The cold marble floor bit into Elara's cheek. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, suffocating her.
"Don't look at her like that, Julian. She's already dying," a sickly-sweet voice echoed above her.
Elara forced her heavy eyelids open. Through the blurring edges of her vision, she saw them. Chloe, her demure and 'innocent' stepsister, was wrapped around Julian's arm. Julian—her husband of three years, the man she had lifted from a struggling illegitimate son to a respected CEO.
He looked down at Elara with nothing but cold disgust.
"She brought this on herself," Julian muttered, adjusting his cufflink. "If she had just signed over her mother's shares quietly, we wouldn't have had to poison her wine. Hurry up, Chloe. The paramedics will be here in ten minutes. We need to look like the grieving family."
Elara's fingers twitched, grasping at the empty air. Why? She had given him everything. She had loved him.
"Goodbye, dear sister," Chloe whispered, crouching down to slide the diamond wedding band off Elara's trembling finger. "Thanks for the husband. And the money."
Elara wanted to scream, to tear them apart, but her lungs collapsed. Darkness rushed in, swallowing her agonizing hatred whole.
If I had another chance... I would drag you both to hell.
Gasp!
Elara shot upright, her chest heaving as she sucked in mouthfuls of sweet, clean air. She clutched her throat. There was no blood. No burning poison.
"Miss Vance? Are you alright? The guests are waiting."
Elara blinked, the blinding lights of a vanity mirror forcing her to squint. She was sitting in a plush velvet chair. A makeup artist stood behind her, holding a powder brush with a concerned expression. Elara looked down at her own body. She was wearing the custom-made, pearl-white gown she hadn't seen in years.
Her hands trembled as she snatched her phone from the vanity counter. October 12th. Three years ago.
It was the night of her engagement party to Julian Cross.
A sharp, hysterical laugh bubbled up in Elara's throat, forcing the makeup artist to take a nervous step back. She wasn't dead. Heaven, or perhaps hell, had heard her final wish. She was back at the exact turning point of her life.
"I'm perfectly fine," Elara said, her voice dropping an octave. The naive, sweet girl who had walked into this room was dead. "Leave me. I need a minute."
The artist scurried out. Elara stood up, walking toward the full-length mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes burning with an intense, icy fire.
In her previous life, she had walked out of this room, taken Julian's hand on stage, and publicly pledged her family's backing to him, securing his place in the prestigious Cross family. She had handed him the sword he later used to execute her.
Not this time.
Elara pushed the dressing room doors open and walked down the sweeping staircase toward the grand ballroom. The chatter of the city's elite washed over her.
At the center of the room, standing beneath a crystal chandelier, was Julian. He looked handsome, wearing a charming smile as he chatted with investors. Beside him, pretending to be a supportive bridesmaid, was Chloe.
Seeing their faces sent a spike of violent rage through Elara's veins, but she forced her lips into a calm, breathtaking smile.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the MC announced into the microphone. "Please welcome our bride-to-be, the lovely Miss Elara Vance!"
The crowd applauded. Julian turned, his eyes lighting up with faux affection as he held his hand out toward her. "Elara, darling. Come here."
Elara descended the final step. The spotlight followed her. She walked toward Julian, her heels clicking rhythmically against the floor. Julian reached into his velvet pocket, pulling out the diamond ring.
"Elara," Julian began, his voice amplified for all to hear. "Will you make me the happiest—"
Elara didn't stop walking.
She glided right past Julian's outstretched hand, completely ignoring him. A collective gasp rippled through the ballroom. Julian froze, his charming smile cracking as he turned to see where she was going.
Elara walked straight toward the shadowed VIP section at the edge of the room. Sitting there, swirling a glass of dark liquor, was a man who commanded the room without saying a word.
Alexander Cross.
Julian's uncle. He was the undisputed patriarch of the Cross family, a terrifyingly ruthless billionaire who controlled the city's underbelly and its economy. He was a man bathed in blood and power, someone even Julian was terrified to look in the eye.
Alexander's dark, predatory eyes lifted, locking onto Elara as she stopped right in front of him. The entire ballroom was dead silent.
"Mr. Cross," Elara said, her voice ringing out crystal clear. "I hear you are in need of a wife to satisfy the board of directors."
Alexander tilted his head, his sharp jawline shifting. "And if I am?"
Elara reached into her own purse, pulled out a heavy gold signet ring she had prepared for Julian, and held it out to the most dangerous man in the city.
"Marry me instead," she declared, staring fearlessly into Alexander's dark eyes. "I promise you, I am a much better investment than your useless nephew."
Julian dropped his ring box. "Elara! Are you insane?!"
Alexander didn't look at his nephew. He set his glass down slowly, leaning forward like a predator inspecting its prey. A low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, sending a shiver down the spine of every guest in the room.
He reached out, his large, warm hand wrapping around Elara's wrist.
"An investment, Miss Vance?" Alexander murmured, his voice a velvety threat that made Elara's heart skip a beat. "Be careful. Once I sign a contract, I never let my assets go."