THE REBORN HEIRESS IS A LETHAL WEAPON

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A heart monitor. Too steady.

I open my eyes to a white ceiling. Blinding light cuts through my vision. This isn't where I died.

Because I did die. I remember the bullet, Cole's voice breaking into static, and the floor rushing up to meet me. I remember the taste of blood, thick and metallic, filling my mouth.

Dead. I was supposed to be dead. So why can I feel my fingers moving?

I try to sit up. Agony pins me down. A dull, heavy ache spreads through my ribs. Not a gunshot. Bruised ribs. Weak muscles. A body that has never known the kind of training mine had.

This isn't my body.

I lift my hands. Wrong. No scar tissue. No calluses. Just smooth skin, perfectly manicured nails, and tiny wrists. A hospital band digs into my skin.

Vivian Montgomery.

Who is Vivian?

The door clicks open, snapping me out of it. A nurse walks in and freezes. "You're awake," she breathes, looking at me like she's seen a ghost.

I stay silent. Old instinct: never talk until you know your surroundings.

My eyes scan the room. One door. One high window. An IV line in my arm. Then I spot it. A black security camera sits in the corner, angled straight at my bed.

It's watching me.

"You fell," the nurse says, trembling. "From the Vance Tower rooftop. Six days ago. It's a miracle you survived."

A miracle? I want to laugh.

A bullet killed Wraith on another continent six days ago. Now I wake up in the body of a girl who supposedly fell off a roof?

That's one hell of a way to wake up.

Time to play a part.

I force my eyes to widen, let my lip tremble, and turn myself into a fragile, broken thing.

"I don't remember anything," I croak, letting my voice crack.

Her face melts with pity.

Hook, line, and sinker.

While she fumbles with the water pitcher, my brain goes into overdrive. Six days out cold. No restraints. Private room. Expensive sheets. Someone has a lot of money. Someone wants this girl breathing.

For now.

The nurse checks her badge—Lily—as she hands me a cup. Her fingers shake.

"Rest," she says.

Then she leans in, lowering her voice.

"Don't let anyone know you're awake yet. Not until I say so."

That changes things.

I take a sip, nodding like a frightened idiot, but her warning burns into my memory.

Something is wrong.

Very wrong.

✦✦✦✦✦

She leaves. I count her footsteps until the hallway goes quiet.

The mask drops.

No more shaking. No more crying.

I lie back and face the ugly truth. Wraith is gone. I'm trapped in Vivian's skin. Someone worked hard to make sure she died. A rooftop plunge. A six-day coma. A terrified nurse telling me to pretend I'm still unconscious.

Accidents don't look like this.

And accidents don't come with guards.

Yeah.

There's a guy outside.

I hear heavy, even footsteps pacing right past my door. Too disciplined to be standard hospital staff.

My right hand twitches, clawing for a blade that isn't there. Nothing but a hospital gown.

Get it together, I snap at myself.

Wraith is dead.

You're Vivian now.

A broken little rich girl who remembers nothing.

I let my arm drop back onto the blanket, completely limp.

Then the footsteps stop.

My eyes remain closed.

The door swings open without a knock.

It's definitely not the nurse.

✦✦✦✦✦

He's tall.

Broad-shouldered.

He wears a dark tailored overcoat that probably costs more than my entire apartment used to. He doesn't rush in like a worried boyfriend. He just stands there, looming, studying me like a target.

I pull up the scared, blank look.

It doesn't work.

His eyes narrow, turning razor-sharp.

"You're awake," he says.

His voice is deep, cold, and entirely unimpressed.

"Who... who are you?" I whimper.

He walks into the room slowly, taking up all the space around him. "Christian Vance."

The name means nothing to me.

But Nurse Lily's warning screams in my head.

Don't let anyone know.

Too late.

The wolf is already in the room.

He stops at the edge of the bed. No sympathy. No small talk. Just a cold, calculating gaze.

It's the exact look I used to give a mark right before I ended them.

"Do you remember what happened to you?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing a single tear to run down my face.

"I don't remember anything."

Something dark flashes in his eyes.

Total disbelief.

He knows I'm lying.

The silence stretches between us, heavy and dangerous. One wrong move and someone bleeds.

Suddenly, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out, his jaw tightening at whatever he sees.

"I have to go."

He turns toward the door.

Then stops.

Instead of leaving, he walks back to the bed and leans over the rail. He gets close. Close enough that I catch his scent—something expensive, icy, and sharp.

His voice drops until it's barely more than a breath.

"Don't lie to me again, Miss Montgomery."

My breath catches.

Before I can fake a gasp, he turns on his heel and walks out.

The door shuts behind him.

I lie there, my heart hammering against my ribs.

It's the rush.

The adrenaline.

He knows.

He doesn't know an assassin is living in this body, but he knows I'm playing a game.

And a billionaire who can spot a professional lie that fast?

He's a lethal problem.

I look up at the ceiling and let a slow, wicked smile spread across my face.

For the first time since waking up, I don't feel helpless.

I feel alive.

Christian Vance wants to know what happened to Vivian Montgomery.

Fine.

Let's see how long it takes him to realize she's not the woman who woke up in this bed.

Let's see who breaks first, Christian Vance.