Aria jolted awake, gasping, lungs raw with phantom water. The echo of crunching metal and shattering glass still rang in her skull. For a moment, she waited for the weight of a ventilator, for the sting of needles in her veins. Nothing.
Instead, smooth Egyptian cotton tangled around her legs. Heat. Sunlight—too bright, too golden—spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows. Somewhere, turquoise water glittered. Not a hospital. Not death.
A hand shot to her ribs. No jagged scar, no bruises. Just sweat and skin.
Phone. Where? Her trembling fingers snatched it from the marble nightstand. June 15, 2025. Wedding day plus one. Twenty-five again.
A bitter laugh caught in her throat. Second chances didn't exist. Not for women like her. But time had a sense of humor.
1,095 days. That number pounded behind her eyes. The countdown to June 14, 2028. 10:47 PM.
Machines going silent. Vanessa's perfume mixed with disinfectant, a hand on Ethan's arm. "She wouldn't want to live like this," Vanessa had purred.
And Ethan's voice, colder than the hospital tile. "I need to think of my real family now."
Her stomach twisted. Acid. Fury. A wave of cold, then heat. She buried her face in her hands for a second. The world swam, scent of bergamot clinging to her wrists. No tears. Never again.
A shift in the bed. Sheets rustling. The man beside her. Ethan Pierce. Husband. Executioner.
He looked younger asleep, mouth slack, the white scar splitting his eyebrow a perfect line. There'd been a time she wanted to trace it, to ask. In that life, she'd been soft. Stupid.
Now, the urge to reach out came with knives.
Ethan rolled over, blue eyes dragging open. A lazy morning smile. "Morning, beautiful." Voice rough, like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't ended her once already.
He reached for her waist, fingers skimming skin. Lightning shot down her spine. She flinched so hard the sheets jerked.
His hand froze. Concern, confusion. "Are you okay?"
Aria straightened, spine stiff as rebar. "Just cold." Honey in her tone. Venom underneath.
Ethan studied her. Jaw tight, fingers twisting his wedding band—a tick she catalogued. Liar's tell. "You seemed like you were having a bad dream."
Not a dream. A warning.
She forced a smile, lips stretched too tight. "Nightmares fade." Lies came so easy now.
Bathroom door clicked shut as Ethan disappeared. Freedom. For now.
The laptop slid from beneath a pillow, screen flickering to life. Sutton Trust, $2.3 million. Grandma's inheritance. In life one, Aria handed it over in the name of love. Ethan used it to buy Vanessa's penthouse, to fund her "consulting firm." The joke never got old.
This time, her hands didn't shake as she typed. $2.3 million, gone offshore before breakfast. Cayman Islands. Confirmed.
Small, sharp satisfaction. First move, first victory.
She checked her grandmother's watch. Cartier, cool and heavy on her wrist. The second hand ticked away her borrowed time. 1,095 days. Every tick a warning. Every tick a promise.
Ethan's voice drifted from the bathroom, almost cheerful. "Pancakes for breakfast? You always loved pancakes."
He never asked, only told. Never really knew her at all. "Sounds perfect," she called back, syrup-sweet.
He came out with his hair wet, towel slung low, all billionaire charm and easy confidence. In another life, she'd have blushed. This time, she only measured the distance to her phone, her laptop.
He leaned against the doorframe, watching her. "We could go snorkeling today. See the reef. You always said you wanted to."
"Maybe later." She made herself sound warm, compliant. The perfect lie.
His smile flickered, not quite reaching his eyes. "If you want to talk, Aria, about...anything, I want you to feel safe."
Safe. Like the hospital sheets pulled up to her chin. Like Vanessa's hand on his arm. Like his signature on the DNR.
She laughed softly, sound icy. "I'm fine, Ethan. Really."
He twisted his ring again. Deflect. Distract. "I'll let you get ready, then. Breakfast in half an hour?"
She nodded as he left. The door shut with a soft click. She exhaled, sharp and fast.
Back to work. Her laptop glowed, offshore transfer confirmed. She opened a blank document. Titled it: "WAR CHEST."
Three years. Build a fortress, brick by bloody brick. No more waiting for rescue. No more trusting men with blue eyes and hands that signed her death certificate.
Her reflection wavered in the glass. Not the mousy girl who flinched and apologized for breathing too loud. This Aria met her own gaze, unflinching, lips curling in a dark smile.
A double knock at the door. Room service. She composed herself, mask in place.
"Breakfast, Mrs. Pierce."
"Come in." Aria's voice was steady, cool. The server wheeled in a silver tray, the scent of maple and espresso slicing through her tension.
Sugar on her tongue, bitterness in her bones.
Ethan joined, breezing in as if he hadn't been responsible for her death in another life. "Smells amazing. Sit with me?"
She sat. Her fork hovered, untouched.
He loaded his plate, voice casual. "You should eat. Big day planned. I thought maybe we'd—"
She cut in, sweet as sin. "I'll eat in a moment. Just...enjoying the view."
He blinked, uncertain. "Alright."
The silence stretched. Her eyes drifted to his hands—strong, capable, dangerous. The hands that had failed to fight for her.
She checked her watch again. 1,095 days. Tick. Tick.
He tried again. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem—"
Her smile sharpened. "Just happy to be alive, Ethan."
He didn't know what to do with that. Silence won.
He stood, gathering plates. "I'll let you change. Meet you in the lobby?"
She nodded, already back to her computer, fingers flying. "Sure."
He lingered. "I'm glad we're here together, Aria."
"Me too." It tasted like poison.
He left. The door snicked shut. Aria exhaled, still and cold.
One last glance at her phone. A new message notification.
Unknown Sender: You shouldn't have come back, Aria. Some things are worse than death.
Ice flooded her veins. Her skin prickled. Someone knew. Someone was watching.
Her hand pressed to her chest, right above the heart that refused to die. The hospital monitors going flat were nothing compared to this.
She straightened her shoulders, jaw set. The countdown had started. And this time, Aria Chen Pierce was ready to play for keeps.
She checked her watch one more time. 1,095 days. The war had already begun.
She switched off her phone with a snap.
Let the war begin.