LOGINLiana Elizabeth Rose of the prestigious Rose family woke gasping—remembering everything. At first, she thought it was a dream. Or a hallucination. Maybe heaven, maybe hell, or wherever people go when life has been cruel enough to steal their breath. But the room was the same. The curtains were the same. The smooth, unscarred skin she touched was the same. As if the last five years of betrayal and humiliation had never etched themselves into her. Then the panic hit. She remembered. Every. Single. Thing. The cold metal of prison bars. Her husband Adrian’s dead, beautiful eyes accusing her of the accident. The trial. The cousin who framed her. The family who abandoned her. The little brother who no longer remembered her voice. Her death. And the cruelest truth: she wasn’t even from this world. It was a book a stupid novel her roommate had recommended. She died inside a story she didn’t write. And now, she woke up at the moment everything began to crumble. Fine. Sharpen her mind. Feed her ambition. And when the plot tried to drag her back, she’d pull harder. Then there was him—Adrian. From his point of view, the world shifted. Her scent. Her voice. Her existence. Everything about her crawled under his skin, sank into his bloodstream, coiled around his bones. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t want to. He only knew: if she breathed, he wanted it. If she moved, he followed. Obsession wasn’t a symptom—it was his nature. And Liana? She had rewritten herself into the one thing he could never let go of. This time, she wasn’t the victim. She wasn’t a plot device. She was the storm. And Adrian? Learning, too late, that even possession has a price.
View MoreCHAPTER ONE — THE NIGHT RETURNS
Liana Elizabeth Rose woke like a woman dragged out of the grave. A choked gasp tore from her throat. Her back arched. Her nails clawed at the sheets. For a split second, she had no body just terror, cold metal, and the echo of her last breath inside a prison cell. Then the world snapped back into place. Silk sheets. Warm air. A bedroom unchanged by time. Her chest rose and fell in vicious, uneven heaves. She stared at the chandelier overhead its crystals scattering soft light over a space she had not seen in years. A space she should never see again. Because she died. She remembered dying. Her pulse stuttered. Her hand shook as she lifted it to her face. Smooth skin. No scars. No bruises. None of the ugly remnants of imprisonment or betrayal. It was the face she once carried like a curse—beautiful, delicate, too easy to shatter. “This…” Her voice cracked. “This is five years ago.” Her reflection in the wardrobe mirror confirmed the nightmare and the miracle. Black hair cascading like silk. Clear, bright eyes untouched by exhaustion. A body unbroken. She took one trembling step back. Then another. “No… heavens…” Her breath hitched. “I’ve… returned.” The words tasted unreal, but the universe didn’t argue. Memories slammed into her with brutal clarity. Adrian’s accident. Her frantic dash to the hospital. Her ruined career. Her months of caretaking. His memory returning cold, sharp, cruel. His accusations. His betrayal. The planted evidence. The trial. Her family abandoning her. Her little brother slipping away. Her death behind bars. And above it all the most horrifying truth: This world was a book. A novel her roommate had introduced to her in her original life. She’d woken in it once confused and helpless. She died inside its script. And now she had been thrown back to the start. Fate had rewound itself. The heavens had opened their eyes. She exhaled, long and shaky. “This time… no one will write my ending for me.” A noise in the hallway made her flinch. Her younger brother’s sleepy voice murmured through the crack of the door. “Liana… are you awake?” Her throat tightened. He was still five. Still innocent. Still within her reach. “Yes,” she said softly. “Go back to sleep.” When his footsteps faded, she faced herself in the mirror with a steadying breath. She was no longer the naive Liana who loved Adrian with her whole foolish heart. She wasn’t the obedient heroine the author wrote to be sacrificed. She wasn’t the woman who would give up her career, her mind, her life for a man who would destroy her. She was reborn. She was aware. And this time, she would not bow. The clock read 11:42 p.m. Her pulse surged. Tonight is the night of Adrian’s accident. The exact moment when fate first sank its claws into her. When her life bent toward destruction. In her first life, she ran to him. Loved him. Nursed him. Devoted everything to him. In return, he crushed her without blinking. A cold smile touched Liana’s lips. Not this time. She walked to her dresser with deliberate calm, picking up her phone. She scrolled to the modeling agent whose life-changing offer she’d abandoned in her first life. Her thumb hovered then pressed delete. She wasn’t the kind of woman who waited for fate to cut her down anymore. She would strike first. She would rise first. She would choose herself first. She grabbed fitted black pants, a jacket, tied her hair back with a sharp snap of the band. Her heart was still racing, but her mind was ice-cold, razor-sharp. This was the night everything had once gone wrong. This was the night she would rewrite. Liana stepped toward the door. The air felt charged, as if the world itself were watching. “Author,” she whispered into the silence, as if challenging the sky, the plot, the woven threads of fate itself. “You wrote me to break once. Let’s see how you handle me now.” And with a calm born only from death and return Liana Elizabeth Rose walked out to take back her story.CHAPTER SIXTEEN — LIANA’S FIRST PUBLIC STRIKE (Liana’s POV) The afternoon after Charlotte’s first humiliation was too quiet. Eleanor had vanished into her study. My aunt had taken to her room with a “headache.” Even the maids moved like ghosts. Adrian and I spent the hours with Liam (quiet, careful hours). He was colouring again, humming under his breath. Every time Adrian leaned over to help tape a new page to the wall, the cold in his eyes melted completely. By seven o’clock, a maid appeared with a silver card. “Madam Eleanor requests the family join her for dinner at eight. Formal dress.” Adrian looked at me. I smiled. Trap. I chose a black silk gown (high neck, long sleeves, slit to the thigh). Modest until I moved. Then it was a weapon. Adrian wore black tie (old habits, perfect fit). We walked into the dining room together. Eleanor sat at the head, diamonds flashing. Charlotte was already there, in ice-blue chiffon, hair swept up, n
CHAPTER FIFTEEN — CHARLOTTE’S ARRIVAL (Liana’s POV)The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of the guest suite like it was afraid to wake us.I opened my eyes to find Adrian already dressed (or half-dressed): black trousers, white shirt unbuttoned, tie loose around his neck. He stood at the wardrobe, staring at his reflection in the mirror, fingers frozen on the top button.I sat up slowly, sheet pooling around my waist.“Adrian?”He turned, the cold mask cracking just a little when he saw me.“Just glimpses,” he said, voice rough. “The wedding. A dinner where I… left you sitting alone. Nothing more.”I nodded, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.“Get dressed,” I said. “Liam’s waiting, and Eleanor won’t let us forget we’re under her roof.”He finished buttoning his shirt with mechanical precision, the old Adrian’s habits bleeding through.I slipped into a black dress (simple, severe, armor), tied my hair back, and slid on heels that clicked like warnings on th
CHAPTER FOURTEEN — THE ESTATE (Liana’s POV)The Jin family estate looked exactly the same as it had the night Adrian’s car crashed: marble steps, iron gates, manicured gardens hiding poison. Only this time, I walked through the front doors with my head high and Adrian at my side instead of in a body bag.Eleanor waited in the grand foyer.She had aged ten years in three weeks. The woman who once looked like polished ice now had cracks.She didn’t look at me.She looked only at her son.“You came home,” she said, voice thin.Adrian’s hand tightened on mine.“I’m not staying,” he answered. “We’re here for Liam. That’s all.”Eleanor’s gaze finally slid to me.Cold. Calculating.Then she stepped aside.The staff had prepared the entire east wing for Liam: hospital bed, monitors, a private nurse on twenty-four-hour call. Money had moved mountains again.Liam was already there, sitting up in bed, eyes wide as he took in the room.“Lia!” He held out his arms.I went to him, hugged
CHAPTER THIRTEEN — THE FIRST CRACKS IN MEMORY (Liana’s POV)Three days after the hospital visit, the first crack appeared.I came back from a modeling meeting (my first in this life, a small test shoot that felt like reclaiming a piece of myself) to find Adrian in the penthouse study, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and sharp.“—I don’t care what my mother said. Transfer the funds now. The account is in my name. If you delay, you’re fired. Understood?”He ended the call and turned, the tension in his shoulders melting the instant he saw me.“Liana.”I stopped in the doorway.The desk was covered in papers (financial statements, medical trials, a list of doctors’ names I didn’t recognise).“What is this?”He hesitated (just a fraction, but enough to make my pulse spike).“For Liam,” he said. “I… made some calls.”I stepped closer, picking up the top sheet.A wire transfer confirmation for two million dollars to a Swiss clinic. Another for a private jet. Emails from his assist












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