Chapter One: Till Death do us apart…..Again

Anna POV

A sharp, furious voice tore through the air, dragging me from the depths of unconsciousness. Not mine but my father's.

"Wake up, Anna! Do you think this is a game? What do you think you're doing?"

I jolted upright, my chest heaving, my breath caught between confusion and terror. The last thing I remembered was the burning pain in my throat, the poison seeping through my veins, the betrayal—the baby. My baby.

I was dead. Lying lifeless on the floor.

But now…

My trembling hands roamed over my stomach, only to find it flat. No baby bump. No evidence of the life I had carried. Nothing. My fingers clenched into the silk fabric draped over me—a white gown?

Panic surged through me as I darted my gaze around the room. The grand bedroom, the opulent chandelier, the large mirror reflecting my startled expression—everything was so painfully familiar.

No. This wasn't possible. I could remember this day.

I was twenty three again.

I turned toward the source of the furious voice. There, standing near the door, was him.

Richard Langford. My father.

Dressed in an expensive black tuxedo, his dark eyes were sharp with disapproval, his jaw clenched as he glared at me. He was exactly as I remembered him—imposing, calculating, utterly devoid of warmth.

But he was supposed to be older. He should have been grieving my death, or at the very least, pretending to.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" His voice was sharp, impatient. "Have you lost your mind, girl?"

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "W-What day is it?" My voice came out hoarse, as if I hadn't spoken in years.

My father's glare deepened. "What kind of a stupid question is that? Today is your engagement party, Anna! The entire Blackwell family is waiting downstairs, and you—like the disgrace you are—are lying in bed as if this day doesn't determine your future."

Engagement party.

My knees nearly buckled. No, no, no. This wasn't real. This had to be a nightmare—a cruel trick played by my tormented mind.

My engagement to Jackson Blackwell had happened years ago. And it had led to hell.

I had been a naïve, hopeful girl back then. I had believed—so foolishly—that my marriage to Jackson, the cold and powerful CEO, would lead to some semblance of happiness. Instead, it had led to manipulation, cruelty, and eventually—my death.

Yet here I was. Alive.

Breathless, I stumbled to the mirror, gripping the edges of the vanity to steady myself. My reflection stared back at me—a younger version of me. My face was free of the exhaustion and pain that had marked my final days. My brown eyes, though filled with panic now, held none of the sorrow they once carried. My lips, once cracked from endless sobbing, were soft, untouched by suffering.

I had been reborn.

The realization hit me like a storm, knocking the air from my lungs.

Fate had given me a second chance.

This time, I wouldn't be a victim.

My father's voice snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. "Enough of this nonsense, Anna. Get dressed. The Blackwells are waiting. I don't want you wasting their time."

A slow, bitter smile curled at my lips.

Oh, how I had suffered at the hands of the Blackwells.

Jackson, with his cold smirk and calculating green eyes, had used me as a pawn—nothing more than an asset in his world of power. His mother, Rachel, had been the devil herself, poisoning me while I carried the child they had deemed a threat.

And yet, here I was, given the chance to undo it all.

I turned to my father, my pulse steadying as something new settled within me—clarity.

I had played the role of the obedient daughter before. I had walked into the Blackwell mansion with hope. This time, I would walk in with vengeance and will not be satisfied until I ruin them.

"I need a moment to gather myself," I said, my voice eerily calm.

Richard's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Make it quick. And don't embarrass me, Anna. You only have one duty—to secure this marriage. Do you understand?"

I met his gaze head-on. "Oh, I understand perfectly."

As soon as he left, I turned back to the mirror, my fingers curling into fists.

I would never let them destroy me again.

This time, I was prepared.

*Thirty minutes later at the engagement party,

I descended the grand staircase of the Langford estate, my white gown trailing behind me. Every step I took was steady, controlled. I was no longer the fragile, helpless girl they had once known.

The grand hall was filled with guests, men in expensive suits and women in sparkling gowns. I recognized them all—politicians, business moguls, socialites. These were the people who had whispered behind my back as my marriage crumbled, the same people who had watched me suffer and said nothing.

At the far end of the room stood him.

Jackson Blackwell.

Tall. Imposing. Devastatingly handsome. The very embodiment of power in a crisp black suit, his dark hair neatly styled, his sharp brown eyes scanning the crowd.

The sight of him irritated me, making me want to throw up.

But this time, I felt no fear.

He turned, and our eyes met.

For a moment, something flickered across his face—surprise. As if he could already sense something was different about me. The Anna he had known had been soft, pliant, easy to break.

Not this time.

Jackson smirked, his signature arrogance settling in as he extended a hand. "Anna."

I stared at that hand, the very same one that had once held me down, that had pushed me to my end.

Slowly, I reached out and placed my fingers in his grasp. His touch was warm, firm—but I felt nothing.

"I've been waiting for you," he murmured.

I lifted my gaze to meet his, a slow, unreadable smile playing on my lips. "I know," I said softly.

The ceremony begins, words I barely register flowing past me like a distant echo. My pulse pounds in my ears as I wait for something—anything—to stop this.

But nothing comes.

"Do you, Anna Langford, take Jackson Blackwell to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

A sharp silence fills the cathedral. The moment stretches. My fingers tremble around the bouquet, but I keep my expression composed. The weight of my past, the betrayal, the pain surges through me.

In my past life, I had said, "I do," believing in love, believing in him.

This time, my lips curve into a smile—small, sweet, deceptive.

"I do."

Jackson slides the ring onto my finger, his touch cool against my skin. Our gazes lock for the briefest second, and I swear, I see a flicker of something in his eyes. Suspicion? Amusement? He thinks he has won.

Fool. A big one.

The priest speaks again, sealing my fate.

"You may kiss the bride."

Jackson steps closer, his fingers brushing my chin as he tilts my face up. My skin burns where he touches me, but I do not flinch. I won't. I let him lower his lips to mine, a whisper of a kiss that seals more than a marriage.

It seals his doom.

As the crowd erupts in applause, my smile remains. Empty. Calculated.

Let them celebrate. Let them believe in this lie.

Because this time, I am the one pulling the strings.

And Jackson Blackwell will pay.

---

## Chapter Two: A new ally in the game

*Anna POV

It was a long, silent and suffocating night.

I sat on the edge of the grand bed, staring at the unconscious form of Jackson Blackwell. His broad chest rose and fell in steady breaths, his face peaceful—almost boyish in sleep. A cruel contrast to the man I knew. The man who had once taken everything from me.

A bitter smile curled my lips.

I had drugged him.

He never saw it coming.

The sleeping pill had dissolved seamlessly into his drink, my hands steady as I watched him sip it. I had waited, my heart pounding in my ears, as exhaustion crept into his muscles. He had barely finished his wine before his body betrayed him, his sharp, predatory gaze dulling, his limbs going slack. Now, he lay beside me, completely defenseless.

My fingers curled into the silk of my nightgown. My mind swirled with flashes of my past—our wedding night, but not this one. The first time around, it had been different.

I had been weak.

Jackson had not been gentle with me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the memory away. The way his hands had held me down, the way my pleas had fallen on deaf ears. The suffocating weight of helplessness, of knowing I had been nothing more than a means to an end.

But this time… this time, he would not touch me.

This time, I had control.

I exhaled slowly, shaking away the ghosts of my past. I couldn't afford to let them cloud my judgment. Not when I had so much to do. Jackson and Rachel Blackwell had destroyed me once, stolen my child, my future. But fate had given me another chance, and I would use it wisely.

I glanced at Jackson one last time.

The man who had once been my nightmare.

The man who would now become my prey.

*The Next Morning,

The dining hall was a picture of wealth and power. Chandeliers bathed the room in golden light, the long marble table adorned with expensive china and silverware.

Jackson sat at the head of the table, freshly dressed in an expensive navy-blue suit, his expression unreadable. Across from him sat his mother, Rachel Blackwell—elegant as ever, with her cold, calculating eyes pinned on me like a predator studying its prey.

I held her gaze, unflinching.

I would not bow.

Beside me sat Olivia Blackwell, Jackson's younger sister. The only one in this family who had ever shown me kindness. She was quiet, reserved, her light brown hair falling over her face as she focused on her untouched breakfast.

The tension in the room was suffocating.

Jackson cleared his throat. "Anna," he began, his voice smooth, measured. "I was thinking we could visit an art gallery today. Do you like art?"

I blinked, taken aback.

In my past life, Jackson had never cared for my interests. He had never asked what I liked or disliked.

Why now?

I forced a polite smile. "I'd love that."

Rachel's spoon clinked against her teacup, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly at Jackson. Whatever he was doing, it was unexpected—even to her.

Jackson simply sipped his coffee, his expression unreadable.

An opportunity to get some air. I needed that.

I stood, excusing myself to get water from the kitchen. As I walked past the dining hall doors, I heard it—whispers.

Rachel's voice, low and furious.

"Did you sleep with her?"

I froze.

Jackson's voice followed, quieter, controlled. "No."

A sharp intake of breath. Then—Rachel's anger exploded. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Jackson? You know why we married her! You need to act fast and get her pregnant. That was the deal! I hate seeing this thing in my house."

My blood ran cold.

Pregnant?

That was why they married me?

My heart pounded as I pressed myself against the wall, straining to hear more.

Jackson's silence was deafening.

And then—his quiet agreement.

He wasn't the mastermind.

He wasn't in on the plan.

He was just a pawn.

I stepped back, my hands trembling. My entire past life had been built on the belief that Jackson and his mother had both wanted me dead. But now…

Rachel wanted an heir.

But if that was true, why had she poisoned me?

Why had she killed my unborn child if she desperately yearned for a child.

Something wasn't adding up.

A sharp breath left my lips. I had spent so much time hating Jackson, so much time preparing to destroy him, but now…

Now, I wasn't sure who my true enemy was.

*Hours later, the gallery was grand, filled with high society and whispers of business deals disguised as casual conversations.

Jackson, ever the businessman, wasted no time in immersing himself in conversation with powerful investors, completely ignoring my presence.

Good.

I needed space.

I wandered through the exhibits, my fingers tracing the edges of each frame as I lost myself in thought. The colors, the brushstrokes, the emotions captured in each piece—it was almost enough to drown out the chaos in my mind.

Almost.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

The deep voice startled me.

I turned to find a man standing beside me, his gaze fixed on the same painting I had been admiring.

Dark-skinned, brown eyes sharp with intelligence.

There was something about him—something unsettling, yet familiar.

I nodded cautiously. "Yes."

He glanced at me then, a slow, knowing smile curving his lips. "You must be Mrs. Blackwell."

My pulse spiked.

I forced a neutral expression. "And you are?"

"Harris." He extended a hand. "Just a man who knows the game."

The way he said it—the weight behind his words—sent a shiver down my spine.

I hesitated before shaking his hand, my mind already racing. Who was he? What did he want?

As if reading my thoughts, Harris leaned in slightly.

"I have a proposition for you," he murmured, his voice low, conspiratorial. "One that might just help you in the long run."

I narrowed my eyes. "And what proposition is that?"

His smile sharpened.

"A partnership. To destroy Jackson Blackwell and his family."

The air between us crackled with tension.

I stiffened. He knew. Somehow, he knew.

But how?

And more importantly—why did he want them ruined too?

A million thoughts raced through my mind, but one question stood out above all the rest.

Was Harris reborn like me?

I stared into his dark brown eyes, searching for answers.

And for the first time since my rebirth, I felt truly afraid.

My breath hitched. I had spent years plotting Jackson's downfall, yet here was a stranger offering me a shortcut—an alliance against the Blackwells. But why? What was his stake in this?

I forced a calm expression, though my pulse pounded wildly. "And why exactly do you want them destroyed?"

Harris chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "Let's just say I have unfinished business with the Blackwell family. And you, Mrs. Blackwell, are in a very… unique position to help me."

A warning bell rang in my head. I had spent my past life trusting the wrong people. I wouldn't make that mistake again.

I took a step back. "I don't make deals without knowing the full price."

His smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. "Smart woman. I like that." He slipped a card into my hand, his fingers brushing mine. "Think about it. When you're ready, call me."

Before I could respond, a hand gripped my waist. Firm. Possessive.

Jackson.

His voice was deceptively soft. "Making friends, darling?"

I looked up, straight into his piercing blue eyes.

And for the first time, I saw something new in them.

Fear.

---

## Chapter Three: Trapped in time

*Anna POV

Jackson's fingers tightened around my waist, the heat of his palm searing through the silk of my dress.

"Making friends, darling?" His voice was smooth, but beneath it lay something dark, something really possessive.

I forced a smile, slipping Harris's card into my palm and clenching my fist fast enough. Jackson couldn't see it. Not yet.

"Just admiring the art," I murmured, meeting his gaze head-on.

His eyes flickered with something—something foreign. Uncertainty? No, it was more than that. Jealousy or Fear.

But of what?

Harris had already disappeared into the crowd, melting into the sea of elite socialites like he had never been there in the first place. But his words lingered, curling around my thoughts like a snake.

A proposition. A partnership. A way out.

Jackson studied me for a moment, his fingers flexing at my waist before he released me. "Let's go."

I exhaled, letting him guide me toward the exit, but my mind was racing. Why had Jackson suddenly become so… aware of me? The Jackson from my past life had barely glanced my way unless it was to command or belittle me.

So what changed?

This Jackson was different. Subtle, calculating. Watching.

The ride home was silent, tension crackling between us. Jackson's jaw was tight, his fingers drumming against the leather of the steering wheel. I could feel the weight of his stare whenever the car stopped at a light.

"Something on your mind, Mr. Blackwell?" I asked, breaking the silence.

His lips twitched. "You're different."

I stilled. "Excuse me?"

He turned to me, eyes narrowing slightly. "The Anna I knew a day before our wedding wasn't this… strong."

My breath hitched. He noticed.

Of course, he did. I had been a fragile, desperate girl the first time we met. Easily manipulated. Easily broken. But this time, I was steel wrapped in silk.

"I suppose marriage changes people," I said coolly.

Jackson smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Does it?"

I held his gaze. "Doesn't it?"

Something dark flashed across his expression before he turned back to the road.

Yes, I was different. And he felt it.

But was that what unsettled him? Or was it something else?

By the time we arrived at the Blackwell estate, my mind was a battlefield of questions.

*That Night,

The bedroom was dimly lit, shadows flickering against the grand walls. I stood by the vanity, brushing out my hair, pretending not to feel Jackson's eyes on me from across the room.

He had been watching me all night.

Not just looking—watching like I had something on my face.

"You've been quiet," I said, meeting his gaze through the mirror.

Jackson leaned against the doorframe, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. He looked relaxed, but I wasn't fooled.

"I've been thinking."

I turned, arching a brow. "About what?"

He tilted his head slightly, studying me like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. Then, he took a slow step forward.

Then another.

I forced myself to remain still as he stopped in front of me, towering over me, his presence suffocating.

"Tell me, Anna," he murmured, voice dangerously soft. "Why did you agree to this marriage?"

My heart slammed against my ribs.

The past. The betrayal. The pain. It all flickered behind my eyes like ghosts clawing to be set free. But I forced a smirk, tilting my chin up. "Why did you agree to it?"

A shadow of amusement crossed his face, but his green eyes stayed locked on mine, searching. Doubting.

"You used to be so obedient," he mused. "Now, you're… unpredictable."

I shrugged. "Perhaps I decided to grow up."

Jackson's fingers brushed against my chin, tilting my face up. My pulse spiked. The air between us shifted, thickened.

"Did you?" he murmured, his voice like silk and steel.

Dangerous. Tempting.

My breath caught as his thumb ghosted over my lower lip. The gesture was intimate, unfamiliar. Not the Jackson I knew.

For a moment, I let myself wonder—was this the real Jackson? The one I had never seen in my past life?

No.

This was still a game.

And I refused to lose.

So, I smiled. Sweet. Innocent. A deception wrapped in beauty.

I reached up, trailing my fingers down his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. His breath hitched.

"I should sleep," I whispered.

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

For a second, I thought he would stop me, push me against the bed, claim me like he had once done—without care, without kindness.

But he didn't.

Jackson stepped back, his expression unreadable. "Of course you need to rest."

I turned swiftly, hiding my shaking hands as I climbed into bed, my mind a storm of confusion.

What had just happened?

Jackson Blackwell had never hesitated before. Never softened.

Yet tonight…

Tonight, he had let me go.

*The Next Morning,

The sun streamed through the grand windows as I descended the staircase, my heels clicking against the marble floor. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, but it wasn't what caught my attention.

It was Jackson.

He stood at the dining table, deep in conversation with Olivia. His usual sharp demeanor was missing, replaced by something… softer. His hand rested on Olivia's shoulder, his expression unguarded.

I paused, watching.

The Jackson I knew never showed affection—not even to his sister.

Who are you?

As if sensing my gaze, he looked up.

And then he smiled.

Not the smirk I had grown used to, not the cruel twist of his lips—a real smile.

My breath caught.

Was this another game? Another mask? Or…

Had I been wrong about him all along? Or could it be that my past life was turning around?

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing against my chest. Harris's card burned in my palm, his words echoing in my mind.

A partnership. To destroy Jackson Blackwell and his family.

A month ago, I wouldn't have hesitated. I would have taken Harris's offer without question, without doubt.

But now…

Now, I wasn't so sure.

Because tonight, Jackson had walked into our room.

And without a word, without a demand—

He had kissed my forehead.

Soft. Gentle. Different.

Then he left.

And for the first time in two lifetimes—I didn't know who my enemy was anymore.

My fingers trembled as I dialed Harris's number, the card slick with sweat. The moment he answered, his voice was eerily calm.

"You should have called sooner, Anna."

A chill crawled up my spine. "What do you mean?"

A low chuckle. "You still don't get it, do you?" He sighed. "You're going to die, Anna. Just like before."

My breath caught. My heart pounded against my ribs.

Before? How did he know?

"I don't—"

"You were wearing that same silk dress," he murmured, his voice turning almost… fond. "Your hair was down, just like tonight. He kissed your forehead—just like tonight. And then…" A pause. "He killed you."

My blood turned to ice.

"How do you know that?" My voice barely worked.

Harris exhaled. "Because I was there."

My vision blurred. No. This wasn't possible. I had been alone when I died—alone in that cold, dark room, Jackson's betrayal the last thing I remembered.

Hadn't I?

"Be careful, Anna." His voice was a whisper now. "This time, he might not hesitate."

The line went dead.

I clutched the phone, my breath shallow.

Was I trapped in a cycle?

And worse—was Jackson already planning my death?

No, it can't be! Or was my present starting to affect my past and maybe things were starting to change.

---

## Chapter Four: A marriage of secrets

*Jackson POV

The office was silent, save for the rhythmic tapping of my fingers against the mahogany desk. The city skyline stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but my mind was miles away—back at the art gallery, back to the moment I saw him.

Harris Liam. I immediately recognized him but he was too fast as he disappeared into the crowds.

The CEO of Liam Enterprises. My greatest business rival. A man who had spent the past five years trying—and failing—to bring Blackwell Industries to its knees. And last night, he had been standing too close to my wife. Whispering something in her ear. Slipping her a card.

My grip on the pen tightened until the plastic casing cracked. What the hell was he doing talking to Anna?

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. Cole Grayson, my right-hand man, stepped in, his expression unreadable. "You asked for me?"

I leaned back in my chair, forcing my muscles to relax. "Find out everything about Harris Liam's movements last night. I want to know why he was at the gallery, who he came with, and most importantly…" I paused, my voice darkening. "Why he was speaking to Anna. Find out what they were talking about?"

Cole's brows lifted slightly, but he didn't question me. "Understood."

He turned to leave, but I wasn't done. "And Cole?"

He glanced back.

"If Harris has been anywhere near Anna before last night, if he's been watching her I want to know."

Cole gave a sharp nod. "I'll handle it."

The door shut behind him, but the unease in my chest didn't fade.

Anna was different. She was like a totally different person.

I had seen it from the moment we left the gallery. The way she carried herself. The way she spoke. The fire in her eyes that hadn't been there before our wedding.

The Anna I had known was delicate, breakable. She had flinched under my touch, swallowing her words in my presence. But now… now she looked at me like she was my equal. Like she wasn't afraid anymore.

And that terrified me more than I cared to admit.

Because people changed for two reasons: pain or purpose. And I wasn't sure which one had shaped this new version of her.

A sharp buzz from my phone broke my thoughts.

Cole's name flashed across the screen.

I answered immediately. "Tell me you have something."

"Harris Liam has been watching Anna for weeks," Cole said, his voice clipped. "He was seen near her house before the wedding. And last night, he left the gallery minutes after we did—alone."

Rage licked up my spine. Weeks? Harris had been lurking in the shadows, tracking my wife even before our wedding and I hadn't noticed?

That wasn't just a coincidence.

"He wants something from her," I muttered, half to myself.

"That's not the worst part." Cole hesitated. "Liam Enterprises just acquired a small tech company—one that used to be contracted with Blackwell Industries before you cut ties last year."

I stiffened. "Meaning?"

"Meaning he might have access to information you don't want him to have."

A cold realization settled over me.

Anna had been holding something when I approached her at the gallery. Her fingers had curled around it too fast—too deliberately. And when I pressed her, she had deflected.

Was it Harris's personal card? Or had he given her something else she was hiding from me?

Something dangerous?

I shot up from my chair. "Track her phone."

Cole hesitated. "Jackson—"

"Do it." My voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

If Anna was hiding something—if she was being pulled into Harris's game—then I needed to know.

And I needed to stop it.

*Later That Night,

The house was quiet when I arrived. Too quiet.

I loosened my tie, stepping into the dimly lit foyer. Anna wasn't in the living room. Not in the kitchen either.

I found her upstairs, sitting on the edge of our bed, staring at her phone.

She didn't notice me at first. Her fingers were white-knuckled around the device, her expression unreadable. But when she finally looked up, something flickered across her face. Guilt.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice deceptively calm.

She pressed the phone against her thigh, forcing a smile. "Nothing. Just thinking."

Thinking.

That was a big lie.

I stepped closer, slow and deliberate. "About what?"

Anna's posture shifted slightly—almost imperceptibly, but I caught it. The barest hint of unease. "The wedding. The future."

Lies.

I stopped in front of her, staring down, my gaze sharp. "I know you're hiding something from me."

She exhaled, her jaw tightening. "And if I am?"

The air between us thickened.

She was challenging me.

Before, Anna had always shrunk under my scrutiny. Now, she met it head-on.

A slow smirk curved my lips. "Careful, Anna. You won't like what happens when you start keeping secrets from me."

She didn't flinch.

Instead, she stood, leveling our heights, her green eyes burning with something close to defiance.

"And you won't like what happens when you keep treating me like I'm the same fragile girl you married."

My breath hitched.

Damn her.

Damn this new version of her that was unraveling everything I thought I knew.

Damn you.

But before I could say another word, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Cole.

I answered without looking away from Anna. "Talk."

"We have a problem."

A chill crawled up my spine. "What kind of problem?"

"Harris Liam is at the Blackwell building. He's demanding a meeting."

Anna's fingers curled slightly.

She wasn't surprised.

And that told me everything I needed to know.

I exhaled slowly, my eyes locking onto hers. "Looks like your new friend couldn't stay away."

Her expression didn't waver. But her silence spoke volumes.

And for the first time, I realized something dangerous.

Anna wasn't just keeping secrets.

She was playing a game of her own.

And I had no idea if I was still the one in control.

The air between us crackled with unspoken tension. Anna's silence was louder than any confession, and for the first time, uncertainty crept into my chest.

My grip on the phone tightened. "I'll be there in ten," I told Cole, then ended the call without another word.

Anna tilted her head, her lips curving into something too close to amusement. "Running off to handle business?" she murmured. "Or is this about me?"

I stepped forward, invading her space, watching as her breath hitched—but she didn't step back.

"You tell me," I said, my voice low, dangerous. "Because I'm starting to think Harris Liam isn't just after my company. Maybe he's after something far more personal." I let my gaze flick down, then back to her eyes. "Maybe he's after my wife or maybe my wife is out frolicking with my business rival."

A flicker of something—hesitation? Guilt?—crossed her face before she masked it. "I'm not some pawn in your war, Jackson."

I let out a dark chuckle. "You're right. You're the queen." I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear. "But even queens can be captured."

She didn't reply.

She didn't have to.

---

## Chapter Five: The Serpent's Gambit

*(Anna's POV)

The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the marble vanity. Harris's warning slithered through my mind like smoke—This time, he might not hesitate.

I stared at my reflection. The woman in the mirror wore my face, but her eyes... God, her eyes were different. Harder. Darker. The eyes of someone who'd stared death in the face and lived to plot revenge.

A draft slithered through the bedroom, making the silk curtains shudder. Jackson's abandoned tie lay coiled on the armchair like a sleeping snake. Black. Expensive. Just like his lies.

I reached for it, running the silk between my fingers. The last time I'd touched this tie, it had been around my throat. His hands tightening. My vision darkening. The bitter taste of poisoned wine on my tongue—

No.

I dropped the tie as if burned. That was the past. This was now. And in this life, I wouldn't be the one choking.

A floorboard groaned downstairs.

Silent as a shadow, I moved to the bedroom door. The grand staircase offered a perfect view of the foyer below. Golden light spilled across the black-and-white tiles, illuminating the two men standing like chess pieces about to clash.

Jackson.

And Harris.

My breath caught. They'd never met face-to-face in my first life—at least, not that I'd seen. Jackson stood rigid in his tailored suit, every muscle coiled. Harris leaned against the doorframe, all lazy grace in his rumpled Oxford and jeans. The contrast couldn't have been sharper—Jackson's polished cruelty versus Harris's deceptive ease.

"You're not welcome here." Jackson's voice could have frozen hell.

Harris's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Now, now, Blackwell. Is that any way to greet your wife's new friend?" He held out a slender black box. "I brought a wedding gift."

Jackson didn't move. "Get out."

"Open it." Harris thrust the box forward. "Unless you're afraid of what's inside."

The challenge hung between them. I pressed closer to the banister, my nails biting into the wood.

With deliberate slowness, Jackson took the box. The lid creaked open.

A silver pocket watch glinted in the light, its chain coiled like a noose.

My lungs seized.

I knew that watch.

In my first life, I'd seen it resting on Richard's desk the day I died—its chain slithering through his fingers as he murmured to Jackson, "The problem will be handled." Hours later, I'd been choking on poisoned wine.

Jackson snapped the box shut so hard the sound echoed through the foyer. "Last warning, Liam. Leave."

Harris's gaze flickered upward—straight to where I hid in the shadows. His lips curved. Silent words formed on his mouth: Tick-tock, Anna.

Then he was gone, swallowed by the night.

Jackson stood frozen, the box trembling in his hand. For one unguarded moment, his mask slipped. Raw, unfiltered fear flashed across his face—there and gone so fast I might have imagined it.

I retreated to the bedroom before he could turn. The watch meant something. Harris knew it. Jackson feared it. And I...

I needed to know why.

The gardens outside my window stretched toward the horizon, every manicured hedge and marble fountain a testament to controlled chaos. Like this marriage. Like the war brewing beneath Blackwell Manor's gilded surface.

The door clicked open.

I didn't turn. Let Jackson make the first move.

He set the box on the dresser with deliberate care. The silence between us thickened, poisoned by everything we weren't saying.

"You'll ask about the watch." His voice scraped like gravel.

I turned slowly. Moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, gilding the tension in his jaw. "Will I?"

His fingers brushed the engraved serpent on the watch's face—a snake eating its own tail. "It belonged to my father."

"And Harris?"

Jackson's laugh was a dry, brittle thing. "Harris collects trophies." He looked at me then, really looked, and something in his expression cracked open. "You're playing a dangerous game, Anna."

"So are you." I stepped closer, close enough to catch his scent—bergamot and something darker, more dangerous. "The question is... whose rules are we following?"

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist. The watch's cold metal pressed between our palms. "Do you really think Harris Liam is your ally?" His breath warmed my lips. "He's using you. Just like everyone else."

I smiled, slow and sharp. "Then it's a good thing I'm using him too."

Jackson's grip tightened. For a heartbeat, I thought he might kiss me. Or kill me.

Instead, he pressed the watch into my hand. "Keep it. A reminder."

"Of what?"

"That some poisons work slow." His thumb brushed my pulse point. "And some wounds never heal."

The watch ticked between us, counting down to something inevitable.

Somewhere in the manor, a clock struck midnight.

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A sharp, furious voice tears through the air, dragging me from unconsciousness. Not mine—but my father's.

"Wake up, Anna! Do you think this is a game? What do you think you're doing?"

I jolt upright, chest heaving, breath caught between confusion and terror. The last thing I remembered was the burning pain in my throat, the poison seeping through my veins, the betrayal—the baby. My baby.

I was dead. Lying lifeless on the floor.

But now…

My trembling hands roam over my stomach—flat. No bump. No evidence of the life I carried. Nothing. Just a white silk gown draped over me?

Panic surges as I scan the room: the grand bedroom, the chandelier, the mirror reflecting my startled face—everything so painfully familiar.

No. This isn't possible. I remember this day.

I'm twenty-three again.

And standing by the door is Richard Langford—my father. Dressed in a black tuxedo, dark eyes sharp with disapproval. Exactly as I remember. But he should be older. Grieving. Not here, yelling at me like nothing happened.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he snaps. "Have you lost your mind, girl?"

I swallow hard. "W-What day is it?"

His glare deepens. "Today is your engagement party, Anna! The entire Blackwell family is waiting downstairs, and you—like the disgrace you are—are lying in bed as if this day doesn't determine your future."

Engagement party.

My knees nearly buckle. No, no, no. This had led to hell. Jackson Blackwell. Manipulation. Cruelty. Death.

Yet here I am. Alive.

Breathless, I stumble to the mirror. My reflection stares back—younger, untouched by suffering. I've been reborn.

Fate gave me a second chance.

This time, I won't be a victim.

Richard's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Get dressed. The Blackwells are waiting. Don't embarrass me. You only have one duty—to secure this marriage. Do you understand?"

I meet his gaze, pulse steadying. A slow, bitter smile curls my lips.

"Oh, I understand perfectly."

As soon as he leaves, I turn back to the mirror, fists clenching.

This time, I walk in with vengeance.

And I won't be satisfied until I ruin them.

Thirty minutes later, I descend the grand staircase, gown trailing behind me. Every step is steady, controlled. I'm no longer fragile.

At the far end of the hall stands Jackson Blackwell—tall, imposing, devastatingly handsome in a crisp black suit. Our eyes meet.

For a moment, surprise flickers across his face. The Anna he knew was soft. Pliant. Easy to break.

Not this time.

He smirks, extending a hand. "Anna."

I stare at it—the same hand that once held me down.

Slowly, I place my fingers in his grasp. His touch is warm, firm—but I feel nothing.

"I've been waiting for you," he murmurs.

I lift my gaze, a small, unreadable smile playing on my lips.

"I know."

The ceremony begins. Words flow past me like echoes. Then comes the question:

"Do you, Anna Langford, take Jackson Blackwell to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Silence stretches. My fingers tremble around the bouquet, but my expression stays composed.

In my past life, I said, "I do."

Believing in love. Believing in him.

This time, my lips curve into a sweet, deceptive smile.

"I do."

He slides the ring on. Our gazes lock. I see it—suspicion? Amusement? He thinks he's won.

Fool.

The priest speaks: "You may kiss the bride."

Jackson steps closer, tilting my chin. I don't flinch. Let him lower his lips to mine—a whisper of a kiss that seals more than marriage.

It seals his doom.

As applause erupts, my smile remains. Empty. Calculated.

Let them celebrate. Let them believe the lie.

Because this time, I'm the one pulling the strings.

And Jackson Blackwell will pay.

But as I stand there, ring burning on my finger, a single thought claws at me:

What if I'm not the only one who remembers?