Chapter 1
Her eyelids fluttered.
Ciara slowly opened her eyes to a familiar ceiling. Her breath caught. This was her room—the one her father had bought for her and Victor after their wedding. The soft curtains, the carved dresser, the scent of roses… all exactly as it had been.
Her hand brushed against her gown. White silk. The wedding dress.
Her heart froze. No… this can't be.
The last thing she remembered was Victor shoving her to the floor, Clara's cruel laughter ringing in her ears, the warmth of blood spilling between her legs—her child… gone.
Her trembling hand shot to her belly. Whole. Untouched.
The door opened with a creak.
"CiCi, there you are." Clara stepped inside, her smile dazzling, her voice sweet as poisoned honey. "Victor's on his way. Finally, you're Mrs. Hayes." She slipped her hand into Ciara's, squeezing tightly.
Ciara's head pounded. The room swayed. Clara's voice echoed like whispers underwater, words she couldn't quite grasp.
She yanked her hand away, her voice breaking into a scream.
"Stay away from me!"
Clara blinked, stunned. "Ciara—"
"My baby! What did you do to my baby?!" Tears blurred her vision as she stumbled to her feet.
"Cee, what are you talking about?" Clara reached forward, but Ciara bolted, shoving past her. Clara's calls followed down the hall, sharp and persistent, but Ciara didn't stop.
Her bare feet slapped against the polished floors. She turned a corner—straight into a chest.
"Love?" His voice. Deep. Familiar. A voice she once trusted with her whole world. "What's wrong, my darling?"
She looked up. Victor. White shirt, trousers, sleeves rolled as though he had just loosened from the festivities. His face was carved in gentle concern.
But Ciara remembered those same lips whispering apologies as he destroyed her. Those same hands signing her empire away.
Her stomach twisted. Rage surged.
She sank her teeth into his arm.
"Argh!" Victor cried out, jerking back. His grip loosened.
Ciara tore away from him and fled.
Through the doors. Across the gravel. Into the night.
Barefoot, her gown tearing on thorns, she ran until her lungs burned. The road stretched ahead.
Blinding headlights bore down on her. Tires screeched.
"Get out of the way, bitch! Go find somewhere else to die!" the driver roared, swerving past.
She stumbled to the roadside, chest heaving, the world spinning around her.
Her last thought before the darkness claimed her was a whisper:
My baby... baby.
And then she collapsed.
----
She froze, staring around the room. The familiar white curtains. The polished dresser. The framed wedding photo still sitting on the bedside table. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, her mind struggling to keep up.
How… how am I here?
Her hands clutched at her gown. Silk. White. The same wedding dress she remembered wearing before her entire world shattered.
The last memory seared through her mind: Victor's hands shoving her, Clara's cruel laughter, the blood, the agony—her baby.
Her stomach clenched, and she pressed a hand to her belly. Whole. Safe.
Before she could think further, her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
She grabbed it with shaking fingers. The screen lit up with a name that made her breath hitch.
Father.
Her throat tightened as she swiped to answer. "H… hello?"
"Hey, baby," her father's warm voice rumbled through the speaker. "I know your mother told me not to call you, but I just wanted to hear your voice."
Tears welled in her eyes. His voice—alive, full of life and warmth. In her last memories, he had been gone, betrayed, destroyed alongside her. Now here he was, calling her like nothing had ever happened.
In the background, she heard her mother's voice, scolding gently. "Jacob, I told you not to call her. It's her wedding night."
Wedding night.
The words hit her like a storm.
Her chest squeezed as her mother's voice came closer to the phone. "Hang up, Jacob. Give her some privacy."
"No, I'm talking to my baby," her father protested, and she heard shuffling as if the phone was being tugged between them.
Her mother's laugh followed. "Sorry, sweetheart. Your father doesn't know the meaning of privacy. We'll stop bothering you now. Rest well."
The line clicked dead.
Ciara stared at the screen. Her tears blurred the date flashing at the top. February 9, 2022.
The day of her wedding.
Her hand trembled. Was it all a dream? Did everything—the betrayal, the blood, my death—did it never happen?
The door creaked open.
Victor walked in, rubbing his arm where she had bitten him earlier. His smile was gentle, concerned, just as it had been on the night she had loved him most.
"How are you doing now, my love?" His tone was careful, soothing. "What happened? You suddenly went… berserk."
He reached out to touch her.
Ciara flinched back, dodging his hand. Her reaction startled him.
"Ciara?" His brows furrowed. He knelt beside her chair, lowering his voice, as if trying to coax a frightened child. "What's wrong, darling?"
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. This was the man she had given everything to. The man who had kissed her cousin in front of her dying body. And yet here he was—pretending.
Before she could speak, Clara's voice rang from the hall. "The doctor is here!"
Victor stood and moved toward the door, glancing back once with a mask of concern. Clara waited there, her eyes sparkling as though nothing were amiss. The two left together, speaking in hushed tones.
Ciara's gaze followed their retreating figures. Her fingers curled into the sheets. Was it really just a dream? Or…
She lifted her hand to her forehead. Her breath stopped.
There. A faint scar. The very same scar she had gotten when Victor shoved her head into the floor before her death.
Her stomach lurched. No—this wasn't a dream. She was back. Back before everything collapsed.
"Mrs Hayes?" the doctor asked gently, stepping closer. "Are you in pain anywhere?"
Ciara blinked up at him, tears streaming freely now. She forced a shaky smile, shaking her head. "No. I'm fine."
"Are you certain? Should I—"
"I said I'm fine," she interrupted softly, wiping her tears with trembling fingers. She drew in a breath, her lips curving as her shoulders straightened.
"I'm alive. I'm healthy." Her gaze flickered to the door where Victor and Clara had disappeared. Her smile hardened into something sharper, colder.
"And I intend to stay that way for a very, very long time."