Once His, Now His Ruin

Anna POV

A sharp, furious voice tore through the air, dragging me from the depths of unconsciousness. Not mine but my father’s.

“Wake up, Anna! Do you think this is a game? What do you think you’re doing?”

I jolted upright, my chest heaving, my breath caught between confusion and terror. The last thing I remembered was the burning pain in my throat, the poison seeping through my veins, the betrayal—the baby. My baby.

I was dead. Lying lifeless on the floor.

But now…

My trembling hands roamed over my stomach, only to find it flat. No baby bump. No evidence of the life I had carried. Nothing. My fingers clenched into the silk fabric draped over me—a white gown?

Panic surged through me as I darted my gaze around the room. The grand bedroom, the opulent chandelier, the large mirror reflecting my startled expression—everything was so painfully familiar.

No. This wasn’t possible. I could remember this day.

I was twenty three again.

I turned toward the source of the furious voice. There, standing near the door, was him.

Richard Langford. My father.

Dressed in an expensive black tuxedo, his dark eyes were sharp with disapproval, his jaw clenched as he glared at me. He was exactly as I remembered him—imposing, calculating, utterly devoid of warmth.

But he was supposed to be older. He should have been grieving my death, or at the very least, pretending to.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” His voice was sharp, impatient. “Have you lost your mind, girl?”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “W-What day is it?” My voice came out hoarse, as if I hadn’t spoken in years.

My father’s glare deepened. “What kind of a stupid question is that? Today is your engagement party, Anna! The entire Blackwell family is waiting downstairs, and you—like the disgrace you are—are lying in bed as if this day doesn’t determine your future.”

Engagement party.

My knees nearly buckled. No, no, no. This wasn’t real. This had to be a nightmare—a cruel trick played by my tormented mind.

My engagement to Jackson Blackwell had happened years ago. And it had led to hell.

I had been a naïve, hopeful girl back then. I had believed—so foolishly—that my marriage to Jackson, the cold and powerful CEO, would lead to some semblance of happiness. Instead, it had led to manipulation, cruelty, and eventually—my death.

Yet here I was. Alive.

Breathless, I stumbled to the mirror, gripping the edges of the vanity to steady myself. My reflection stared back at me—a younger version of me. My face was free of the exhaustion and pain that had marked my final days. My brown eyes, though filled with panic now, held none of the sorrow they once carried. My lips, once cracked from endless sobbing, were soft, untouched by suffering.

I had been reborn.

The realization hit me like a storm, knocking the air from my lungs.

Fate had given me a second chance.

This time, I wouldn’t be a victim.

My father’s voice snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. “Enough of this nonsense, Anna. Get dressed. The Blackwells are waiting. I don’t want you wasting their time.”

A slow, bitter smile curled at my lips.

Oh, how I had suffered at the hands of the Blackwells.

Jackson, with his cold smirk and calculating green eyes, had used me as a pawn—nothing more than an asset in his world of power. His mother, Rachel, had been the devil herself, poisoning me while I carried the child they had deemed a threat.

And yet, here I was, given the chance to undo it all.

I turned to my father, my pulse steadying as something new settled within me—clarity.

I had played the role of the obedient daughter before. I had walked into the Blackwell mansion with hope. This time, I would walk in with vengeance and will not be satisfied until I ruin them.

“I need a moment to gather myself,” I said, my voice eerily calm.

Richard’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Make it quick. And don’t embarrass me, Anna. You only have one duty—to secure this marriage. Do you understand?”

I met his gaze head-on. “Oh, I understand perfectly.”

As soon as he left, I turned back to the mirror, my fingers curling into fists.

I would never let them destroy me again.

This time, I was prepared.

Thirty minutes later at the engagement party,

I descended the grand staircase of the Langford estate, my white gown trailing behind me. Every step I took was steady, controlled. I was no longer the fragile, helpless girl they had once known.

The grand hall was filled with guests, men in expensive suits and women in sparkling gowns. I recognized them all—politicians, business moguls, socialites. These were the people who had whispered behind my back as my marriage crumbled, the same people who had watched me suffer and said nothing.

At the far end of the room stood him.

Jackson Blackwell.

Tall. Imposing. Devastatingly handsome. The very embodiment of power in a crisp black suit, his dark hair neatly styled, his sharp brown eyes scanning the crowd.

The sight of him irritated me, making me want to throw up.

But this time, I felt no fear.

He turned, and our eyes met.

For a moment, something flickered across his face—surprise. As if he could already sense something was different about me. The Anna he had known had been soft, pliant, easy to break.

Not this time.

Jackson smirked, his signature arrogance settling in as he extended a hand. “Anna.”

I stared at that hand, the very same one that had once held me down, that had pushed me to my end.

Slowly, I reached out and placed my fingers in his grasp. His touch was warm, firm—but I felt nothing.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he murmured.

I lifted my gaze to meet his, a slow, unreadable smile playing on my lips. “I know,” I said softly.

The ceremony begins, words I barely register flowing past me like a distant echo. My pulse pounds in my ears as I wait for something—anything—to stop this.

But nothing comes.

“Do you, Anna Langford, take Jackson Blackwell to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

A sharp silence fills the cathedral. The moment stretches. My fingers tremble around the bouquet, but I keep my expression composed. The weight of my past, the betrayal, the pain surges through me.

In my past life, I had said, “I do,” believing in love, believing in him.

This time, my lips curve into a smile—small, sweet, deceptive.

“I do.”

Jackson slides the ring onto my finger, his touch cool against my skin. Our gazes lock for the briefest second, and I swear, I see a flicker of something in his eyes. Suspicion? Amusement? He thinks he has won.

Fool. A big one.

The priest speaks again, sealing my fate.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Jackson steps closer, his fingers brushing my chin as he tilts my face up. My skin burns where he touches me, but I do not flinch. I won’t. I let him lower his lips to mine, a whisper of a kiss that seals more than a marriage.

It seals his doom.

As the crowd erupts in applause, my smile remains. Empty. Calculated.

Let them celebrate. Let them believe in this lie.

Because this time, I am the one pulling the strings.

And Jackson Blackwell will pay.