A sharp gasp tore from her throat.
She sat bolt upright, clutching the sheets as though she could tear herself free from the darkness still clinging to her skin. Her lungs burned, her heart hammered — and yet… she was breathing.
The air was wrong.
Too cool, faintly scented with sandalwood instead of the heavy floral perfume Lin Xinya always preferred.
Weiwei looked around.
The bedroom was unfamiliar — or rather, familiar in the wrong way. The walls were cream, not the deep gray she had chosen years later. The furniture was older, the vanity crowded with cosmetics she hadn't used in years.
Her gaze fell on the phone charging on the nightstand. An older model. She reached for it with trembling hands, lit the screen — and froze.
May 14, 2018.
Five years earlier.
Her breath came shallow. She slipped from the bed, bare feet meeting the plush rug. Crossing to the desk, she found a stack of glossy envelopes. The top one bore gold-embossed letters: Zhao Mingfeng & Jiang Weiwei — Engagement Banquet Invitation.
Her fingers tightened until the edge of the paper bit into her palm.
From downstairs, she heard her parents' voices drifting up through the quiet mansion.
"…the engagement will be perfect, just as we planned," her mother said warmly.
Her father's deeper voice followed, "It's the right match for the company."
Weiwei stood in the center of the room, the invitation in her hand, the memory of her last breath still ringing in her ears.
Slowly, a smile began to form — not soft, not sweet, but something sharper.
So this time…