Isabella stood in the rain, a single black umbrella shielding her from the sky's tears. Before her lay the coffin of her former self—both literally and metaphorically. Her hands trembled, not from grief, but from rage.
They thought she was dead. That car crash, that fire, it was all supposed to end her.
But fate had other plans.
A week ago, she opened her eyes in a shabby hospital on the outskirts of a foreign city. Burned, bruised, barely breathing—yet alive. And now, she was here, watching the man she once loved put on a show of mourning, as if he hadn't been the one to orchestrate her death.
"Is that the best you can do, Damien?" she whispered under her breath, her voice cold.
He stood just meters away, dressed immaculately in black, his expression the perfect mask of sorrow. Women clung to his arms, reporters hovered like flies, and yet, he acted like she was the one who had betrayed him.
But not this time.
This time, she had come back on her own terms. Stronger. Smarter. And with a plan.
She watched the coffin lower into the ground. "Let Isabella die," she said quietly, "and let Isa be born."
From the ashes of betrayal, vengeance would bloom.
And Damien Blackstone would never see it coming.