I died on the most brilliant night of my life.

As I fell from the grand staircase of the Haiston Gallery, the wind howled and tore at my gown. I appreciated the irony of it all. My body twisted slowly in the air, my ears still echoing with applause from my art exhibition. My first solo show as a professional artist was supposed to be the beginning of my career, the highlight of my artistic journey—not a death sentence.


But fate has a cruel sense of humor.

When my skull hit the marble floor, my vision didn’t immediately fade. Instead, it focused with perfect clarity on the balcony above. There stood my husband of three years, Alexander Blake—billionaire, financial genius, and the man I had foolishly loved—his arm wrapped intimately around Katherine Stanford’s waist.

His childhood sweetheart. My so-called "friend."


Behind them, my stepsister Sophia smiled smugly, raising her champagne glass in a silent toast to my death.

"A tragic accident," someone whispered as darkness began to consume me.


But this was no accident. I know that now.

The last thing I saw was Alexander's face—not grief-stricken or horrified, but coldly calculating, as if I were merely an inconvenient transaction finally concluded.

Then, nothingness.

----------------------------------------------------------

I jolted awake, my body sitting bolt upright as if yanked by invisible strings.

Miss Haston? Are you alright?" a concerned voice cut through my panic.

My hands flew to my head, expecting to feel blood, shattered bone, the sticky wetness of death. Instead, I felt only my soft hair, perfectly styled for... what?

I blinked and looked around. The interior of a luxury car. A crystal flute of champagne. A small black clutch with my initials embossed in gold—E.H.

"Miss Haston?" the driver asked again, concern lacing his voice. "We’ve arrived at the Blackley Foundation gala."

The Blackley Foundation gala. Five years ago. The night I first met Alexander Blake.

The night when everything began.

I looked down at my trembling hands—younger, without the traces of those painful years that had not yet occurred. My engagement ring was gone, and my wedding ring wasn't there either.

I was still alive. I had come back.

"Miss? Would you like me to drive around the block to give you a little more time?"

"No," I said, my voice firmer than I had expected. "I'm ready."

I am indeed ready. Ready to rewrite my story. Ready to rescue my mother from the mental institution where my stepmother imprisoned her. Ready to reclaim my father's love and inheritance. Ready to destroy everyone who once conspired to destroy me.

Most importantly, I am ready to face Alexander Blake.

This time, I won’t be the naive artist captivated by his carefully calculated charm. This time, I won’t be the convenient wife providing him social credibility while he builds his empire using my family’s connections. This time, I won’t be the obstacle he casually removes when Katherine Stanford decides she’s finally ready to take over her ‘rightful position."

This time, I will be the architect of my own destiny.

When the driver opened the door for me, the flash of cameras momentarily blinded me. The red carpet stretched before me, leading to the grand entrance of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, transformed tonight into a playground for New York’s elite.

I stepped out of the car, smoothing down the midnight blue gown that had earned accolades in Vogue the next day in my past life. "Ella Haston stuns in Valentino," they had written. If only they had known the truth.

"Miss Haston! Over here!" The photographers called my name, eager to capture shots of Richard Haston's daughter, the enigmatic artist who rarely appeared at such public events.

I smiled—not the shy, uncertain smile from before, but with the confidence of a woman who had seen the end of this story and was determined to rewrite it.

Somewhere in that building, Alexander Blake was waiting, not yet aware of my existence. Somewhere inside, Katherine Stanford was plotting, not yet considering me a threat. Somewhere inside, my stepsister Sophia was watching, not yet realizing I would be her downfall.

I took a deep breath of the cool September air and walked forward, each step bringing me closer to a future that only I could see.

My second life had begun.