The rain hadn't stopped.
It was as if the sky itself mourned — not for Isabella, but for the woman she used to be.
From the shadows, she watched Damien Blackstone stand by her gravestone, his expensive suit soaked, his face composed with just the right amount of grief. The media cameras zoomed in, catching every angle of the billionaire's heartbreak. The perfect widower.
Only she knew it was all a lie.
The car crash, the fire — it had all been too convenient. And now, standing not six feet away in a borrowed black veil, Isabella watched him fake tears for a woman he thought was dead.
"You look so sad, Damien," she whispered under her breath. "But how much did you pay to make sure I died that night?"
She clenched her fists. There was no time for emotion. Not now. Not when her rebirth had just begun.
She had a new name. A new face. Isa.
And Isa had come back not for love.
But for vengeance.