The scent of disinfectant clawed its way into her lungs.
Aria Vale's eyes flew open. She sucked in a breath—sharp, painful, alive. Her fingers clutched at the stiff bedsheets, her limbs trembling, muscles tight as if her body remembered dying. Her chest heaved, but there was no blood this time. No pain blooming beneath her ribs. No Ethan with red-stained hands or the sound of mocking laughter echoing in her ears.
Only silence.
And the steady beep… beep… beep of a heart monitor.
She sat up too fast. Her vision swam. Her hands flew to her chest where the knife had gone in—where he had stabbed her.
Nothing.
No bandage. No wound. No death.
The room was quiet. Too quiet.
Her wide eyes flicked to the window. Outside, the city blinked beneath the dull light of late afternoon. It looked the same—yet somehow, hauntingly different. Her breath caught as she scanned the room, landing on the wall-mounted calendar. Her gaze locked onto the date.
Ten years ago.
"No," she whispered. Her voice was barely audible. "No, this isn't right…"
She tore away the monitor cords and stumbled to her feet. Her legs nearly gave out beneath her. Her body felt different. Younger. Unmarked.
Was she… dreaming?
A nurse burst through the door just as Aria reached for the IV. "Miss Vale! You're awake—thank God! Please don't move so suddenly—"
"Where am I?" Aria rasped. "What year is it?"
The nurse blinked, caught off guard. "It's… 2020, dear. You collapsed during the internship orientation and hit your head. You've been out for a few hours—"
"2020?" Aria repeated, heart thundering.
The nurse gave her a sympathetic smile, clearly mistaking her shock for confusion. "Yes. You're lucky, sweetie. The scans came back clean, but you gave us quite a scare."
Aria didn't hear the rest. Her legs carried her to the mirror above the sink. She stared at the reflection—rounder cheeks, smooth skin untouched by scars or stress. Gone were the shadows of betrayal and sleepless nights. No weight from heartbreak, no bruises from struggle. She looked… innocent.
She was twenty again.
Reborn.
Alive.
The hospital faded around her. A hundred memories surged forward—her father's cold eyes when he chose another family over hers. Her stepmother's sugar-coated lies. Her stepsister's soft, venomous smiles. Her fiancé's whispered promises, the ones he used to drag her down and leave her to die.
And Lucien.
Her stomach twisted.
Lucien Blackthorn.
In her old life, she had hated him. He was arrogant, ruthless, untouchable. The cold CEO who never smiled. The man people whispered about in fear.
She'd thought him cruel. Unforgiving. Dangerous.
Until the day he died—for her.
He had stepped in front of a bullet meant for her. No hesitation. No words. Only blood, soaking through his pristine white shirt as he collapsed in her arms.
She had sobbed over his body. Screamed at the world. At fate. At herself.
And then Ethan drove the final knife into her back.
"You never mattered, Aria. Not to me. But at least you were useful. For a while."
She had died alone.
But now—
Aria exhaled, trembling as she gripped the sink.
This was real.
A second chance.
Not just to survive—but to fight.
Her lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
They had stolen everything from her. Her name. Her legacy. Her mother's empire.
Now she had a decade of knowledge, rage, and bitterness in her veins.
They would never see her coming.
---
The next day, Aria sat in the back of the lecture hall, eyes scanning the room—not for her classmates, but for him.
Lucien Blackthorn.
He wouldn't arrive yet. In her past life, they hadn't properly crossed paths until the Blackthorn Corporation sponsored a competition three months into the internship program.
But this time, she wouldn't wait.
Her hand curled around her pen as she remembered the way he'd looked, dying—trying to protect her. The moment she realized everything she'd believed about him was wrong.
Lucien had been the only one who never lied. Never smiled falsely. Never pretended to care.
Because he had actually cared. In silence. From the shadows.
And she… had hated him for it.
No more.
This time, Aria would protect him.
She'd make him fall for her—even if it meant breaking every rule of pride and decorum. He'd pushed her away once to keep her safe. She'd pull him close this time and never let him go.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Your internship performance will be reviewed by the Blackthorn Executive Office. Dress formally.
Aria smiled.
He was already watching.
---
Later that evening, Aria walked into her childhood home—if it could still be called that—with her spine straight and her eyes colder than ice.
"Aria?" her father called from the study, irritation lacing his tone. "Why are you late?"
She turned slowly. Thomas Vale stood in the hallway, tailored suit crisp, drink in hand, eyes already scanning her for imperfections.
Just like always.
She smiled sweetly. "Sorry, Father. Orientation ran long."
He frowned. "I hope you're not still planning to study design. That won't get you anywhere. You should follow Brielle's example. Marketing. Practical. Profitable."
Brielle Vale.
Her stepsister.
Aria's jaw ached from how tightly she clenched it.
"Don't worry," she said softly. "I plan to be very practical from now on."
---
That night, Aria stood in front of her mother's closed bedroom door. She could hear her soft humming inside.
Tears filled her eyes.
Her mother was still alive. Still here. Still unbroken.
In her old life, she had watched her fade, worn down by betrayal, driven to illness, her company stripped from her and gifted to her husband's new wife as if it were trash.
This time, Aria would not let her die.
She would build an empire so ruthless, it would burn anyone who touched her mother ever again.
She opened the door.
Her mother looked up, surprised, and smiled warmly.
"Aria, you're home."
"I'm home," Aria whispered.
And this time, she meant it.
---