Strange, how calm I was. Maybe dying was for the better. Sarah had been here all morning, holding my hand, laughing at my bad jokes the way she always did. Then she stood up, grabbed her bag, and smiled at me. "I h-have a date tonight," she said. I forced a smile even though something in my chest twisted at the word. "Don't wait up for me," she said, winking, and left. I called Andrew. No answer. I called again. Nothing. My thumb hovered over his name a third time before I put the phone down. I need him here. I don't have many nights left to spend with him. I couldn't stand the hospital anymore the smell of it, the beeping, the white walls closing in. I got dressed, ignored the nurse's protest, and took a taxi home. The house was dark. The front door stood open a crack, like someone had forgotten to shut it. My stomach dropped, but I pushed the door open anyway. Candles. Rows of them, flickering along the hallway floor. A pair of heels by the stairs but they are not mine. I looked closer only to see they belong to Sarah. Maybe she's helping Andrew plan something for me. I almost believed it. Then I heard the moaning. My whole body went cold. My feet moved before my mind caught up, one step, then another, toward the bedroom door. I heard Sarah's voice first. "I want the Lady Dior bag. It's so beautiful," she said, giggling like a child. I heard Andrew's voice next, low and warm, the voice he used to use with me. "The doctors say Reina won't last much longer. There's a big payout coming - life insurance, and her trust fund too." "Really?" Sarah's voice went bright. "The second she's gone, I'll buy you that bag," Andrew said. "I won't even waste money on a funeral. All of it goes to you." My chest caved in on itself. Ten years. Ten years, and this was what they'd been planning behind my back. I pushed the door open. "H-how dare you," I said, my voice cracking on every word. "How d-dare you do this to me." Sarah shot up, dragging the blanket over herself. Andrew stood too, not bothering to cover himself, his face pale but empty of shame. My mind went blank, my ears ringing. Andrew hadn't touched me for a very long time, now I understood why. "I'm c-calling the police," I said, reaching for my phone with a hand that wouldn't stop shaking. Sarah crossed the room in three fast steps and grabbed my wrist before I could dial. "Wait. Wait, please." Her voice cracked, desperate, her fingers digging into my skin. "Reina, please, I'm your friend, we are best friends you don't understand, I never meant..." "Let g-go of me." I wrenched my arm back. "I've been there for you every single day!" she shouted, tears spilling now, her whole face twisted with something that looked almost like grief for herself. "You think I wanted this? You think this was easy for me?" While Sarah was talking, my eyes caught the glint of pearls at her throat - the necklace. My necklace. The one I'd given her after the diagnosis, when I still thought I had a friend beside me instead of a vulture circling. I remembered wrapping it in her hands and telling her to keep it, to remember me by. I remembered how happy she'd looked. I remembered how happy I'd looked, thinking I was leaving something precious with someone who loved me. It was all a lie. She hadn't been mourning me in advance. She'd been waiting. Counting down the days until I was gone and she could have everything that used to be mine - starting, apparently, with my husband. Something in me snapped. I didn't decide to move - my hands just moved on their own, grabbing the pearls and yanking, hard enough that the clasp bit into her skin before it gave way. The string snapped; pearls scattered across the floor between us like something breaking apart in slow motion. "Homewrecker!" The word tore out of me, louder and uglier than I meant it to sound, echoing off the walls. Sarah's hand flew to her throat where the necklace had been, and for one second she just stared at me - stunned. Then her face twisted, and she slapped me so hard my ears rang. The slap landed before I even saw her hand move. My cheek burned, my ears rang, and for a second the room tilted sideways. Something in me snapped loose. I slapped her back, hard, the sound cracking through the room like a door slamming. Sarah's mouth fell open. She pressed a hand to her own cheek like she couldn't believe I'd done it. "H-how dare you cry, h-h-how dare you make this about you?" my voice was shaking worse than my hands. "Okay - okay, enough!" Andrew stepped between us, grabbing my shoulders, and shoved me back hard enough that I stumbled into the dresser, my hip catching the corner of it. Pain shot up my side. He hadn't even looked to see if I was hurt. He was already turned toward Sarah, checking her cheek with his thumb. I stared at him from the floor. Something about seeing him from down here - the careless way he held himself, like I was the disruption in his evening - made the last ten years rearrange themselves in my head all at once. "You pushed me," I said in disbelief "Your wife. You pushed me." "You're being dramatic." He didn't even turn around. "Nobody hurt you." "You're h-having an affair in our bed while I'm dying, and I'm being *dramatic*?" He finally looked at me then, and there was nothing in his face. No guilt. No flinch. Just mild irritation, like I was a meeting running long. "What do you want me to say, Reina? You were going to die anyway. I didn't think it would matter this much to you." The words landed harder than the slap had. Ten years, and that was the sentence he had for me - I didn't think it would matter. "We were m-married," I said. "You stood in front of everyone and p-promised-" "And I stayed for ten years," he cut in, like that made him owed something. "Ten years, no kids, my mother asking me every holiday why I married you. You think I don't deserve something for myself before-" He stopped himself, but I heard the rest anyway. Before you die and stop being my problem. I couldn't breathe. I opened my mouth to say something else, anything else, and found nothing there. That was when I noticed Sarah had gone quiet behind him. Too quiet. I turned to find her and heard "I've hated you for years," she said, and closed the distance before I could move and drove a knife in my chest. Pain tore through me, sharp and then strangely far away, like it belonged to someone else's body. I looked past the blade, past Sarah's tears, and found Andrew. He didn't move. He didn't call for help. He just watched, his arm sliding around Sarah's shoulders to comfort her, while I slid down against the wall. The last thing I saw was Sarah crying into his chest. Then the dark took me - and when I opened my eyes again, I was fifteen years in the past

REINA'S POV My eyes snapped open as a desperate gasp tore through my throat. My lungs burned as if I had been underwater for hours. "Ah!" Each breath came in ragged hitches, my body trembling with the instinctual terror of dying. My hand flew to my chest right where Sarah had driven the blade. I braced for the slick heat of blood and the tearing pain of a mortal wound, but my palm pressed against dry fabric. "Nightwear? Why am I wearing nightwear?" My fingers scrambled across my chest, clutching, probing, tearing at my shirt. No gaping wound. No torn flesh. Not even a bruise from the hospital needles or the wasting sickness that had starved my body for months. The blinding pain was gone, leaving only the ghost of a broken heart and the sting of betrayal. A piercing chime shattered the silence. I flinched and turned toward the nightstand. Laying there, vibrating against the wood, was a thick, black smartphone with a cracked home button-a model I had traded in years ago. I picked it up with shaking hands and slid my thumb across the glass. The screen lit up: October 14, 2011. My throat went dry. Tomorrow was October 15th-the night Andrew proposed. "This isn't real..." I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress and stumbled toward the bathroom. Pushing the door open, I froze in front of the mirror. The woman staring back had color in her cheeks and smooth, youthful skin. The dark circles and hollow jawline from my months in a hospital bed were completely gone. I backed away, pressing my hands against the pedestal sink. The faded yellow wallpaper. The rusted faucet. The squeaky floorboard under my left heel. This was my old studio apartment. The one I left the week I married Andrew. I'm back. I sank down onto the bathmat, pulling my knees to my chest as the weight of the memory hit me like a physical blow. Tomorrow night at the restaurant, Andrew would get down on one knee. Right before I could answer, his mother would burst through the doors. I could still feel the burn of her palm crashing across my cheek, hear her voice echoing over the quiet music as she called me a fatherless leech. And Andrew... Andrew didn't move. He didn't stop her. He stepped right over me as I sobbed on the floor, whispering excuses to his mother while the entire restaurant watched. And then there was Sarah. A bitter, quiet sound escaped my throat. Sarah had convinced me to wear a dull, oversized brown dress that night, promising it looked "sweet and humble." Then she walked in an hour late in a tailored red dress, standing by the bar sipping champagne while strangers mocked me. My knuckles turned white as I balled my hands into fists. Today, Sarah was supposed to drop off that hideous brown dress, acting like a sister while laying the groundwork for my public ruin. I stood up, wiping my cold face. The terror that had paralyzed me moments ago began to harden into something cold and sharp. I wasn't going to wear that dress. I wasn't going to let Andrew, his mother, or Sarah humiliate me ever again. I can't fight them alone, I realized, pacing the narrow space. Andrew's family has money and influence. I have nothing. Then a memory surfaced-a rare moment from my past life. Andrew used to despise his uncle, Sebastian. He couldn't stand being in the same room with him because Sebastian was the only person who saw straight through Andrew's fake charm. Sebastian had power, wealth, and zero tolerance for his family's cruelty. A dark realization took root. I walked back to the small wooden desk in the corner of my room, pulled out a clean notebook, and uncapped a black pen. My fingers stopped trembling the second the tip touched the paper. I drew a thick line straight down the middle of the page. On the left side, I wrote Andrew & Sarah. On the right, I wrote about Sebastian. Under Sarah's column, I listed every piece of advice she used to sabotage me, starting with the dress she was bringing today. Beside it, I wrote: Reframe. In Andrew's column, I noted his mother's hidden financial debts, the offshore account he kept secret from his family, and the exact timing of tomorrow night's proposal setup. Knowledge from a life I had already lived wasn't just a memory anymore-it was lethal leverage. Finally, I tapped the pen against Sebastian's name and circled it twice. There was a rumor that had circulated through high-society circles in my past life-a vicious whisper that Andrew's powerful uncle was incapable of producing an heir to secure his seat at the head of the family enterprise. It was the sole rumor that made the untouchable man seem vulnerable, and Andrew's mother had secretly been banking on it, expecting Sebastian's fortune to fall to Andrew by default. Whether the rumor was true or a clever test Sebastian let float around didn't matter. The board of directors wanted stability. If I offered Sebastian a strategic alliance, a marriage contract that silenced the rumors and solidified his power, he would gain total control over the enterprise. And in return, he would give me the ultimate shield to tear Andrew and Sarah down piece by piece. I shut the notebook with a quiet snap, slipped it beneath my mattress, and mapped out my plan to crash his favorite private bar tonight. "Game on," I whispered.

REINA'S POV I pulled a faded, oversized hoodie off the hanger and tossed it onto the bed. Clothes were piled everywhere, but every single piece felt wrong. I grabbed a chunk of my hair, tugging at the frizzy bangs that hung like a dark curtain over my eyes. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. "Reina, I'm bringing your dress over this evening!" Sarah's text read, followed by a heart emoji. I stared at her name on the screen. My hand began to shake, the cold memory of my past life rushing back-the betrayal, the pain, the cold concrete as my life slipped away while Sarah stood over me. This was the first time I would hear her voice since dying. My thumb hovered over the call button, frozen. Blood roared in my ears, every nerve screaming at me to throw the phone. I closed my eyes, took a sharp breath, and forced my chest to stop heaving. I grabbed my purse, slipped out the front door, and hit the call button as I hit the pavement. "Hey Sarah," I said, gritting my teeth to keep my voice light and breezily indifferent. "I'm actually out running a quick errand right now. Just toss the dress in my mailbox. I'll grab it as soon as I get back." Silence stretched across the line, heavy and calculating. "In your mailbox?" Sarah's voice dropped, the sweet facade slipping just a fraction. "Reina, it's a high-end designer gown. It's going to get wrinkled in that metal box. I really should just wait in your living room until you get home." I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing my tight lips to relax into a smooth smirk. "Don't be ridiculous, it's fine for an hour," I replied, glancing into a store window as I walked past to catch my reflection-frizz, bangs, and all. "Besides, the dry cleaner down the street owes me a favor. I'll just have them steam it out." "Well... fine, if you're sure," she sighed, her irritation leaking through the speaker. "I'll leave it in the box. But don't be late getting ready!" "Wouldn't dream of it," I murmured. I tapped the button to end the call, dropped the phone into my bag, and pushed open the heavy glass doors of the dual-concept boutique. Rows of sleek designer clothes lined the left side, while the scent of expensive hair oils and perfumes drifted from the salon on the right. I stood in the center, completely paralyzed. A stylist with bright purple hair and sharp eyeliner stepped out from behind a vanity chair, eyeing my faded hoodie and frizzy fringe. "Can I help you find a seat, honey?" she asked, tilting her head. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I chewed on my bottom lip, staring at the wall of hair products. It had been so long since I had looked in a mirror or cared about my appearance that I didn't even know the words for what I needed. Layered cut? Keratin treatment? Blowout? It all sounded like a foreign language. "I..." I swallowed hard, clearing my throat. "I don't really know what to ask for." The stylist raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. "Okay. What are we getting ready for?" I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a deep breath. "An ambush," I said, looking her dead in the eye. "I need to look lethal tonight, not nice. Can you do that?" The stylist blinked once, twice, and then a wide grin split across her face. "Say no more, girl," she laughed, grabbing a black cape and snapping it through the air. "Revenge makeovers are my absolute specialty. Sit down and trust me." I let out a breath and climbed into the hydraulic chair. For the next hour, I kept my eyes tightly closed. I listened to the sharp snip of scissors near my forehead, the warm blast of the blow dryer, and the gentle sweep of makeup brushes across my skin. When she finally unpinned the cape and spun the chair around, I opened my eyes. The breath caught in my throat. The heavy, frizzy curtain that used to hide my face was gone, replaced by soft, sleek curtain bangs that framed my features perfectly. My skin glowed, my eyes looked sharp and striking beneath dark lashes, and the deep red lip color made me look entirely dangerous. A single hot tear spilled over my lash line, cutting a track down my freshly powdered cheek. Then another. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed, the heavy weight of my past life washing over me all at once. The girl who let herself be destroyed was gone. "Oh no, no, sweetie!" the stylist gasped, grabbing a box of tissues. "We can't ruin the mascara now!" I wiped my cheeks, catching her eye in the mirror with a weak, watery laugh. "I'm sorry," I whispered, dabbing at my eyes. "It's just... I'm finally back." "Then let's fix that blush," she smiled, handing me a tissue. "You've got an empire to burn tonight." Before leaving, I walked over to the fashion side of the boutique, pulled a sleek midnight-black silk gown off the rack, and traded my faded hoodie for armor. At exactly seven o'clock, I pushed open the heavy brass doors of The Pearl Regent. Rich cedar scent and low jazz filled the dim, amber-lit room. Andrew used to rant endlessly about how much he hated this place, constantly complaining about Sebastian's habit of hiding out here after work for a glass of red wine. Back then, I thought it was just bitter babbling. Now, every piece of useless information he ever dropped was paying off. Every eye in the room swiveled toward me as my heels clicked against the polished dark wood floor. I didn't flinch. I had already died once, so the gazes of a few wealthy strangers meant absolutely nothing to me. My eyes scanned the low tables until they landed on the back corner booth. There he sat-Sebastian. Dark suit, immaculate posture, swirling a glass of cabernet between two fingers. I walked straight past the server and stopped right at the edge of his table. "Can I help you?" Sebastian asked, his deep voice carrying a sharp edge as he looked up. His dark eyes narrowed slightly, taking in my sleek hair, my exposed face, and the cut of my dress. I leaned over the table, placing both palms flat on the dark wood to look him dead in the eye. "Marry me."