Let me start from the beginning.
I'm Dahlia—recently crowned the stepdaughter of one of the wealthiest men alive, Mr. Lancaster. A title wrapped in gold and poison.
Originally, I was Reva. Just an ordinary middle-class girl. Until one morning, I woke up trapped in the body of an infant. At first, I thought it was just a regular rebirth—maybe the universe taking pity on me. A second chance, this time in silk sheets
My new parents were beautiful disasters—cheating, fighting, destroying each other while smiling for cameras. But I didn't care. Love was never meant for people like them.
And then came that night.
I was nine when my mother dragged me to a party that smelled of wine and deception. That's when it hit me—this wasn't just another life.
I had been reincarnated inside a novel.
The story of two stepsisters who fell for the same man.
Dahlia—the villainess.
Lilith Ashbourne—the fragile, radiant female lead.
I remembered everything.
How Dahlia's jealousy turned her cruel.
How Rhett's pity turned to disgust.
How he'd hand her over to an old mafia boss to save his precious Lilith.
And how Dahlia's story ended—with a gunshot, a broken heart, and a name cursed in every chapter.
Not this time.
I swore I would rewrite the story. I avoided Rhett through high school, treated him like a ghost that could devour me if I looked too long. I even made sure my mother never crossed paths with the Ashbournes.
I thought I was safe.
But fate—no, fate laughed.
Because my mother didn't just remarry. She married into the Lancaster family.
And that made Rhett… my stepbrother.
The obsessive, manipulative male lead.
And the man I woke up next to this morning.
Why did I sleep with him?
My throat tightens. I press my lips together, trying to silence the voice clawing at my mind.
I shot out of bed, clutching the blanket to my chest like armor.
"Stay away," I snapped, shoving his arm off me.
Rhett only scoffed—low, rough, amused. He leaned back on his elbows, that infuriating smirk curving his lips as if I were a game he'd already won.
That's when I noticed the ink. Tattoos across his knuckles—black against golden skin, each stroke deliberate, dangerous. I'd never seen them before. God help me, they were… beautiful.
But not as dangerously beautiful as him. Those honey-brown eyes, half-lidded beneath messy bangs, carried the kind of laziness that made you forget to breathe. And that voice—dark velvet, scraping against memory—pulled me straight back into last night.
The moans. The words I swore I'd never say.
"You're the one who started it," Rhett drawled, arrogance dripping from every word. "And now you're pretending to be innocent?"
My pulse stuttered. He stood, the air between us snapping tight like a live wire.
Two strides—and he was in front of me.
His fingers brushed my hair aside, a touch too soft for the tension it carried. His mouth hovered near my cheek, his breath searing against my skin.
"Should I remind you?" His voice dropped, low and deliberate. " those sluttywords you whispered last night… hmm?"
And then he smiled.
The kind of smile that promised ruin.
The kind that made it impossible to tell whether I wanted to run—
or surrender.
"Don't say rubbish ," I spat. I took two steps backward.
Rhett's smile sharpened, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. He tilted his head, watching me like a hunter watches a trembling animal that's still trying to bare its teeth.
"Rubbish?" he repeated, voice almost lazy but threaded with something that made the air thick. "You think lying to yourself is any better?"
He moved a step closer, slow enough for me to decide whether to move away. The scent of smoke and something metallic lingered around him.
"Tell me, Dahlia," he said, eyes dropping briefly to the blanket clutched in my hands before rising . "If you hate me that much… why do you look at me like you remember every second?"
He didn't touch me this time—just stood there, the silence stretching, daring me to speak first.
"I… I don't remember anything." I step back, clutching the blanket to my chest. My body trembles—not with fear—but with the aftertaste of last night, a bitter heat clawing up my throat, twisting my thoughts.
Rhett chuckled under his breath — a low, dangerous sound that curled around the edges of my denial.
"Of course you don't," he murmured, his tongue running slowly along the inside of his cheek as his gaze swept over mine. "That's convenient."
He leaned in just enough for his voice to brush my ear, soft and mocking.
"Next time you want to forget, Dahlia… try not to moan my name so loud."
I shove him away, my hands trembling as I scramble for the clothes scattered across the floor. Frustration burns in my chest, thick and raw. With one last surge of nerve, I lift my middle finger at him.
"Go to hell."
Then I lock myself in the bathroom, choking on air that won't fill my lungs.
When I finally step out, the room is silent.
Empty.
He's gone.