​Chapter 2: The Cold Awakening

RAYA

​A violent gasp tore out of my throat as my eyes flew open.

​My chest burned. My skin felt drenched in freezing water. I could still hear the terrifying screech of metal, the heavy thud of the truck hitting my car, and Margaret's voice on the speakerphone telling the hitman to take my fingerprint.

​Prison would have been much better than this. But you were always too stubborn.

​I scrambled backward, my hands clawing at the sheets beneath me. I expected to feel the cold pavement and broken glass.

​Instead, my fingers sank into soft, expensive silk.

​I stopped breathing. The room around me was dead silent. There was no rain or flashing ambulance lights. I was sitting in the middle of a massive queen-sized bed.

​I was in my old bedroom at the Sinclair estate.

​"No," I whispered, my voice trembling as I grabbed my face, then my neck, then my legs but everything was intact. My heart was hammering so hard against my ribs I thought it would crack them.

​With shaking fingers, I snatched my phone off the nightstand. The screen was perfectly smooth. I checked the top corner, and the breath completely left my lungs.

​The date stared back at me. It was fourteen months before the car crash…before they murdered me for my company.

​I was back. I had somehow come back from the dead.

​Knock. Knock.

​"Raya? Are you awake?"

​The door opened slightly, and Keila peeked inside. She was wearing a soft pastel robe, a sweet, innocent smile on her face.

​"Good morning! Mom wanted me to check on you. Breakfast is ready, and Dylan called earlier saying he’s dropping by after his meetings."

​The sight of her made a wave of nausea hit me. This was the sister who told me I was a placeholder. My stomach twisted with a pain so sharp it physically hurt. Under the covers, I dug my fingernails deep into my palms, the sharp bite of pain the only thing keeping me from screaming. I dug them in until I could feel the skin almost breaking, drawing blood.

​I had given everything for them. I had worked myself to the bone to build Sinclair Gems, only for them to discard me like trash when they were done using me.

​But I forced myself to stop. If I attacked her now, I would look crazy. They would lock me away in a mental facility, and I would lose my chance. I had fourteen months. I couldn't ruin it now.

​I forced my face to relax and managed a small, tight smile.

​"Thanks, Keila," I said. My voice sounded normal, but the name tasted like poison. "Tell Mom I'll be right down."

​"Awesome! Don't take too long," she giggled, closing the door.

​The moment the latch clicked, my smile vanished. I looked at my palms; red crescent marks were deeply embedded in my skin.

​I got out of bed and walked to the mirror.

​"Never again," I whispered, wiping a stray tear from my cheek. "You wanted to ruin me. Let's see who goes under first."

​Ten minutes later, I walked down to the dining room.

​Margaret Sinclair was sitting at the head of the table, sipping her tea. Keila was next to her, spreading jam on toast. They looked like a perfect, loving family. It made me want to throw up.

Murderers! I wanted to scream but the words choked deep in my throat.

​"There you are, Raya," Margaret said, her sharp eyes scanning me. "Sit down. We need to talk about Sinclair Gems later today. The lawyers sent over some updated trust documents. You just need to sign off on the minor changes so we can release the next quarter's funding."

​There it was. The trap. In my first life, I signed everything blindly because I thought my mother loved me. I didn't know she was setting me up to take the fall for her fraud.

​"Of course, Mother," I said smoothly, sitting down. I didn't touch the food. I just poured black coffee. "Let me look over them after my afternoon appointments."

​Margaret’s eyebrows twitched. She wasn't used to me delaying. But she simply nodded. "Fine. Just don't forget."

​I finished my coffee in silence, watching them. Keila kept smiling at me while Margaret only glanced coldly once. Was I so stupid to not have seen their true colours?

I had spent years being pathetic and grateful because they claimed they had 'rescued' a distant, orphaned relative from the streets. But they didn't save me out of charity. They just brought an outsider into their home so they would have someone to blame when their dirty schemes fell apart.

​When breakfast was over, I went upstairs. I grabbed a striking, red dress that hugged every curve. I did my hair, put on dark lipstick, and grabbed my phone.

​I had one move to make today, and it had to be nuclear.

​I scrolled through my contacts until I found the only name that could help me in take my revenge.

​Xavier Locke.

​The most feared, untouchable businessman in Verimont.

​My heart pounded as I pressed call. It rang twice.

​"Speak," a deep, gravelly voice commanded. It was completely cold.

​"Xavier," I said, keeping my voice steady. "It’s Raya Sinclair. I need to meet you today. I have a proposal for you."

​Silence stretched over the line. "Be at the Grand Verimont Executive Club at exactly eleven o'clock," Xavier said flatly. "I don't tolerate delays, Raya. Don't keep me waiting."

​The line went dead.

​A major traffic jam blocked the main avenue, and Dylan kept blowing up my phone with back-to-back calls. I ignored every single one, my eyes glued to the dashboard clock.

​By the time I finally parked and pushed through the heavy glass doors of the Executive Club, my chest was heaving.

​The grand ballroom was suffocatingly crowded. A high-end corporate auction was underway, the air thick with the murmur of old-money investors, politicians, and socialites. Standing near the back entrance, I searched the sea of tailored suits until I found the VIP section.

Xavier was sitting on a dark leather couch in the center of the tier.

​My lips slightly parted in mild surprise as I took him in now. The last time we met briefly, I wasn't even paying attention to him when he was talking. My eyes had been glued on Dylan and Keila, who had been dancing together.

​Had he always been this attractive?

​He didn't look like a typical businessman. He had his dark hair pushed back sharply, a jawline that looked like it could kill, and a dangerous, commanding aura that seemed to draw all the air out of the room.

​A blonde model was leaning over the back of his sofa, her lips practically brushing his ear as she whispered something, but his eyes were completely dead. He didn't even lean into her. His expression was mean, detached, and entirely bored by those around him.

​As I watched, he slowly lifted his left arm. His dark eyes dropped to the black diamond watch on his wrist, his brow furrowing slightly. He was losing his patience.

​Before I could even take a step toward the security line, his head snapped up.

​His gaze cut straight through the crowd, ignoring the politicians and the women trying to catch his eye, and locked directly onto mine.

​My breath caught. A sudden, unexpected heat flared in my chest.

​Xavier stood up immediately. He didn't excuse himself to the model or the dignitaries trying to hand him auction folders. He just walked away from them.

The crowd naturally shifted out of his path as his broad frame moved across the ballroom floor. Every step he took toward the back of the room felt heavy, deliberate, and entirely too arrogant.

​He stopped right in front of me, his shadow completely blocking out the glare of the ballroom chandeliers. Up close, his sheer size was overwhelming. He smelled incredibly good—a mix of woodsmoke, expensive leather, and pure masculine power.

​Slowly, he raised his wrist again, deliberately tapping the glass of his watch with a dark, manicured fingernail. He looked down his nose at me, his eyes dark, intense, and completely unreadable.

​"You're fifteen minutes late, Raya," Xavier growled, his voice rough, low, and demanding an immediate explanation.