로그인They say money can't buy happiness. But it sure can buy revenge. Nyla gave everything to her billionaire husband Eric her fortune, her trust, her heart. He repaid her with betrayal, leaving her to die while he pampered his mistress with the blood meant to save her life. But death wasn't the end. Nyla wakes up one year in the past with a mission: bankrupt Eric in 30 days, divorce him, reclaim her empire, and marry his biggest rival Cameron just to watch him burn. Revenge should be simple. But as Nyla destroys Eric's world, she discovers the betrayal runs deeper than adultery. Someone orchestrated her death and they're not done yet. Just when she thinks she's rewritten her fate, an anonymous message arrives: "You died for a reason. And they're coming to finish what they started." Some second chances come with a price. Who's really pulling the strings?
더 보기The building was quiet at eight in the evening.Not the quiet of a building that had emptied completely — there were security staff downstairs and maintenance running through the lower floors, the ordinary overnight machinery of a commercial building. But the executive level was hers. The corridor outside her office had the particular silence of a space that had been full all day and had now returned to itself.She had not planned to stay this late. She had planned to leave at six-thirty, to be home when Cameron finished the call he had at seven, to have the evening be an evening rather than the continuation of a workday. And then she had been reviewing the framework documentation — the protocols she and Sophia and Cameron had been building, the version that was now refined enough to be considered something that existed rather than something being constructed — and she had not left.Not because the work was urgent. Because the room was quiet and the city was lit below her window and s
She woke at five-forty-seven.Without an alarm. She had been waking at five-forty-five, five-fifty for the past year, the body having calibrated itself to the rhythm of the days she had been living. Cameron was awake beside her — or just becoming awake, the particular quality of someone transitioning from sleep to consciousness, not fully in either.She lay still for a moment in the particular quiet of very early morning and thought about nothing specific. Not the board meeting. Not Margaret's warning. Not the day's calendar, which she had reviewed the night before and which she would review again at her desk in an hour but which did not require reviewing yet. She lay still and was present in the specific room and the specific morning and that was enough.Then she got up.The gym was in the building, two floors down. She went at six and had it to herself for forty minutes, which was the usual outcome at this hour.She ran. She did the weight work she had developed over the year — noth
Her name was Margaret Okafor.She had been a structural engineer before. A good one — she described her work with the specific pride of someone who had been excellent at a technical field and who knew the difference between adequate and excellent. She had worked on bridges and on large-scale commercial structures and on one significant public building that she named and that Nyla recognised.Twenty-two years ago she had been working late on a project deadline when the building she was in had a partial structural failure. She had been in the wrong corridor at the wrong moment. She had been under rubble for nineteen minutes. Clinical death at the scene. Revived in the ambulance.Twenty-two years.She had come back with a gap of twenty-two years where the life she had been living should have been, carrying fragments of a world she had seen and lived through and lost.The disorientation had been total. Two years of it. She had not been able to hold the truth of the situation clearly enoug
The drive took four hours.She did not use the time for calls or for the three items on her calendar that had been rescheduled to accommodate the trip. She drove and let the road be quiet and let the distance accumulate in the same way she had let distance accumulate on every significant drive she had made in the past year and a half — the drive to the motel where Diane was hiding, the drive to Marcus Webb's cabin road, the drive north after the shooting. Long roads had become, over time, a kind of thinking she did with her body rather than her mind. Something settled in the extended motion. Something that was not rest but was adjacent to it.She thought about what she was going to say.Not the words — the approach. The way Sophia had come to her alone, knowing that her identity would make the meeting complicated, and had needed Nyla to have already understood who she was before they were in the same room. The way the teenager had described what she heard from the dark returner: somet
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