The soft hum of jazz floated through the grand hall of the Solaria Hotel, a symphony of wealth and polished illusions. Laughter tinkled like crystal. Champagne sparkled in tall flutes. It was a night of celebration, a night drenched in gold and silk, where the elite of Astaria City's business empire gathered to witness a crowning achievement.
At the center of it all stood Viera Seraphine Langford.
Nineteen. A phenom. The founder and CEO of Langford Innovations. A girl with a thousand patents behind her name and more awards than most universities could hand out in a decade. Her dark emerald gown swept behind her like the trail of a comet, stitched with threads of silver that caught the light every time she moved. Her hair, pinned into an elegant cascade of curls, shimmered with golden highlights.
She was untouchable. Unstoppable.
And utterly alone.
They all smiled at her. They toasted her. But Viera had learned to recognize the venom behind the veil. Polite applause. Hollow compliments. Hidden envy. She played the game anyway—because she always won.
Or so she believed.
"Congratulations, my love," Marcus said, wrapping an arm around her waist. His chiseled jaw and icy blue eyes belonged on a magazine cover, and his tailored black suit hugged his athletic frame like a second skin. To the world, they were a perfect power couple. He was the heir to the Trussel banking dynasty; she, the girl genius who turned a garage startup into a billion-coin empire.
But his hand felt colder than it should have. Clammy. Sweaty. Nervous.
Viera tilted her head slightly and smiled. "You're sweating," she whispered.
His grin didn't waver. "Nerves. Watching you in your element always gets me."
She chuckled softly, but her mind cataloged it. Every detail. Every twitch. She'd spent years learning how to read people—not from mentors or business books—but from underground fight rings where the stakes were broken bones and shattered pride.
That was the part of her life no one here knew.
Viera Seraphine Langford had grown up scraping her way through back-alley martial arts tournaments, brawling under fake names for money to pay her mother's medical bills. By seventeen, she could disable a grown man in six seconds. But when her mother died, Viera left that world behind… and built another. One that didn't smell of blood and sweat.
One where she was queen.
Tonight, Langford Innovations was being acquired by Synergen Technologies for a record-breaking amount—an acquisition she had orchestrated herself. With the merger finalized, her influence would spread across borders. Medical AI, renewable microgrids, energy-efficient biochips… it was only the beginning.
"You made it, Vee," came a familiar voice from behind.
She turned. Alia Langford. Her cousin. Her partner. Her closest family since her mother's death.
Alia wore crimson tonight. A sharp contrast to Viera's cool elegance. Her hair was twisted into a sleek bun, eyes lined with confidence and something darker.
"Couldn't have done it without you," Viera said, drawing her into a one-armed hug. She meant it, or at least she had, once.
But something wasn't right.
Alia's perfume tonight was different—spicier. Her heels were taller than usual. Her earrings weren't her own.
She was dressing for war, not celebration.
Then the music died.
"May I have your attention," called a voice from the stage. It was Harold Vane, the mediator of the merger. A stout man with a wide smile and bloodless lips. "Tonight we honor the most groundbreaking visionary of our time—Miss Viera Langford!"
Applause roared through the hall. Viera smiled and walked to the stage, heels clicking with power. The lights bathed her in a soft white glow as she took the mic. Cameras flashed. Reporters leaned forward.
She opened her mouth to speak—then froze.
Behind the cameras, near the back entrance, two men in black stepped in. They didn't belong. Her security team was missing. She spotted another man—her personal assistant, Jarreth—nodding at them.
Something cold clenched in her gut.
"Thank you," she said, voice even, eyes scanning. "This is a moment I will never forget."
How true that would be.
She stepped down. The music resumed. Marcus met her with another drink. Alia pulled her aside for a private toast. And then everything shattered.
It happened in less than two minutes.
Security was "pulled for an emergency."
Alia whispered, "Sorry, cousin. You were too perfect to last."
Marcus's arm slipped around her neck—at first as a lover's embrace… then tightening like a noose.
Viera elbowed his ribs—hard. But her drink had been spiked.
She staggered. The room blurred.
"You really thought we were your friends?" Alia sneered. "Oh, Vee. You made it so easy."
Something plunged into her back. A knife. Not once—twice. She dropped to her knees. The crowd never noticed—the lights, the noise, the illusion.
They had staged it perfectly.
Viera collapsed in a side hallway, behind velvet curtains and soundproof panels. Her blood soaked into the marble. Her heartbeat slowed. Marcus knelt beside her, brushing her hair back with mock tenderness.
"Don't hate me," he whispered. "You just got too big. Too dangerous."
Her fingers twitched. She tried to reach for her bracelet—a hidden blade—but he kicked it away.
"You'll die here," Alia said softly. "And the world will never know the truth."
Her vision dimmed. She saw flashes—her mother's face, her first fight, the garage where Langford Innovations began, her designs, her first prototype, her last press release…
And then darkness.
A void.
Silence.
Until—
Drip.
Drip.
The sound of water.
Her eyes snapped open.
She wasn't dead.
Her heart pounded violently in her chest. Air rushed in through her nose—familiar, dusty air.
She sat up, gasping, clutching her stomach. No blood. No wound. No marble floor.
She was lying on a bed.
Her bed.
In her old room.
The wallpaper—still chipped. The shelf of trophies—still there. The cracked screen of her first tablet still glowed faintly from where it sat on the nightstand.
She scrambled up, ran to the mirror.
Seventeen.
No makeup. Her eyes looked younger. Fresher.
This was her body from two years ago.
No. This can't be.
She turned and spotted her old martial arts uniform—still hanging from the closet door. The scent of dried herbs. The creak of her mother's rocking chair from the next room.
Her mother.
She sprinted into the hallway and saw her—alive, thin but smiling, seated and knitting like nothing had changed.
"Mama…" she choked out.
Her mother looked up. "Viera? Are you crying?"
She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around the older woman, sobbing into her shoulder.
Viera didn't speak for several minutes.
When she finally pulled away, her face was different. Determined. Hardened. Enlightened.
She sat on the couch, stared at her trembling hands, and whispered, "The merger… the betrayal…"
Everything had been taken from her.
But she had it all again.
This time… I won't fall.
This time, I'll strike first.
She stood and walked to her bookshelf, pulling out an old notebook she hadn't touched in years. She tore through its pages, then stopped at a blank one. She picked up a pen and wrote five names.
Marcus Trussel – fiancé, traitor
Alia Langford – cousin, thief
Jarreth Cain – assistant, mole
Harold Vane – the mediator
Synergen Technologies
She circled the last one twice.
Viera Langford died at nineteen.
But she was reborn at seventeen, with the knowledge of billion-coin ideas, her training in ten deadly martial art styles, and the fury of betrayal in her veins.
And this time?
This time, the Iron Heiress would reign.