Bang—

A single gunshot split the night—sharp, final, echoing like a scream trapped in time.

Isabella Grant jolted awake.

She opened her eyes. Darkness pressed in around her, thick and absolute. Confusion flooded her mind—hadn't she already died? And yet here she was, breathing.

Instinctively, she reached up, fingertips grazing her temple.

No wound. No blood.

What the hell?

Then, pain seeped through her limbs like cold ink through paper. Her body felt as if it had been shattered… then clumsily stitched back together.

Isabella tried to sit up—but something held her down.

A man's arm. Heavy. Bare. Draped across her waist.

She suddenly realized she was naked. Then, a dull, persistent ache emanating from deep within her body.

Isabella tried with all her might to piece her memories together, but her mind remained a tangled mess. She reached with trembling fingers for the bedside lamp. A soft click. Warm light spilled into the room.

She turned—and her breath caught.

The man beside her was one she knew too well. Even in sleep, his features were sharp, severe. His brows were furrowed, as always, carrying that same storm beneath the surface.

Alexander Moore.

Her husband. Once.

As the light brushed his face, Alexander stirred slightly, his brows tightening. His arm shifted as though he meant to pull her closer.

Without thinking, Isabella grabbed a glass paperweight from the nightstand and slammed it into his head.

"Ugh—" he groaned, his eyes fluttering before he slumped back into the pillow.

Blood trickled from his temple.

She froze, her hands trembling uncontrollably.

The object slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Her breathing hitched. Her legs gave way as she stumbled backward, barely catching herself on the edge of the bed.

Taking in the furnishings of the room and the scene before her, suddenly, it all came rushing back.

This wasn't just any night. It was that night—two years ago.

The night they had been set up, drugged, and thrown into the same bed.

The night Alexander's powerful grandfather had refused to let his heir be caught in scandal.

So they were forced to marry. A grand wedding, a loveless union.

Isabella murmured to herself, "Have I… been reborn, brought back to this day?"

Her hands clenched at her sides. If the universe had truly given her a second chance… then this time, she wouldn't make the same mistakes.

She wouldn't marry him again.

She wouldn't spend two years trapped in a marriage without warmth, without respect… only to die at the hands of the man who claimed to be her husband.

Isabella quickly steadied herself and gathered her thoughts. Right now, what she needed to do was leave—immediately.

She scanned the room. Her dress was ripped to shreds.

"Bastard," she muttered, glaring at the man lying unconscious—perhaps dead—on the bed.

She had no choice but to pick up the shirt discarded on the floor. Though it was his, it was the only intact piece of clothing left.

After putting it on, she walked over barefoot and silent, then crouched beside him. Just in case… she hovered her hand above his nose.

Still breathing.

"Kill him," a faint voice suddenly whispered in her mind.

Hatred born of her murder flashed in her eyes. Isabella's eyes reddened slightly; she clenched her jaw, fighting back tears.

"In this life, let's just be strangers. No more pain. No more us," she said softly.

Then, she wiped the blood and fingerprints from the paperweight. She picked up the men's wallet from the nightstand and took all the cash inside. Every movement was clean and precise. Just as she opened the door to slip away, a hoarse, weak voice called out.

"Don't… go…"

Isabella's heart leaped. She glanced back quickly, then hurried out, accelerating into a run.

She speculated to herself that he likely couldn't figure out she was the woman who had slept with him

On the bed, Alexander winced. He raised a hand to his head, feeling the warmth of blood against his fingers.

The intense pain cut through the fog in his mind, sharpening his awareness.

Alexander stared at the now-closed door, a flicker of emotion passing through his gaze as he uttered:

"Isabella.

Grant."