The last thing Liana Zhou remembered was blood—hot, sticky, pooling around her bare feet on cold marble. Her vision blurred as Shen Ruoyi's high-pitched laugh echoed through the burning mansion, and Damon Qin, her husband, stood silent beside his mistress, his eyes void of remorse.
"You were always just a placeholder," he had said. Right before the smoke swallowed her whole.
Now, she opened her eyes to a golden ceiling.
Not smoke. Not blood.
A crystal chandelier shimmered above her, too opulent to be real, too alive to be death.
Her breath caught. No pain. No fire. No Damon.
Until—
"Liana."
That voice. Velvet over razors.
She turned her head slowly, as if any quick motion might snap this fragile illusion. And there he was, Damon Qin—perfectly tailored in his suit, the cuffs of his shirt dusted with the same arrogance he always wore.
Alive. Untouched. Ten years younger.
And then she knew.
Fate had reset the board.
"You're quiet," Damon said, leaning on the antique desk like he owned the world. In this timeline, he did.
Liana sat across from him, her fingers gripping the armrest of the leather chair to steady herself. On the table between them lay a sleek velvet box. Open. Inside, a diamond ring sparkled with cruel familiarity.
"Marry me," he said, voice smooth. "Again."
She almost laughed.
Ten years ago, she said yes like a fool.
Today, she said yes like a weapon.
"All right," Liana said, her lips curling into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Let's sign the contract."
Damon blinked once. "You'll marry me—just like that?"
She tilted her head. "Why not? You still need a wife for your image. And I…" She glanced down at the ring. "I have no illusions left to break."
He leaned forward, intrigued. "You've changed."
"Have I?" she said lightly, sliding the box toward her. She didn't touch the ring. She wouldn't wear it—not yet. Maybe not ever.
Damon studied her, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "I expected a fight."
"Oh, I'm sure there'll be fighting," Liana murmured. "Later."
He smiled, unaware he was shaking hands with the devil in heels. "My lawyers will send over the standard prenuptial terms—"
"No," Liana cut in. "I will draft the prenup. You'll sign it tomorrow."
A pause.
Damon's brow lifted—half amused, half insulted. "You want to dictate the terms?"
"I'm offering you a wife, Mr. Qin," she said, her voice like ice wrapped in velvet. "Not a doormat."
Another pause. Then, to her shock, he laughed. Not a polite CEO chuckle—a real laugh, short and sharp.
"You were never boring," he said. "I'd forgotten that."
She stood and straightened her blazer. "Then remember this: You want my name next to yours in the press? Fine. But the marriage ends when I say it does. I won't be caught in your net again."
Damon stood too, towering over her, but she didn't flinch.
"You always make threats sound like invitations."
"And you always mistake poison for perfume."
He stepped aside to let her pass. "Till tomorrow, then."
She brushed past him without a glance back.
Let him think she was being impulsive. Let him think he was still in control.
He had no idea that this time, he was the placeholder.
Scene change: Liana's apartment – Midnight
Liana stood by her window, a glass of red wine in hand, watching the city below. The same skyline from ten years ago. Same lights. Same lies.
She took out a thin folder from her bag—inside, copies of the original marriage contract, the board member list of Qin Corporation, and photos. Photos of Damon and Shen Ruoyi in that goddamn villa. The one they bought using her company's stolen funds.
She poured the wine down the drain and said aloud, cold and calm:
"Play the perfect wife, gain his trust, and burn his empire from the inside. One step at a time."
The plan had begun.
Her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
> "I know what you're doing. And I want in."
She stared at the screen.
Her smile sharpened
Let the bloodletting begin.