Maria Sinclair walked down the grand staircase of the Sinclair estate with the elegance of someone born to high society, but inside, her nerves were wound tight like piano wire.
Everything looked the same.
The same antique chandelier her mother refused to replace. The same polished floors she used to skid across in socks as a child. The same smiling maid at the bottom of the stairs who had later been bribed by Dana to spy on her.
Only now, Maria wasn't the same.
"Good morning, dear," her mother said, sipping coffee from her usual porcelain cup. She looked up from the dining table, her smile warm and clueless. "You look pale. Did you sleep well?"
"Just a strange dream," Maria replied smoothly, slipping into the role she had mastered long ago. "I think I'm just nervous about tomorrow."
"Oh, nonsense. Everyone's excited. Ian is such a catch." Her mother beamed as she reached for a slice of toast. "You'll be the envy of every woman in the city."
Maria sat across from her, hands folded. Ian Ross—cold, calculated, magnetic. He had always been a mystery, and Maria had spent years trying to unlock him. She thought he was just emotionally distant. A product of power and pressure.
She was wrong.
He wasn't cold. He was deadly.
Or... was he?
For a moment, doubt crept in. The way he'd looked at her before the shot. So empty, yet almost... conflicted. Could she have misunderstood?
No. She couldn't afford to question it now.
"Is Dana still coming today?" she asked casually, buttering her toast as if she hadn't just remembered being murdered by that woman.
Her mother nodded. "Of course. She insisted on being here for your final fitting. Such a loyal friend. You're lucky to have her."
Maria bit into her toast and smiled. "Yes... lucky."
---
Later that morning, Maria stood on the platform in front of the boutique mirror, a wedding gown draped over her body like a lie. The seamstress was busy pinning and fussing, while Dana lounged nearby on a pale pink loveseat, sipping an iced latte like she owned the place.
"You know," Dana said, crossing one leg over the other, "you're glowing. Wedding nerves must suit you."
Maria turned, slowly, meeting her eyes through the mirror. "Maybe I'm just excited to finally marry the love of my life."
Dana's lips curved into that too-sweet smile Maria had learned to fear. "Of course. Ian's the dream. Cold and broody, just how you like them."
Cold and broody, Maria echoed in her mind. It was what Dana had always said when Ian ignored her at dinners or disappeared on work trips.
But Dana had never truly disliked Ian. Not even close.
"Did you ever find out what he was doing in Paris last year?" Dana asked, inspecting her nails like the question was meaningless. "He told you it was business, right?"
Maria didn't blink. "I trust him."
Dana's expression didn't falter, but Maria saw the slight shift—the twitch in her cheek, the calculation behind her eyes. She remembered this conversation from her past life. Back then, she had brushed it off, letting suspicion fester until it was too late.
But now she saw it for what it was—a test.
Dana was fishing.
"Ian's never given me a reason to doubt him," Maria added smoothly. "Unlike some people's boyfriends."
Dana laughed, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Touché."
---
After the fitting, Maria excused herself and slipped into the powder room. Her heart pounded beneath her ribs like a war drum.
Being near Dana again was like dancing on a minefield. One wrong move, and everything could explode.
She looked into the mirror. The gown fit like a dream. The diamonds sparkled like hope. But behind her reflection was a woman with blood on her hands—and revenge on her mind.
She had to stay close. Dana would never show her cards if Maria pulled away too quickly.
Keep your enemies closer, she reminded herself.
---
That afternoon, Ian's driver pulled up to the Sinclair estate.
Maria stepped out onto the stone porch just as Ian exited the black car. He was dressed in a navy suit, crisp and tailored to perfection. His dark hair was swept back, and his expression—stern, unreadable—was exactly as she remembered.
But this time, she wasn't blinded by love.
"Maria," he said, nodding slightly. "I thought I'd stop by to finalize the guest list."
She blinked. "You came all the way here for that?"
His eyes studied her. "It's important."
Maria hesitated, then gestured toward the terrace. "We can talk outside."
They sat beneath the awning, a tray of lemonade between them. The silence was tense. In her first life, she had always tried to fill the silence—desperate to please him, to win his affection.
Now, she let it linger.
Ian finally spoke. "You've been... different."
She met his gaze, her mask slipping into place. "Is that a problem?"
He didn't answer right away. "No. Just unexpected."
Maria's lips curved. "Maybe I've just grown up."
He leaned back slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on her. "You always looked at me like I was the hero in your story. Now you look at me like I'm the villain."
Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn't expected that.
She chose her next words carefully. "Maybe I've learned that fairy tales are dangerous. The hero can become the villain in the end."
Ian studied her for a long moment, then stood. "The engagement party is at seven tomorrow. I'll send a car."
She rose too, brushing invisible dust from her dress. "I'll be ready."
As he walked away, Maria stared at his back, her chest tight with a storm of emotions.
Was he really the man who pulled the trigger?
Or just another piece on Dana's twisted chessboard?
---
That night, Maria sat at her desk with a notebook and pen. She sketched out the timeline of her last life, writing down every betrayal, every missed clue, every secret whispered behind her back.
This time, she would uncover the truth before it killed her.
This time, she wouldn't die begging for love.
She would make them all pay.