Chapter 1
**Enemies Turned Lovers** “What’s the situation? Is she dead?” “She’s definitely out of breath.” “Wipe down the fingerprints, and set her hands on the knife handle to make it look like a suicide.” The footsteps faded into the distance. Isabella Bennett lay motionless on the ground until she finally managed to weakly open her eyes. It took a moment before she could push through the pain and sit up, realizing her situation was nothing short of horrifying. In a dark, damp alley, she was drenched in blood and a knife was lodged deep in her chest. Gritting her teeth against the searing agony, she yanked the knife out. Her hands trembled as she pressed down on a pressure point in her chest to stem the bleeding. Using the wall for support, she staggered forward, fighting to escape the suffocating darkness of the alley. The night air was chilly and the streets felt deserted. She stumbled onward, unsure of how long she walked until two blinding headlights appeared, followed by the screech of tires and a horrific crunch as rubber met pavement. As everything around her faded to black, her consciousness slipped away completely. When Isabella regained awareness, she was in a room that felt worlds away from anything she had ever known. The walls were stark white, the material unrecognizable, and the ceiling was strangely devoid of beams — she wondered if it would all come crashing down. A wave of disorientation washed over her. She had been reborn, reliving a second chance at life! The memory of her gruesome demise was fresh — she could still feel the phantom pain radiating from where the blade had pierced her heart. Ten years. It had taken a decade for her to claw her way to power, slowly building up that man from nothing to a figure of unparalleled influence. Every move carefully crafted, every night spent plotting, blood on her hands and sins in her wake! But instead of the promised kinship and a place of honor, she was betrayed — a stab through the heart. In her mind’s eye, she saw Regal Hall, blood pooling around her as she fought to hold on to life while he cradled her sister as if she was the only one that mattered. Rage bubbled up inside her, and she slammed her eyes shut to suppress the overwhelming tide of hatred. But fortune held her like a mother when she met Lucian Blackwood on the road to the afterlife, leading to her return. Lucian shared her name, also Isabella Bennett, the illegitimate daughter of Thomas Bennett, a jewel magnate in Northborough. Her mother had perished in a fire eight years ago, leaving her to endure a shadow’s existence, more miserable than a servant, ultimately dying a senseless death. And to complicate matters, this eighteen-year-old body had just tied the knot a few days prior. In short, her mother once saved the grandfather of her new husband, Landon Ward. In gratitude, a marriage proposal was inked for when she hit eighteen, and now the man was bound to her by a promise. Rumor had it, Landon was a complete mess, clamoring over some idealized woman who had run off when he couldn’t contain his rage, which meant she hadn’t even laid eyes on her groom yet. As she struggled with these thoughts, she felt an icy gaze pinning her down, and when she turned, shock washed over her like cold water. There, sitting regally on the couch, was Gareth Ward — the Prince of the North. Gareth’s nose was sharp, his lips thin, his features striking, with deep-set eyes that seemed locked in an ancient, glacial stare. Isabella felt a chill down her spine. Once, Gareth was the people's choice, his influence sprawling across the realm. For nearly a decade, she had been embroiled in a twisted dance of deception and manipulation with him — helping Edward Hawthorne wrest control of the throne while skirting death at his hands more than once, only for her to break his legs in a ruthless counter. Gareth was her fiercest rival, her greatest fear! The shadow of his wheelchair haunted her still, a chilling reminder of how things had ended. “Isabella,” he intoned, his voice smooth as ice, “you’d best hope you don’t fall into my grasp again. I promise you, it will be worse than death.” His words echoed in her ears, sending her heart racing — it felt like déjà vu, nearly pushing her back into unconsciousness. But wait, was this ice-cold man really her new husband?
Chapter 2
**The Sweet Sting of Retribution** Isabella Bennett felt like she had been struck by lightning. Fate had a twisted sense of humor, and it had handed her a stepmother from hell. After a ten-year battle with her sworn enemy, she woke up to find him as her husband. Seriously? Even the most outrageous novels would shy away from writing something this absurd. Clenching her fists instinctively, she steeled herself for a fight—only to realize that the situation was off-kilter. In the past, encounters with Prince Alistair had always been fueled by daggers drawn and flames of war. Yet here he sat, stoic and detached, watching her with a cool indifference that made her stomach churn. Did he not remember her? Or was this all just some insane coincidence? After all, not everyone was as lucky as she was to switch souls with someone who had lived through an untimely death—a death that Gareth Ward had survived, so how could he possibly follow her into this life? Just coincidences. That's all they were. Isabella steadied her racing heart and plastered on a grin for the frigid man across the room, flashing a set of bright, white teeth. The sort of smile that was both endearing and a bit foolish, but all it earned her was a deeper scowl from Alistair, his expression growing even more frigid. Her heart raced; she tried to gauge his mood. “Prince Alistair?” she ventured. His face was still a mask of indifference, as if she were nothing more than a pesky fly buzzing around him. Silence fell like a heavy blanket between them, suffocatingly awkward. Just then, Alfred Thorne breezed in, beaming like a ray of sunshine. “Madam, you’re awake—” Before he could finish, he felt a chill sweep through the room that sent shivers down his spine. Cautiously, he glanced at the brooding figure on the couch. “Master Alistair…” “Who the hell are you calling ‘madam’? She’s not worthy of such titles!” Isabella stiffened as the words echoed in her ears. Even the tone was identical to Prince Alistair’s. Alfred, breaking into a cold sweat, stuttered, “I—I meant…” The frigid glare directed at Isabella made the air in the room thicken. “You are not Gareth Ward, and you should know your place,” Alistair threatened, his words a knife slicing through the tension. What was this whole ‘sweet sting of retribution’ business? Just look at the disgust etched across Gareth Ward’s face— it was a breathtaking spectacle. “Isabella, did something happen?” Alfred quickly tried to redirect the conversation, desperation in his voice. Isabella glanced down at her bandaged chest, a flicker of steel glinting in her eyes. “I’ll handle it. Don’t worry.” Gareth’s dark eyes narrowed as if mocking her certainty, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, clearly amused at her bravado. Fear of this man coursed through her, a primal instinct that made her heart race just under his brutal gaze. “Alfred, what am I doing here?” she managed to ask, piecing together her scrambled thoughts. The last thing she remembered was the jolt of an impact before everything went dark. Alfred's glance shifted nervously between them. “You were in an accident; Master Alistair nearly hit you with his car. He brought you to the hospital.” So, Gareth Ward had saved her? The thought flickered in her mind like an ember that refused to die out. Before she could say another word, Alistair stood up, his long strides eating up the space between them as he made for the door. “Take care, Isabella,” Alfred said quickly, hurrying after him. Isabella leaned back against her hospital bed, closing her eyes gently, her lashes fluttering like the wings of a delicate butterfly. She needed to focus. Meeting behind her clenched teeth, she opened her eyes wide, realization striking her like a bolt of lightning once more. Ignoring the pain in her chest, she swung her legs over the side, determination flooding through her. There were more significant matters to attend to. Pushing herself off the bed, she made her way to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on her face to clear the fog in her mind, she looked into the mirror and gasped. The reflection staring back was eerily familiar—her face strikingly similar to the one she had known, save for a scar streaking across her right cheek. A mark left behind from the tragic fire that had claimed her mother's life eight years ago. Even with the scar, her beauty was undeniable—a dizzying allure that spoke volumes of what she could have been without it. Stepping outside the sterile confines of the hospital, sunlight cascaded down, wrapping around her. Isabella lifted her face to the warmth, letting the golden rays wash over her. She was alive. That was all that mattered.
Chapter 3
A Ghost from the Past The alley behind Northborough High was cordoned off with bright yellow police tape, a scene buzzing with the frantic energy of officers and onlookers alike. “What’s going on? Why are there so many cops?” “I heard someone died last night. It was Isabella Bennett, the illegitimate daughter of Bennett's Jewelers.” “Yeah, but they haven’t even found her body. Just a pool of blood and her backpack. It’s brutal…” “Isabella Bennett? Isn’t that the shameless homewrecker?” “Exactly. Can’t say I’m surprised she’s dead! She had the nerve to meddle with the school’s golden couple; it’s disgusting!” “Rumor has it she killed herself. The pressure must’ve been too much—everyone tearing her apart…” “Or maybe she finally felt some shame. Why else would she choose that life? Just like her mother, I guess, garbage in, garbage out…” Standing at the back of the crowd, Isabella's heart sank as she caught snippets of their gossip. She hung her head low, a bitter smile dancing on her lips. What a tragic fate, to be falsely accused and painted as a suicide when the truth was much darker. “Make way, make way!” A uniformed officer shoved through the crowd, and Isabella looked up just in time to see a pair—man and woman—being led to the scene. The woman was striking, tall and poised, dressed in a tight sky-blue dress that starkly contrasted with her pale complexion. Her lips were ghostly white, and swollen red eyes hinted at tears still fresh on her cheeks, amplifying her fragile beauty. Amelia drew sympathy. Leaning against a handsome man who wore casual white attire, her presence seemed to steal any sense of hope from the air. “Lily, don’t cry. Isabella would want you to be strong,” the man said, his voice filled with warmth and heartache. His name was Edward Hawthorne, known for a kind heart that held deep sorrow, trying his best to comfort the broken woman at his side. In that moment, Isabella’s breath hitched painfully in her throat. Rage twisted her insides, boiling over into a fierce surge of emotion. Elena Bennett! Edward Hawthorne! A pair of sleazy traitors! Before her eyes danced the familiar image of the happy couple, their dark affair painfully clear. Isabella inhaled deeply, the resemblance between herself and her namesake was enough to infuriate her further. Then, another memory crashed over her: this body’s original owner had considered Edward her prince charming. Her childhood dream had been to marry him when she grew up. What a nightmare… Isabella felt sick to her stomach, the thought of being trapped in this body, destined to be a corpse, made her nearly want to retch. “Is that woman really Elena Bennett, the heiress to Bennett's Jewelers? Wow, she’s stunning!” “Stunning doesn’t cut it. She’s a genius! The youngest top jewelry designer in Northborough, beautiful, talented, and attached to a rich boyfriend. Total envy.” “Isabella must be one hell of a sister to Elana to grieve so deeply for her. Look at her… so tragic.” Just as Isabella forced the nauseous wave to recede, she overheard the comments, and suddenly it was all too much. She had to swallow back bile… Glaring coldly, she thought, genius? Sure, Elena was a genius, having snagged the position as the head designer at Bennett's Jewelers at just twenty-three and being the only under-thirty in the country to earn a national certification as a jewelry designer. That was talent deserving of the term. But that title? It had been stolen!
Chapter 4
**Murder** Isabella Bennett was a passionate jewelry designer with a flair for creativity, often seeking her sister Elena’s advice on her sketches. Each time, Elena's encouragement felt genuine, and Isabella naively assumed her sibling was the best sister anyone could ask for. That illusion shattered when Isabella uncovered the truth: Elena had been stealing her designs all along, masquerading as the talented artist while she feigned helpfulness. Betrayal coursed through her, sharp as a blade. In her desperation, Isabella confronted her sister, demanding answers. But Elena, terrified of losing everything, concocted a vicious plan. Along with her confidant Edward Hawthorne, she framed Isabella as the other woman in a scandalous affair, ruining her reputation and subjecting her to ruthless public scrutiny. They unleashed rumors that devastated Isabella's standing, turning her existence into a nightmare. The culmination of their treachery was a contract on Isabella’s life, staged to look like a suicide driven by unbearable shame. But even in death, Isabella's spirit refused to rest. In a twist of fate, she encountered a chance for rebirth—her soul would return to Earth, but only if she promised vengeance against her sister. Now, as Isabella stood once more in this world, whether Elena was the same woman from her past meant nothing. Their history forged an eternal enmity, a feud that would live on beyond the grave. Elena, draped in despair, clung to Edward like a lifeline. Her voice was choked with tears. “Oh, Cyrus, why did it have to come to this? Why didn’t she just let go?” With a gentle touch, Edward wrapped an arm around her waist. “Don’t dwell too much on it, Elena. Maybe for Isabella, death was a release.” Elena's tears flowed freely, though a wicked glint flickered behind her watery eyes. Death meant the secret of Elena’s theft would remain buried forever. She would still be the adored prodigy, the one everyone envied. “Cyrus, I’m so lost…” Her words faltered, cut short by a sudden apparition—Isabella emerged, looking pale and disheveled, her hospital gown hanging on her like a ghostly shroud. Elena shrieked, instinctively throwing herself into Edward’s embrace. “What the hell is that?!” “It’s Isabella!” Edward exclaimed, confusion washing over him. “You’re okay! Thank god!” Ignoring him, Isabella's gaze locked onto Elena. “What’s this? You see me just fine, sis. Why the fright? Did your conscience finally catch up with you?” Her voice dripped with mockery, sending chills down Elena's spine, but the older sister quickly composed herself with a strained smile. “I’m just so relieved to see you up and about! I was worried sick.” Isabella’s smile was sharp, a weapon she wielded with care. “Really? Because I thought you might be feeling a little guilty.” “Guilty? No!” Elena’s forced laughter echoed hollowly. Perspiration beaded on her brow, panic gnawing at her insides. “Why would I feel that way?” The police stepped forward, cutting through the tension. “Isabella, we need to ask you some questions.” Isabella’s smirk deepened as she glanced past Elena. “I need to file a report. Someone's been murdered.” At those words, dread filled Elena’s chest, panic flaring as she instinctively bit down on her lip. “Who’s dead?” Edward demanded, his voice catching in his throat as anxiety rippled through him. “Let’s not play coy anymore—your precious sister isn't the victim,” Isabella said, her eyes flashing with vengeful light. “But I plan to make sure someone pays.” In that moment, the room shifted, alliances faltering under the weight of Isabella’s words. Destiny had rewritten itself, and the true game was only just beginning.
Chapter 5
**The Trickster’s Veil** Elena Bennett took a breath, feeling the rush of unease settle lightly in her chest. On the surface, she exuded calm, but beneath it all, she was rattled. Every step she had taken to cover her tracks was carved into the fabric of her mind. When she had arranged for the hit, she’d used a false name and slipped cash to an intermediary. There’d be no digital breadcrumbs leading back to her. As she played the scenario through in her head, the knot in her stomach released just a bit. Maybe, just maybe, she had covered her bases well enough. “Isabella, you’re hurt! Let me take you back to the hospital,” Elena said, stepping delicately toward her sister, a facade of concern etched across her features. How perfectly she played the role of the caring sister! Behind that pretty face, however, lay the bitter truth: she had stolen Isabella’s designs and orchestrated a hit. The irony gnawed at her. “Last night, when they attacked me,” Isabella said, voice trembling, “they said you sent them.” Gasps erupted around them, whispers buzzing like angry bees. “No way, Elena was behind this?” “Looks can be misleading, huh? Seems like there’s a knife hidden beneath the ‘sisterly love.’ Crazy,” someone muttered. “She’s just envious! I mean, Isabella has always been jealous of Elena's talent,” another chimed in, with a hint of disbelief. Elena’s blood ran cold, eyes widening. “You… wait!” No way. The assailants had no clue who had hired them. Isabella was a snake trying to sink her fangs in deeper. Realizing the implications, Elena leaned in, desperate desperation washing over her. “Isabella, how could you accuse your own sister?” Edward Hawthorne, a figure of stoic patience, now simmered with rage as he locked eyes with Isabella. He knew her history, how she had harbored feelings for him since childhood, and how Elena’s affection meant everything to her. Yet trapping her sister in this twisted scheme? That crossed the line. “Isabella, you know Elena cares for you. You’re hurting her with these lies.” “I’m just speaking the truth! If Elena has nothing to hide, then what’s she so scared of?” Isabella retorted, brushing them aside as she turned to the officer. “Look, I need this investigated. I’m battered and bruised here, so don’t waste any more time.” Her pallid face and blood-stained shirt told the story of her injuries, a picture of frailty that tugged at the heartstrings. The officer nodded, leading her from the scene while he instructed his team to take Elena in for questioning. Not long after, Isabella had barely settled in the hospital room when the door slammed open. Elena marched in like a storm, fury etched on her face. “What’s your game, Isabella?” A smirk tugged at Isabella’s lips, chilling in its sweetness. “Letting the mask slip? I thought I’d see the real Elena, not just the dutiful sister.” “What do you want from me?” “Revenge, of course. You stole my designs, ruined my reputation. Did you really think I’d roll over and play nice?” Shock flickered across Elena’s face, the realization hitting hard. This wasn't just a ploy; Isabella had cracked open the vault of truth. With newfound confidence, Isabella pushed herself upright, her rage battling with her wounds. “Let’s cut to the chase. Yes, I stole your designs. Yes, I wanted to ruin you. And guess what? I did it all and you have no proof. Who will believe your wild claims?” Elena’s confidence wavered for a moment, but she stood tall, a predator cornering its prey. “You? A bitter little secret? Your life is a sideshow while mine’s the main event. Everything you love—your talent, Cyrus—belongs to me now. Accept your fate, sister.” Just then, footsteps echoed in the hallway. Before Isabella could even process the noise, Elena flung herself backward, theatrically crumpling to the floor as if pushed. “Isn’t that convenient?” Isabella thought, eyeing her sister with a mix of contempt and triumph. Whatever would come next, this was a game where the stakes were high and blood ran thick.
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