Chapter 1 Her Death And Resurrection

The Seattle rain didn’t just fall; it hunted. It lashed against my windshield like thousands of transparent needles, trying to pierce the glass to get to the woman sobbing behind the wheel.

But the rain was a summer breeze compared to the arctic ice in my chest.

An hour ago, I had a life. I was a wife of seven years to Mark, and a best friend of fifteen years to Sarah. Now, I was a ghost haunting the wreckage of my own home. Mark’s voice still vibrated in my ears, cruel and clinical: “Sarah is pregnant, Jane. She’s carrying the child you couldn't give me in seven years. We're moving into the unit across the hall. It’s easier this way.”

"Easier? Easier for who?"I had gasped, watching my heart shatter into jagged, unfixable pieces.

The betrayal was a masterclass in sadism. Sarah had caught my bouquet. Sarah had held my hand through three grueling, heartbreaking rounds of IVF. Now, she was carrying the very miracle I had begged God for, and she had stolen the donor from my own bed.

I pressed my foot onto the gas. The speedometer climbed—60, 70, 85. The city lights smeared into ribbons of neon blue and brake-light red. I wasn't driving to a destination; I was driving away from a person I no longer recognized in the rearview mirror.

“How could you?” I screamed at the empty passenger seat, my voice cracking under the weight of a thousand "whys."

As I crested the bridge over the Sound, the world turned white. High beams blinded me. A semi-truck, jackknifed and sliding across the oil-slicked asphalt, roared toward me like a prehistoric beast. I slammed on the brakes, but the SUV didn't slow, It glided. The world became a dizzying carousel of metal and water.

In that final microsecond, a strange, cold clarity washed over me. I didn’t think of my parents. I didn't think of my career. I thought of Mark and Sarah laughing in my kitchen, mocking my empty womb.

"I won't let you have the last laugh" I mumbled. Then, the universe went black.

***********************"

Pain brought me back. Not the sharp, bone-snapping agony I expected, but a rhythmic, dull throb in my temples.

I opened my eyes to a ceiling that was far too white, adorned with intricate crown molding I had never seen before. I tried to lift my hand, but it felt heavy, draped in cool, expensive silk. I turned my head toward a gilded vanity mirror and let out a strangled gasp, the woman staring back wasn't me.

She was young, perhaps twenty-four, with porcelain cheekbones and eyes the color of a brewing storm. A mane of dark mahogany hair spilled over her shoulders. I reached up to touch my face, and the stranger in the glass mimicked the movement with haunting precision.

"No," I whispered. But the voice was wrong, it was melodic, lower, and terrifyingly refined.

A door clicked open. A woman in a sharp blazer stepped in, tapping a tablet. "Miss Blythe James? Thank God. Your father was worried sick the fall at the party was very serious. The doctors cleared you, but you've been out for hours."

"Who... who am I?" I croaked.

The woman froze, her brow furrowing. "Is this a joke, Blythe? You’re Blythe James. Heiress to St. James Global. We have three hours to get you ready for the anniversary gala. Move, please."

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. It was October 14, 2035.

"What? How? I don't understand. How, how am I here in 2035? I stammered.

"You mean Ten years had passed. Ten years had vanished?" Oh my goodness.

I spent the next hour feigning "post-concussion fog" while I scrolled through the tablet. I learned that Blythe was a socialite known for a sharp tongue and an even sharper business mind. Then, I found the headline that stopped my heart: "Tech Mogul Mark Anderson Marries Sarah Miller in Lavish Ceremony.”

My eyes quickly scanned through as I scrolled the screen of the tablet. I clicked on the headline to get a more detailed information. The photo showed Mark, older and more distinguished with silver at his temples, standing next to a glowing Sarah. She was draped in diamonds, holding the hand of a young boy who had Mark’s eyes.

They were living the life they had built on my grave.

"The gala," I said, my new voice steadying with a cold, predatory resolve. "Who is the guest of honor?"

"The Anderson Group," the assistant replied. "They’ve finalized the merger with your father. Mark Anderson is accepting the 'Visionary of the Decade' award."

I looked at my new, beautiful face in the mirror and felt a slow, dark smile spread across my lips. The universe hadn't just given me a second chance; it had given me a Trojan Horse.

Three hours later, I stepped out of a limousine in a dress of midnight-blue sequins that clung to me like a second skin. I walked into the ballroom, the scent of lilies and champagne thick in the air.

I spotted him immediately. Mark was near the stage, radiating the same arrogance I once mistook for confidence. I began to walk toward him, my heels clicking like a countdown on the marble floor. I was ten feet away when a hand gripped my elbow, spinning me around.

I came face-to-face with a man with piercing green eyes and a crooked, familiar smile.

"Blythe," he whispered, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone. "You look stunning. But let’s keep the act up, shall we? Did you bring the flash drive? If Mark finds out we are the ones shorting his stock, our 'engagement' won't be the only thing ending tonight."

I froze. This was Daniel Miller, Sarah’s younger brother. And apparently, I wasn't just an heiress. I was a saboteur engaged to my enemy's brother-in-law.

But as Daniel leaned in to kiss my cheek, he stiffened. He pulled back, his eyes narrowing as he took a sharp breath. "That perfume... it’s Lily of the Valley. You hate that scent. Only one person I ever knew wore that."

My breath hitched. Daniel looked me dead in the eye, his grip on my arm tightening to the point of pain. "Blythe... why are you wearing my brother inlaw's dead wife's perfume.

Before I could find a lie, the lights dimmed. A voice boomed over the speakers: "Please welcome the woman who made this empire possible, the CEO of Anderson Logistics, Mrs. Sarah Anderson!"

My brow furrowed and my mouth threw open with what I just heard. Sarah stepped into the spotlight, radiant and triumphant. But my blood turned to ash when I saw what was around her neck. She was wearing a vintage gold locket, the one my grandmother gave me. The one I was wearing when I died.