"Colby, today we took our vows in church. Why are you doing this?" Alexis Davenport knelt on the freezing terrazzo floor of the subterranean wine cellar in their Long Island oceanfront bridal villa. Coarse hemp ropes bit into her wrists, smearing blood across her mud-soaked white couture wedding gown. Her throat burned as she forced her heavy eyelids open. Right in front of her face stood a pair of polished black oxfords. Colby Zamora looked down at her, flipping the metal lid of an expensive lighter open and shut. Three years ago, this heir to Zamora Industries had stood outside her house for three hours in a pouring thunderstorm just to hand her a bowl of hot soup. That single night was why she had insisted on marrying him. Now, his handsome face twisted with pure disgust. He raised his foot and kicked the stone pillar behind her, rattling the hanging iron chains. "Vows? Did you really think I wanted a boring, spoiled heiress like you?" Colby sneered. "If it weren't for the core semiconductor packaging patents in your father's Davenport Labs, looking at you for another second would make me puke." Sharp heels clicked down the dark cellar stairs. A woman in a crimson silk nightgown walked out of the shadows. Bobbye Davenport swayed forward, her dark-red nails wrapping around Colby's arm as she pressed her body against his chest. As the orphan taken in by the Davenport family years ago, she looked down at Alexis with a mocking smile. "My dear sister, look at you now. You look just like a stray dog thrown out in the rain." Alexis's pupils shrank, her chest heaving as if struck by a heavy hammer. "Bobbye... my parents treated you like their own flesh and blood and paid for the best private prep schools in the country. Last winter when I had a hundred-and-four fever, you stayed by my bed all night changing cold towels and blocked three glasses of liquor for me at the gala—how could you and him..." Bobbye raised her hand and slapped Alexis hard across the face, splitting the corner of her mouth open. "Own flesh and blood? I was just an adopted charity case your family used to show off!" Bobbye hissed, her nails digging into her own palm. "Why is every core trust fund only in your name? I am sick of picking up your scraps!" Colby tossed an empty briefcase onto the floor, pulled out a share transfer agreement and a patent authorization contract, and stomped his heel down on Alexis's bound fingers. A scream tore from Alexis's throat as her knuckles ground against the stone. Colby yanked her thumb, mashed it into a red ink pad, and pressed it hard onto the signature line. He blew on the bloody print, his eyes gleaming. "With this, tomorrow morning Zamora Industries will swallow every piece of technology your family owns." Alexis collapsed against the wet floor, bloody tears blurring her sight. "You got what you wanted, so let me go... My parents are waiting for us at the main Long Island estate five miles away to pop champagne at eight. If we don't show up, they'll call the police!" Bobbye burst into a shrill laugh and bent down to whisper in Alexis's ear. "The main estate? Sister, guess what your family's main estate looks like right now?" Alexis's breath stopped cold, her heart dropping into a pit of ice. "What... what did you do to my mom and dad?" Bobbye pulled a phone from her clutch and shoved the bright screen in front of Alexis's eyes. Live security footage showed the Davenport main estate swallowed by towering flames. Through the thick smoke on the screen, her mother's silhouette twisted desperately on the second-floor balcony. Colby picked up a heavy red metal can, unscrewed the cap, and poured freezing, pungent gasoline over Alexis's head and wedding dress. The liquid seeped into the cut on her cheek, burning her skin as she thrashed uselessly against the chains. Stepping back three paces, Colby flicked the metal lighter. A small blue flame danced in the dim cellar. "Don't blame me, Alexis. Only dead people never claim intellectual property rights. Go reunite with your parents in hell." Colby let go of the lighter. It arced through the air and hit the gasoline-soaked hem of her gown. With a deafening roar, orange flames shot toward the ceiling. Fire wrapped around her entire body, her skin sizzling in the heat as black smoke choked off her screams. Bobbye grabbed Colby's arm, retreating to the heavy steel door and slamming the deadbolt shut from the outside. Above the cellar, a sports car engine roared to life and sped away. Alexis convulsed in the blaze as the ropes burned through. She clawed at the scorching floor with blackened hands, staring at the locked iron door with a guttural roar in her throat. Just as the wooden beams overhead cracked and a fireball crashed down, she heard Bobbye's muffled voice from the top of the stairs earlier echoing in her dying mind: "Are all the patent transfer papers done?" If there was another life, she would drag them both into the deepest pit of hell. Blinding white light and pitch-black smoke swallowed her sight completely.

Alexis bolted upright from the pitch-black smoke, her fingers clawing into the crisp cotton bedsheets beneath her. The sharp smell of hospital disinfectant replaced the stench of gasoline. Instead of roaring flames, a heart monitor beeped steadily beside her ear. Panting hard in a sweat-soaked gray hospital gown, she looked down at the back of her hands. Her skin was pale, smooth, and completely unburned. "Oh my God, Alexis! You're finally awake! The doctor said it was just heatstroke and low blood sugar from fainting, but you scared me half to death!" A blonde girl sitting by the bed dropped her paring knife and threw her arms around her. Alexis turned her stiff neck and looked into a pair of clear, anxious blue eyes. With her sharp wavy bob, Paige Frost was a financial prodigy and her closest friend. The last thing Alexis remembered from her past life was a late-night phone call two years from now—Paige had swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills in a tiny forty-square-meter London rental apartment, leaving behind an empty funeral and a stack of rejected law firm debt notices. Alexis raised a trembling hand to touch Paige's warm cheek, her voice choking up. "Paige... you're still here? I'm not... I'm not dead?" Paige pressed the back of her hand against Alexis's forehead and laughed softly. "What are you talking about? You slipped from heatstroke at your engagement warm-up cocktail party in Central Park. You've only been here at Mount Sinai Hospital for three hours." Alexis's head buzzed as her eyes locked onto the digital calendar on the nightstand: May 17, three years ago. She had come back. Her fingers dug into the blanket as a layer of ice settled deep in her eyes. In her past life, she had laid in this exact ward for two hours like a fool, waiting for the man who was currently shacking up with Bobbye behind her back. Her parents were still alive, and the Davenport semiconductor patents were still safe. Paige rolled her eyes beside the bed, crossing her arms in annoyance. "And don't even get me started on your precious fiancé. You've been here for three hours, and that guy hasn't even shown his face or picked up his phone. God knows which woman he was fooling around with." Hearing Paige voice the exact truth she already knew, Alexis didn't panic or cry as she used to. Instead, she leaned back against the soft pillow and let out a slow breath. "Paige, call the front desk and cancel his visit. Tell them I'm not seeing anyone today." Paige froze, half a peeled apple hanging in her hand. "What did you say? Didn't you used to lose your mind if you didn't see Colby for one minute? You wouldn't even let me say a single bad word about him." Alexis turned toward the Manhattan skyline outside the window, the corner of her mouth curving into a cold smirk. "I was blind before. Blocking him once lets him know I'm no longer at his beck and call. Letting him in later will show me how he plans to put on his act." Her custom phone buzzed on the nightstand, flashing the name "Dad (Branch Davenport)" on the screen. Her eyes reddened instantly, and she swiped the answer button with a shaking finger. "Dad..." Her father's steady, caring voice came through the speaker. "Alexis, I heard you're at Mount Sinai? Your mother and I are driving back from the Connecticut R&D base right now. How are you feeling?" Hearing the warm voice of the father who had burned to death in her last life, Alexis swallowed the lump in her throat, her knuckles whitening. "I'm fine, Dad, just a little tired. Drive safely with Mom." "That's good. Bobbye just called us crying, saying it was all her fault for not taking care of you. That girl is too sensitive," Branch sighed. Alexis's eyes turned cold. In her past life, that exact phone call had made her mother feel guilty enough to take Bobbye to Fifth Avenue the next day and buy her a jewelry set meant for Alexis. "Dad, never mind her. When we get back to the Long Island estate tonight, I have something critical to discuss with you about independent escrow and anti-theft protocols for our core semiconductor patents," Alexis said, enunciating every word. When she hung up, her knuckles were white around the phone. She buried her face against her knees for three seconds in silent tears before throwing off the covers and stepping onto the carpet. Walking into the marble bathroom, she splashed freezing tap water onto her twenty-two-year-old face. Looking in the mirror, she rubbed her left wrist—the skin was unbroken, yet the phantom ache of hemp rope lingered. She walked out of the bathroom and grabbed her black cashmere trench coat from the rack. "Paige, walk with me. This room is making me sick."

Alexis wrapped the black trench coat around herself and stepped out of the VIP ward with Paige right behind her, walking down the carpeted corridor toward the top-floor conservatory garden. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the bulletproof glass dome, mixing with the scent of cedarwood cologne and expensive cigars. Outside the lounge area ahead, four burly bodyguards in dark gray custom suits stood in a line, gun holsters bulging slightly under their jackets. Paige tugged Alexis's sleeve and whispered in her ear. "Look at that lineup. That's the Fifth Avenue Sharpe family's security detail. I heard their most notorious second young master broke his leg street racing again and got sent here." Austyn Sharpe. Alexis stopped dead in her tracks. She didn't just remember the tabloids calling him a trust-fund waste who lost a hundred million at a poker table in a single night. She remembered a charity gala from her past life: she had walked past the terrace holding champagne when this man leaned against a pillar and told her, "Your father's packaging patent will get him killed sooner or later." Three days later, a billion-dollar merger led by Zamora Industries had mysteriously collapsed overnight. Six months after that, Wall Street bled red as an anonymous capital giant—signing off only as "S"—single-handedly bankrupt three legacy hedge funds in seventy-two hours. She knew "S" was the paralyzed man in that wheelchair. Austyn Sharpe was never a reckless playboy; he was a brilliant, ruthless predator who orchestrated corporate executions while playing the fool. In her past life, Colby had relied on corrupt judges, dark web hackers, and dirty financial maneuvers to destroy her family. Standard legal battles or peaceful negotiations would never stop him. If she wanted to drag Colby into hell, she didn't need a white knight—she needed a monster with lethal claws, someone with the raw ruthless power to tear the Zamora family apart at the seams. And even clearer was her memory of this exact day at Mount Sinai: in her past life, she had accidentally helped him earlier, and he had told her, "I owe you a favor. Come find me when you know what you want." Last time, she had walked away like a naive heiress. This time, she came to collect. Through the trimmed green hedges, Alexis spotted him. Austyn Sharpe wore a black silk shirt with two buttons undone at the collar. His right leg was resting under a thin cashmere throw, locked inside a lightweight cast he wore solely to feign injury and deceive his rivals, while his long fingers idly spun a custom lighter. His special assistant, Khalid Figueroa, bowed slightly and handed him an offshore trust report. "Sir, the first branch thinks your crash damaged your nerves. They already proposed cutting your trust dividends at this morning's board meeting." Austyn didn't even lift his eyelids, letting out a low, cold laugh. "Let them cut it. Every bone those idiots swallow, they'll spit back out with interest." Alexis's heart thudded hard against her ribs. His exaggerated injury and reckless playboy reputation were nothing more than armor to induce complacency in the first branch. Right now, even this dangerous predator was facing a temporary vulnerability: the Sharpe family's aggressive first branch was using his "accident" to choke off his capital permissions. He possessed unmatched financial firepower, but he lacked an ironclad industrial asset to silence the elders on the board. She held the patents; he held the iron fist and private hedge fund channels. She was handing him the perfect weapon to seize his throne, and in return, he would become her most lethal executioner. If I want to crush Colby and the vipers behind him, I need the deadliest blade in Manhattan on my side. And to bind a man like Austyn Sharpe, a simple deal isn't enough—I must tie our destinies together under a legal bond. Pulling her arm free from Paige's grip, she took a deep breath and walked straight toward the security line. Two black-suited bodyguards stepped forward immediately, raising their arms to block her. "Sorry, ma'am. Private area." Alexis didn't flinch, looking right past the guards' shoulders into the dark eyes of the man in the wheelchair. "Mr. Sharpe, do you need a bargaining chip that will let you break the first branch's chokehold and legally take over your family's core capital?" Austyn's fingers paused on the lighter. He narrowed his dark eyes, studying her face before raising a hand. "Stand down. Let her through." At the end of the corridor, two socialites coming out of the dermatology clinic covered their mouths with their handbags, giggling as one raised her phone to snap a photo of the crazy woman throwing herself at that Sharpe degenerate. "The Davenport heiress?" Austyn curved his thin lips in mockery. "If I remember right, every Manhattan media outlet this morning was broadcasting your engagement to that lapdog from the Zamora family." "That dog is about to have his legs broken by my own hands," Alexis replied evenly. She leaned forward and planted both hands on the armrests of his wheelchair, bringing her face close enough to feel his breath. A faint scent of camellia brushed past Austyn's nose. He raised an eyebrow and leaned back slightly, his gaze dropping to her pale lips. "So, the noble Miss Davenport broke through my security detail just to declare a rebellion to my face?" Alexis looked straight into his eyes and spoke clearly, dropping her cards one by one. "I know your trust dividends are being choked by the board. I know you need a solid industrial firewall to prove to the elders that you aren't just a reckless playboy wasting family assets. That's why I'm here." Austyn's expression shifted by a fraction of a millimetre, the amusement in his dark eyes instantly replaced by a razor-sharp evaluation. "Go on." "I want you to marry me, Mr. Sharpe." Behind him, Khalid's expression cracked in shock. Austyn's smile faded completely, dark currents surging in his eyes as he looked at the young woman who had just uttered insanity. "Proposing to the biggest waste in Manhattan? Alexis Davenport, did you hit your head?" Alexis curved her lips into a cold, unbroken smile. "I'm bringing the exclusive voting rights of the Davenport core semiconductor patents as my dowry—an asset powerful enough to anchor any conglomerate's board—in exchange for your private hedge fund channels and absolute enforcement." She held his gaze, her voice low and steady.He will take the bait. Because he knows better than anyone that an alliance built on lethal utility and shared power is infinitely stronger than love. Austyn reached out, his long fingers gripping her chin as his voice dropped to a cold whisper meant only for the two of them. "Do you know what it means to marry a family tumor?" She didn't pull back. She simply met his gaze and smiled. "I don't care about tumors, Mr. Sharpe. I only care about who survives."