The first thing I remembered was the taste of poison.
It was a bitter, metallic film on my tongue, the last sensation I had before the world went black. The last thing I saw was my husband's cold, bored expression and the ghost of a smile on my sister Tyler's face.
I died. I know I did.
So why was my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird?
My eyes flew open. Not to darkness. Not to whatever comes after. But to a soft, pinkish glow from a lamp I hadn't seen in years. The air smelled like my old vanilla perfume, not like antiseptic and despair.
I was in my old bedroom. The one I had before the marriage. Before the betrayal.
My hands flew to my stomach. It was flat. No ache. No dull, throbbing pain from where my baby had been… taken.
A sound ripped from my throat, something between a sob and a scream, and I clapped a hand over my mouth. I stumbled out of bed and toward the full-length mirror on the wall.
I looked… young. My face was fuller, my eyes wide and scared instead of dead and empty. I was eighteen again.
"Eva? Sweetie, are you up? Breakfast is getting cold!"
My mother's voice, sharp and sweet as artificial sugar, floated up the stairs. My blood ran cold. That was the voice that had told me my arranged marriage was a "great opportunity." The voice that told me to stop crying when my husband first ignored me.
This wasn't a second chance. This was a nightmare. I was back in the lion's den, and the lions were smiling at me, asking me to pass the salt.
I forced myself to get dressed, my hands shaking. I had to see them. I had to know this was real.
Downstairs, it was a perfect picture. Dad reading the business section. Mom sipping her tea. Tyler… Tyler was there, looking fresh and brilliant in a crisp white shirt, already tapping away on her laptop.
"There she is. The princess finally decides to join us," Tyler said without looking up. Her voice was light, teasing. But I heard the knife underneath. I always had, I just hadn't known what it was for.
"Did you sleep well, darling?" My mother asked, giving me a quick, airy kiss on the cheek. Her eyes were already scanning my outfit, finding it lacking. "That color does nothing for you."
I just stood there, frozen. Looking at them. My family. The people who had handed me a pretty glass of poison and called it champagne.
My father finally lowered his paper. "You're blocking the light, Eva. Sit down. You look pale. Not getting sick, are you? We have the Hamilton gala next week."
The Hamilton gala. Where they would first introduce me to Charles, my future husband. The memory hit me like a physical blow. The heat of the room, Charles's slick, approving smile, Tyler's possessive hand on his arm even then.
A wave of pure, hot rage washed over me so strong I thought I'd be sick right there on the polished floor. My vision tunneled. These people. They had sold me. They had killed me. And they were about to do it all over again.
I couldn't breathe.
"I'm… I'm not hungry," I whispered, my voice cracking.
Tyler finally looked up, a smirk playing on her perfect lips. "Aww, what's wrong? Big night dreaming about your future prince charming?" She winked at my parents. "She's probably just nervous. Don't worry, Eva. I'll be there to help you through it. I'll even help you pick out a dress that doesn't make you look so… simple."
That was it. The same condescending tone. The same way she made "help" sound like an insult.
Something in me snapped.
I looked right at her, and for the first time in either of my lives, I didn't look away. I didn't smile or thank her.
My voice came out quiet, but it didn't shake. It was cold. Flat. "Don't trouble yourself, Tyler."
The room went still. My mother's spoon stopped clinking against her cup. My father peered at me over his glasses.
Tyler's smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of confusion. "It's no trouble," she said, her voice losing its playful edge.
"I said," I repeated, laying each word down like a brick, "don't trouble yourself. I can handle my own dress. And my own… future."
I turned and walked out of the room before any of them could say another word. I could feel their stunned silence pressing against my back like a physical force.
My heart was hammering again, but it wasn't from fear. It was from a wild, terrifying thrill.
They had no idea who I was. They had no idea what I knew.
I walked upstairs, my mind racing a million miles an hour. I needed a plan. I needed power. I needed to find a monster bigger than their monsters.
And I knew exactly where to find one.
I went to my desk, pulled out a fresh notebook, and on the first page, I wrote a single name.
Leonard Cruz.
Then, underneath it, I wrote my offer.
My life for yours. Let's make a deal.
I closed the book and took a deep, shaking breath. The old Eva was gone. She died tasting poison.
The new one? She was going to learn how to brew it herself.