Yuna Sharpen

Chester Ford brings home a female university student for the 10th time during our 10th wedding anniversary banquet. He walks into the banquet hall with the young lady in his arms. "Don't you see that your outfit is clashing with hers, Yuna Sutherland? Take off your dress. Right here and now." He slowly loosens his tie while I take a step back in panic. He then proceeds to tug my pearl necklace from my neck. "What are you waiting for? Stop acting like you're innocent. Your father tossed your younger sister to Ford Group to be a kept woman back then. He also practically delivered you straight onto my bed, all for 30 million dollars. I'll never forget how he looked when he was begging on his knees." Everyone eagerly watches the drama unfold with champagne glasses in hand. I stare at the wedding ring on his ring finger, which is close to becoming tarnished. For the 10th time, I request a divorce. Chester sneers. "How original of you, Yuna. Yet, you eventually kneel and plead for forgiveness every time. If you leave the Ford family, who's going to pay to keep your sister alive in the ICU?"

Liana Elizabeth Rose of the prestigious Rose family woke gasping—remembering everything. At first, she thought it was a dream. Or a hallucination. Maybe heaven, maybe hell, or wherever people go when life has been cruel enough to steal their breath. But the room was the same. The curtains were the same. The smooth, unscarred skin she touched was the same. As if the last five years of betrayal and humiliation had never etched themselves into her. Then the panic hit. She remembered. Every. Single. Thing. The cold metal of prison bars. Her husband Adrian’s dead, beautiful eyes accusing her of the accident. The trial. The cousin who framed her. The family who abandoned her. The little brother who no longer remembered her voice. Her death. And the cruelest truth: she wasn’t even from this world. It was a book a stupid novel her roommate had recommended. She died inside a story she didn’t write. And now, she woke up at the moment everything began to crumble. Fine. Sharpen her mind. Feed her ambition. And when the plot tried to drag her back, she’d pull harder. Then there was him—Adrian. From his point of view, the world shifted. Her scent. Her voice. Her existence. Everything about her crawled under his skin, sank into his bloodstream, coiled around his bones. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t want to. He only knew: if she breathed, he wanted it. If she moved, he followed. Obsession wasn’t a symptom—it was his nature. And Liana? She had rewritten herself into the one thing he could never let go of. This time, she wasn’t the victim. She wasn’t a plot device. She was the storm. And Adrian? Learning, too late, that even possession has a price.