The morning sunlight streamed through Elena Hart's window, warm against her skin. For a brief moment, she thought it was all a dream—the betrayal, the pain, the death.
But as she sat up, her eyes landed on the calendar pinned to the wall.
Her heart thudded.
The date glared back at her in bold black ink: March 15.
Five years ago. The week of her engagement to Damian Cross.
Her breath came in shaky gasps as she pressed a trembling hand against her lips. The memories surged forward, relentless and sharp. In her first life, this was the moment she had believed in love, in friendship, in forever. She had walked straight into a trap.
But not this time.
This time, she would not be fooled.
Elena swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet brushing against the soft carpet. She caught sight of her reflection in the vanity mirror. Youthful, radiant, untouched by sorrow. Her skin glowed, her eyes sparkled with the innocence of a woman who hadn't yet been broken.
Yet behind that brightness was something new.
Resolve.
"This time," she whispered to her reflection, her lips curving into a cold smile, "you will pay, Damian Cross. And you too, Sophia."
Her fists clenched at the thought of her so-called best friend. Sophia Lane—the woman who had laughed with her, cried with her, sworn to protect her. The woman who had stolen everything.
No more.
---
Her family's house was buzzing with activity that morning. The maids rushed about, preparing for the Hart family's breakfast, while her father's deep voice carried from the dining room. Elena walked down the staircase gracefully, her silk nightgown trailing behind her.
"Good morning, Elena," her father, Charles Hart, greeted warmly. His stern features softened at the sight of her. He adored her—adored and trusted her to keep their family's reputation untarnished.
"Good morning, Father," she replied, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.
Her stepmother, Vivienne, sipped tea elegantly at the head of the table, her sharp eyes flicking to Elena with the same judgment as always. Vivienne's jewelry glittered in the morning light, but her beauty was cold, like a porcelain doll. She never hid her dislike for Elena, but at least in this life, Elena knew better than to care.
"Elena," Vivienne said smoothly, "you should be preparing for your engagement party this weekend. Damian's family has already confirmed attendance. You don't want to embarrass yourself."
Elena's lips twitched into a polite smile. "Don't worry, Stepmother. This time, I will make sure no one forgets that day."
Not for the reasons Vivienne thought, though.
Charles gave a proud nod, unaware of the storm brewing in his daughter's chest.
---
Later that afternoon, Sophia arrived.
"Elena!" Sophia's voice rang sweetly through the halls, as fake as the diamonds she wore. She rushed forward, arms wide, her face glowing with false excitement. "I came to help you prepare for your engagement! Oh, I'm so happy for you!"
Elena stared at her, her heart cold and heavy. In her past life, she would have embraced Sophia, gushing with gratitude for her support.
Now, she only saw the snake behind the smile.
Still, she forced her lips into a smile and let Sophia hug her. "Sophia," she murmured, her voice dripping with the sweetness of old friendship, "I can always count on you."
Sophia's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Of course, darling. Who else would stand by you?"
Elena's nails dug into her palms, hidden behind her back. Enjoy your little game while you can, Sophia. This time, I'll be the one to play you.
As Sophia chattered on about flowers and decorations, Elena studied her carefully—the way her eyes flickered when she spoke of Damian, the subtle pride in her tone. She knew too much, cared too much. The affair must have already begun.
"Elena, you'll look so beautiful in your dress," Sophia cooed. "Damian won't be able to take his eyes off you."
He already can't keep his eyes off you, Elena thought bitterly, her smile never faltering.
---
That evening, Damian arrived at the Hart mansion.
Elena's chest tightened as she saw him step out of the sleek black car, tall and imposing in his tailored suit. His dark eyes, sharp jawline, and cold aura were everything she once thought was perfection.
But now, all she saw was the man who had destroyed her.
"Elena," Damian said curtly, barely glancing at her as he entered. "We need to go over the details for the engagement ceremony."
Her lips curved upward, though her heart throbbed with old wounds. "Of course, Damian."
In her first life, she had hung onto every word he spoke, desperate for his affection. Now, she studied him with detachment. The way his eyes darted to Sophia when he thought no one noticed. The faint curl of his lips when she giggled.
So it had already begun.
Even before their engagement, Damian's heart wasn't hers. It never had been.
"Your dress fitting is tomorrow," Damian said in his cold, business-like tone. "Be punctual. I don't have time to waste on your carelessness."
Sophia snickered softly at his side, her hand brushing his arm in a way that made Elena's stomach churn.
Elena tilted her head, her voice deceptively gentle. "Don't worry, Damian. I'll make sure everything is perfect. After all, I wouldn't want to… waste your time."
Her gaze locked with his, and for the first time, Damian faltered. Something in her eyes was different. Stronger. Colder. Not the submissive Elena he remembered.
He narrowed his gaze, but said nothing more.
---
That night, Elena stood on her balcony, the city lights stretching endlessly before her. The wind was sharp against her skin, tugging at her nightgown, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming jasmine from the gardens below. Her fingers curled tightly around the railing as the memories of her past life consumed her.
The humiliation. The heartbreak. The way she had begged for Damian's love, only to be discarded like trash.
Not again.
This time, she would write the story.
Her engagement would not be the beginning of her misery. It would be the start of her revenge.
She thought of Sophia's sly smile, of Damian's cold indifference, of her father's trusting eyes, and Vivienne's scorn. They all saw her as a pawn, weak and naïve.
But they would learn.
And if Damian thought she was still his obedient little bride-to-be, he was in for a cruel surprise.
Her lips curved into a cold smile as the wind tangled in her hair.
"Wait for me, Damian. Wait for me, Sophia. This time, I'll be the one laughing at the end."
Her words were soft, but in them burned a vow sharp enough to cut fate itself.