Chapter 1

No one had ever been worth Alexander Blackwood's attention.

For five years, not even his wife, Charlotte Evans, had ever managed to make him feel a thing.

Then a girl crashed into his life.

Vivian Grant smashed one of his treasured antique cups. Porcelain went flying, a shard nicked his fingertip, and a bead of blood welled up.

Everyone just froze, barely daring to breathe.

"Does it hurt?" Vivian asked lightly. She rose up on her toes and gently licked away the blood, grinning like a cat who just stole cream. "See? I'm way more alive than that old cup."

Alexander chuckled. From that moment, he was completely under her spell.

When Vivian framed Charlotte, Alexander watched with ice-cold detachment as the bodyguard snapped her wrist.

When Vivian came to him in tears, whispering how she had been wronged, he simply brought the entire Evans family to their knees, crushing them like insects until Richard Evans, Charlotte's father, had no way out but to throw himself from the top.

When Charlotte's sister was found dying in an alley, Alexander softly wiped the blood from Vivian's cheek and whispered, "There, there. Sweetie, you don't need to see this mess. Too ugly for you."

When Charlotte, wild with rage, aimed a gun at Vivian, his bodyguards killed Charlotte quickly with a single clean shot.

Bang!

The searing pain of a bullet ripping through her heart still burned in her chest like a merciless fire.

Charlotte shot awake, cold sweat soaking her back.

Her hand trembled as she pressed it to the spot where the bullet should have been. But there was no wound, only the frantic drumming of her heart, a pulse that hammered one impossible truth into her soul—She was reborn.

She took a deep breath, her nails digging into her palm.

Her gaze fell to the date on her phone, and her blood ran cold.

It was the second day since Vivian had moved into Blackwood Manor.

Her hands shook as she fumbled for her phone. Just as the call was about to connect, the door was suddenly flung open.

Vivian stood there in a red miniskirt, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. A reckless glint danced in her eyes.

"Charlotte, darling," she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Come on out and play."

Charlotte's whole body trembled violently.

In her last life, Vivian had been all passion and innocence. Charlotte had trusted her, only to be dragged down, step by agonizing step, into the abyss.

Before Charlotte could even form a word, Vivian lunged forward, grabbing her arm and yanking her out of the room.

Charlotte fought to bury the inferno of hatred swirling behind her eyes. Her nails bit into her palms, but all she could do was let Vivian drag her forward, stumbling to keep her balance.

At the Blackwood Private Range in Capital City, the air was thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder.

A shot thundered through the enclosed space, the bullet embedding itself perfectly in the bullseye.

Alexander pulled off his noise-canceling headphones. His long fingers wiped down the barrel of the gun casually, but his eyes were as cold as ice.

"Alex, you're just incredible!" Vivian chirped.

She skipped towards him like an excited child. Suddenly, she let out a theatrical gasp and threw herself sideways.

Charlotte's eyes widened. She knew this play. She had seen this scene before.

Vivian would fake a fall and claim Charlotte shoved her. Then Alexander would sternly order his bodyguards to snap her wrist.

But this time, Charlotte was done playing along.

In a split second, as Vivian lunged, Charlotte twisted her body, using her own arm to block the deliberate shove.

Thud!

Her arm slammed against the sharp metal edge of the shooting bench. The metal sliced through her skin, and blood snaked down her arm, dripping onto the polished floor.

Vivian froze, clearly not expecting Charlotte to take the blow herself.

Alexander's gaze fell to Charlotte's bleeding arm, and a flicker of something dark and unreadable crossed his face.

"Alex, she just spun around right in front of me! I didn't mean to..." Vivian started, her eyes welling up with tears. But they weren't tears of distress; they were tears of pure rage.

Charlotte said nothing. She just stood there in silence, letting her blood drip onto the floor.

She knew better than to explain. It was useless.

Alexander's next words made that painfully clear.

"Charlotte," Alexander said coldly. "Did you do that on purpose?"

He walked slowly closer, each footstep echoing like a countdown to execution.

"You think a pathetic stunt like this will smear Vivian?" he sneered.

Charlotte met his glacial stare, and a broken smile spread across her lips.

"Mr. Blackwood, you must be joking," she replied softly. "How would I ever dare frame Ms. Grant?"

Alexander stared at her. His eyes went colder still.

"Kneel."

The single word was an absolute command.

Charlotte didn't move.

"I said," he echoed and raised his hand, pressing the cold muzzle of the gun to her forehead, "kneel."

The metallic chill against her skin made her lashes flutter, but her spine stayed straight.

"Alex!" Vivian cried, rushing to his side at the perfect moment and grabbing his arm. "Don't be so angry! I'm sure Charlotte didn't mean to..."

As she spoke, she shot Charlotte a look of venomous triumph.

Alexander didn't lower the gun. His voice was a low growl. "Last chance. Kneel."

Charlotte closed her eyes and slowly sank to her knees.

The instant her knees hit the cold floor, the doors to the range swung open and a squad of bodyguards marched in.

"Watch her," Alexander ordered coldly as he put his gun away. "She stays on her knees until sunrise."

"Alex, my arm is so sore," Vivian whined, melting into his embrace with a coquettish pout.

He looked down at her, his large hand gently massaging her arm. "We'll have the doctor check it when we get home."

His voice was low and tender, like he was a completely different person from the man who had just brutalized Charlotte.

As Vivian turned, she flashed Charlotte a triumphant smile. It was bright and as deadly as a blade dipped in honey.

The door to the range slammed shut.

Charlotte knelt on the icy floor. The blood on her arm had already dried and crusted over, but the pain was still sharp.

Suddenly, she remembered she had felt this exact pain in her last life.

It was shortly after she married Alexander, when she had been stupidly happy and determined to cook for him.