The sole heir of White Enterprises, Vivian White, had been in a vegetative state for three years. Her fiancé, Zachary Steele, had seemingly moved on from his grief, even taking over White Enterprises himself...

Lying in bed, a woman with a disfigured face watched the news broadcast with a burning hatred in her bloodshot eyes.

Because that woman they spoke of was her—Vivian White, once the proud heiress, now paralyzed and declared brain-dead.

But reality was far crueler. She hadn't been in a coma all this time. No, she had been locked away on a luxury cruise ship, trapped like a living corpse, her body immobilized by paralysis. And the ones who put her here? The two people she trusted most—her best friend, Madeline Sullivan, and her beloved fiancé, Zachary Steele.

A sharp clicking sound echoed against the floor, pulling Vivian from her rage-filled thoughts.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The door creaked open, and a pair of red high heels entered her vision.

Vivian's fingers twitched as she struggled to move, a futile attempt to lunge at the intruder. But all she could manage was a feeble tremble, her hands falling limply back to the bed. Hot, angry tears welled in her eyes as she let out a strangled sob, her gaunt fingers curling weakly like brittle twigs.

"Vivian, darling, are you happy to see me?" Madeline's sickly sweet voice cooed as she leaned down, a wicked smile stretching across her face. "Did you ever think you'd end up like this?"

Vivian's lips trembled as she glared at the woman who had stolen everything from her, the friend who now smirked down at her like a triumphant queen.

She wanted to scream, to curse her, but her vocal cords had been destroyed. She could only let out a hoarse, guttural growl—the sound of a caged animal left to rot.

Her mind spun. Why? Why would Madeline betray her like this?

As if reading her thoughts, Madeline chuckled, tilting her head in amusement. "You still don't understand, do you? Why would I do this? Because, Vivian, you're a fool."

Her words sliced deeper than any knife.

"Did you actually believe I wanted to be your best friend?" Madeline sneered. "I only stuck around for Zachary. And did you really think he ever loved you? Please. He was just after the White fortune."

Vivian's whole body shook, her lips parting in silent agony.

Madeline reached out, gripping Vivian's chin cruelly, her nails digging into her fragile skin. A sharp pain flared as a trickle of blood slid down her jaw. "Oh, and your parents' car accident? That wasn’t an accident at all. You were too blind to see it, playing the doting daughter while everything you loved was being ripped away."

No... No, this can't be...

Vivian's world tilted. Her parents’ deaths—murdered? Her fiancé—a traitor? The walls of her reality crumbled, leaving behind nothing but a bottomless abyss.

Madeline's lips curled into a vicious smile. "As your dear sister, I kept you alive for as long as I could. But now, it’s time for you to give back."

With a theatrical flourish, she pulled a folded paper from her designer handbag.

A body donation form.

Vivian's pulse pounded as she forced her eyes downward. Beneath the printed words, there it was—Zachary Steele's signature.

"Do you really think he kept you alive out of love?" Madeline taunted. "No, sweetheart. Your heart is a perfect match for mine. The moment I get it, I'll be free of my weak, sickly body. And once I marry Zachary, I’ll be sure to thank your entire family. Hah!"

Vivian fought with every fiber of her being, her hatred bubbling up like molten lava.

"Struggle all you want, darling, but it's useless. Oh, and one more thing—" Madeline sighed dramatically, as if remembering a minor detail. "The company? Zachary officially transferred control today. He even gave me twenty percent of the shares. Isn't that sweet?"

Enough. Enough!

"Oh! And that penthouse you bought? Zachary and I broke it in last night. Let me tell you, it was exquisite." Madeline let out a breathy laugh. "Your money, your home, your man—I’ll enjoy them all. So, do rest in peace, my dear sister."

At her signal, a group of doctors and nurses flooded the room, their syringes glinting ominously in the dim light.

A sharp prick against her neck—then darkness.

For a moment, there was nothing.

And then—Vivian was floating, weightless, watching the scene unfold below as if she were a mere spectator.

She saw her own lifeless body on the operating table, the pale flesh marred by fresh incisions.

No. No, no, no!

She tried to reach out, to scream, but her hands passed through the doctor as if she were nothing but air.

She watched, helpless, as the scalpel descended— digging deep into her chest.

No, stop—!

But no one could hear her. No one even noticed she was there.

Then, a shadow moved.

Zachary Steele entered the room, a gasoline canister in hand. His expression was cold, detached, as he doused her mutilated body in the flammable liquid.

Without hesitation, he struck a match.

Vivian watched in horror as flames engulfed her, the fire licking at her face, her hands, her soul.

Agony unlike anything she had ever known seared through her.

And then—a blinding white light swallowed her whole.

________________________________________

Two days later.

"AHH!"

A strangled scream tore from Vivian's lips as she shot upright, her entire body drenched in sweat. The phantom pain of the fire still clung to her skin, and she gasped for air, her chest heaving.

She was alive. But how?

A flood of foreign memories surged through her mind, so overwhelming that she clutched her head in agony.

Then, a deep, chilling voice pierced through her haze.

"Sophia Lancaster, is that all you've got?"

Vivian's breath hitched.

Slowly, she looked up—

And met the cold, piercing gaze of a man as striking as a deity. Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, his lean frame exuded a quiet, suffocating dominance. His lips pressed into a thin line, his sharp eyes filled with nothing but disdain.

A single name flashed through her mind.

She stiffened, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Theodore Huxley...?"