Once His, Now His Ruin

Anna POVA 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, sta

Anna POVIt was a long, silent and suffocating light.I sat on the edge of the grand bed, staring at the unconscious form of Jackson Blackwell. His broad chest rose and fell in steady breaths, his face peaceful—almost boyish in sleep. A cruel contrast to the man I knew. The man who had once taken everything from me.A bitter smile curled my lips.I had drugged him.He never saw it coming.The sleeping pill had dissolved seamlessly into his drink, my hands steady as I watched him sip it. I had waited, my heart pounding in my ears, as exhaustion crept into his muscles. He had barely finished his wine before his body betrayed him, his sharp, predatory gaze dulling, his limbs going slack. Now, he lay beside me, completely defenseless.My fingers curled into the silk of my nightgown. My mind swirled with flashes of my past—our wedding night, but not this one. The first time around, it had been different.I had been weak.Jackson had not been gentle with me.I squeezed my eyes shut, willing

(Anna's POV)The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the marble vanity. Harris's warning slithered through my mind like smoke—*This time, he might not hesitate.* I stared at my reflection. The woman in the mirror wore my face, but her eyes... God, her eyes were different. Harder. Darker. The eyes of someone who'd stared death in the face and lived to plot revenge. A draft slithered through the bedroom, making the silk curtains shudder. Jackson's abandoned tie lay coiled on the armchair like a sleeping snake. Black. Expensive. Just like his lies. I reached for it, running the silk between my fingers. The last time I'd touched this tie, it had been around my throat. His hands tightening. My vision darkening. The bitter taste of poisoned wine on my tongue— *No.* I dropped the tie as if burned. That was the past. This was now. And in this life, I wouldn't be the one choking. A floorboard groaned downstairs. Silent as a shadow, I moved to the bedroom door. The grand stair

(Harris Liam's POV)The conservatory's humid air clung to my skin like a second suit as I checked the pocket watch. 11:53 PM. Seven minutes until our scheduled meeting. Seven minutes to ensure every trap was properly set. I adjusted my onyx cufflinks - serpent-shaped, a gift from Mother on the day I took over Liam Enterprises - and watched moonlight fracture through the glass ceiling. The Blackwell conservatory was a masterpiece of Gilded Age excess, all wrought iron and rare orchids, now slowly rotting from neglect. Fitting. Everything Jackson Blackwell touched eventually decayed. The watch's ticking synced with my pulse as I circled the central fountain. My reflection warped in the tarnished bronze basin, the face looking more like Father's every year. Same sharp cheekbones. Same cruel twist of the mouth when unobserved. Twenty years since he'd stood in this very spot, handing Richard Langford that first poison vial. Now history would repeat, with far more interesting players. A

Anna's POV The world came back in shattered pieces. First the scent—blood and wolfsbane, thick as syrup in my throat. Then the pain, radiating from my shoulder in waves that made my bones vibrate. Finally, the voices, warped as though heard through water. *"...serum wasn't pure enough..."* *"...can't stop it now..."* *"...she'll die if we don't..."* I forced my eyes open. The study swam into focus through a haze of amber—colors too bright, shadows pulsing with unnatural life. My hands flexed against the chaise lounge, and I recoiled. My fingernails had darkened to obsidian, tapered into cruel points. Black veins spiderwebbed beneath my skin. "Anna." Jackson's face appeared above me, his features sharpened in my new vision. The stubble along his jaw caught the firelight in impossible detail, each hair distinct. His pupils were blown wide, irises glowing gold like my fevered blood. I tried to speak. What came out was a growl. Something small and warm touched my clawed hand. "