Silk. That was the last thing she remembered—the feel of silk beneath her fingers. Red silk, deep and expensive, clinging to her skin like blood.
Then pain.
Not the sharp, sudden kind, but slow. Creeping. Inevitable.
Aurelia Voss, queen of the corporate world, lay sprawled on the cold marble floor of her penthouse, her vision dimming as the weight of betrayal settled on her chest like lead. Champagne flutes glittered on the table. Music echoed faintly from the ballroom below. The scent of roses—her favorites—drifted through the air, heavy and sickening.
Her last memory before the darkness swallowed her?
Delilah's voice.
Soft. Sweet. Apologetic.
"I never meant for it to end this way, Lia… But you were in the way."
And Lucien? Her husband? Her partner?
Gone.
Just like always when it mattered.
She awoke gasping.
The sheets clung to her skin, her heart thundering against her ribs.
Aurelia's eyes darted across the ornate molding, confusion slicing through the fog of her mind. Her body felt light—uninjured. There was no ballroom, no cameras, no blood-soaked silk gown.
Only soft sunlight filtering through velvet curtains… and silence.
The ceiling was wrong.
The ceiling above her wasn't the vaulted crystal chandelier of the penthouse she'd died in. No. It was white. Familiar.
Too familiar.
She sat upright, eyes wide, disoriented.
This bedroom—this bed—it was the one from Hart Tower. The one she'd first moved into after signing the contract.
After her wedding.
Her gaze swept the room in disbelief. The heavy curtains, the obsidian glass walls, the faint scent of Lucien's cologne in the air.
It was the past.
Her pulse skidded.
No. It couldn't be.
She flung off the sheets and rushed to the vanity mirror.
The face staring back at her was five years younger.
Fresher, unlined, untouched by the weight of betrayal and boardrooms. No scar beneath her collarbone from the fall. No ink-black rings under her eyes from sleepless nights of clawing back her dignity. No lines. Her auburn hair was thick and unbleached. Her skin was flawless.
Her phone buzzed. Her hands trembled as she picked it up.
March 2, 2020.
Five years ago.
I'm alive.
She staggered back from the mirror.
"I'm... alive."
No. Not just alive.
Back.
Back before the scandals. Before the affairs. Before Delilah twisted the knife and Lucien stood watching her get destroyed.
She clutched her chest as memories flooded her like a tidal wave. Her award night. The press conference. Her mother's crying eyes. The scandal about the Voss Foundation. Delilah stealing her brand. The public humiliation. The knife.
Aurelia Voss—thirty-three years old, recently murdered CEO—was standing in her twenty-eight-year-old body again, married to the man who would one day help destroy her.
She doubled over, gasping.
Her breath came fast and shallow. A thousand emotions surged—confusion, disbelief, fear… and something darker.
This is real.
The universe, God, fate—something—had thrown her into the past.
And this time, she wouldn't waste it.
Her reflection watched with growing steel in its eyes. The Aurelia of before had been trusting. Glamorous. Raised to believe love was a currency she could earn with devotion.
But the Aurelia standing here now had died a queen—and been reborn a storm.
She had five years.
Five years before the gala.
Five years before the poison in the wine.
Five years before Delilah's snakeskin smile and Lucien's icy indifference would end her life.
Not this time.
This time, she'd rewrite the rules before the game even began.
Not again.
She would not be a fool twice.
The knock on the door was sharp. Two precise raps.
Aurelia snapped her head toward it, adrenaline still thick in her veins.
She knew that rhythm well.
Aurelia's spine stiffened as the door to the bedroom creaked open.
And then he walked in.
Lucien Hart.
Her husband.
Tall. Impeccable. Ice-blue eyes that missed nothing, dark hair smoothed back, a navy suit crisp over broad shoulders. He looked as he always had—perfect, unreadable, untouchable.
She stared.
God, she had once loved this man.
Once.
He hadn't betrayed her with fire or fists—but with apathy. With silence. With the blade of calculated coldness that never flinched as she bled out.
But now? He didn't look like a monster.
Not yet.
Lucien's eyes narrowed.
"You're awake."
She nodded, slow. Measured. Her heart pounded, but she willed her face into a mask of polite confusion.
"I... had a strange dream."
Lucien's expression barely flickered. "You passed out after the gala. Exhaustion. You should take better care of yourself."
The gala.
Of course. Last night had been their engagement gala. Hart-Voss Merger announced. Two empires fused with a single signature.
He didn't love her then. He never did. Their marriage had been a deal. A contract between titans.
And she'd walked into it like a lamb.
"I'll be fine," she said softly, glancing away. "I just need... a moment."
Lucien studied her for a beat longer than necessary.
"Very well. Rest if you need to. Your schedule is light today." He turned to leave, then paused. "We'll be hosting a dinner with Delilah Monroe and her father this evening."
Delilah.
The name sent a ripple of nausea through her.
"Right," she whispered. "Delilah."
Lucien left without another word.
When the door clicked shut, Aurelia finally let herself fall into the chair by the vanity.
So this was real. Somehow, impossibly, she had been given a second chance. Her memories—clear. Her knowledge—intact. The game board had reset, and all the pieces were back in play.
But this time...
She would not lose.
An hour later, Aurelia sat alone in the sitting room, dressed in silk and silence. The morning sun streamed through the glass walls, illuminating the untouched luxury she'd once taken for granted.
Everything felt like glass now. Fragile. Hollow.
She reached for the newspaper on the coffee table. Financial Daily. Dated: Monday, March 2nd.
She felt the blood drain from her face.
She knew what week this was. The same week Lucien had begun the quiet moves to isolate her. The week Delilah first stepped into his office for "business." The week her mother had last smiled.
Five years ago, this week had been the beginning of her downfall.
But now, it would be the start of something else.
A sound startled her. Her phone—an older model, sleek and pristine. She picked it up and scanned the screen.
Delilah Monroe: Miss you already, queen. Can't wait for tonight!
Aurelia's lips twisted.
Liar.
She stood and moved to the window, staring down at the city below. The skyline sparkled, oblivious to the war she would soon wage. From here, the world still thought she was just a trophy wife. A rich girl turned strategic bride.
Let them.
She would let them all underestimate her again.
Because this time, she was watching.
And this time, when they betrayed her, she'd be ready.
This time, the queen had claws.
And she'd learned exactly where to strike.