The stench of expensive scotch and copper-tinged blood was the last thing Evelyn felt before the world went dark.
She lay on the cold marble floor of the penthouse she had designed herself, watching her husband, Marcus, wipe a crimson smudge from his tailored sleeve. He didn't look like a murderer; he looked like the charming CEO the world adored.
"Don't look at me like that, Evie," Marcus whispered, leaning down so close she could smell his minty breath. "You were always too brilliant for your own good. But your patents, your firm, and your trust fund? They look much better in my name. Dead legends sell better than living wives."
Evelyn tried to scream, but the life was draining out of her. Her vision blurred, settling on a framed photo of their wedding day. She had been so naive. She had built his empire with her bare hands, only for him to use that empire to crush her.
If there is a second chance, she prayed through the suffocating darkness, I won't build for love. I'll build for blood.
Then, the silence took her.
Gasp!
Evelyn lunged forward, her lungs burning as if she had been underwater for years. She clutched her throat, expecting to find the jagged wound Marcus had left. Instead, her fingers met smooth, warm skin and a delicate lace choker.
She wasn't in the penthouse. She was in a brightly lit dressing room, surrounded by the scent of lilies and expensive perfume.
"Miss Evelyn? Are you alright? You looked like you saw a ghost."
Evelyn froze. She turned slowly toward the voice. Standing there was Sarah, her personal assistant who had died in a "car accident" six months before Evelyn's own murder.
Evelyn's heart hammered against her ribs. She looked at the vanity mirror. The woman staring back was younger—vibrant, with eyes that hadn't yet been dulled by Marcus's gaslighting. She was wearing a stunning, floor-length emerald gown.
"What is the date?" Evelyn asked, her voice trembling.
"It's October 14th, Miss. The night of the Vanguard Gala," Sarah replied with a confused smile. "The night you and Mr. Marcus are supposed to announce your engagement. Are you having cold feet?"
The Vanguard Gala. Two years before her death. This was the night Marcus had officially tied her destiny to his—the night he began his slow, parasitic climb to the top.
Evelyn stood up, her legs shaky but her mind suddenly, terrifyingly clear. The editors said a successful book follows the tide. The tide in this life wouldn't be love; it would be a calculated storm.
"I'm not having cold feet, Sarah," Evelyn said, picking up a glass of champagne. Her reflection in the mirror changed. The softness was gone, replaced by a cold, architectural precision. "I just realized I've been looking at the wrong blueprints."
In her previous life, Marcus had a rival. A man so ruthless and wealthy that even Marcus feared to speak his name in private: Killian Thorne. They called him the "Devil of Wall Street." He was the only man with enough power to crush Marcus like an insect, but he was famously cold, untouchable, and hated the socialite scene.
According to her memory, Killian Thorne would be at this gala for exactly twenty minutes to satisfy a legal obligation before disappearing.
"Sarah, find out where Killian Thorne is seated," Evelyn commanded.
Sarah's eyes widened. "The CEO of Thorne International? But Marcus is waiting for you in the ballroom for the announcement!"
"Let him wait," Evelyn said, her voice like sharpened steel. "I have a contract to negotiate with the Devil."
She walked out of the dressing room, the train of her emerald dress sweeping the floor like a blade. As she entered the grand ballroom, she spotted Marcus across the room, smiling and holding a ring box. He looked at her and winked, radiating the fake warmth that had once been her world.
Evelyn didn't blink. She turned her back on him and scanned the VIP lounge.
There, in the shadows of the balcony, sat a man who radiated a different kind of energy—dark, oppressive, and absolute. Killian Thorne was nursing a glass of neat bourbon, his sharp features carved from granite, looking bored with the world.
Evelyn didn't hesitate. She didn't "imitate" the shy girl she used to be. She walked straight into the lion's den.
"Mr. Thorne," she said, stopping just inches from his table.
Killian didn't look up. "I don't sign autographs, and I don't donate to vanity projects. Leave."
"I'm not here for a donation," Evelyn said, leaning in so only he could hear her over the swelling orchestra. "I'm here to offer you the blueprints to the Northwest Development Project—the ones Marcus Vance stole from your servers last night."
Killian's hand froze on his glass. He looked up, his grey eyes piercing through her like an X-ray. "That's a heavy accusation, Miss...?"
"Evelyn Rossi. The woman who designed them," she replied, a dangerous smile playing on her lips. "And the woman who is going to help you bankrupt Marcus Vance by the end of the fiscal year. But first, I need you to do something for me."
Killian leaned back, a flicker of genuine interest sparking in his cold gaze. "And what does an architect want from a Devil?"
Evelyn looked toward the stage, where Marcus was stepping up to the microphone to announce their engagement to the world.
"Ruination," she whispered. "I want you to take me away from here before he says my name. Make the world believe I've chosen you instead."
Killian looked at Marcus, then back at the woman in the emerald dress. He saw the fire in her eyes—a fire that shouldn't belong to a socialite. He put his glass down and stood up, his towering frame casting a shadow over her.
"A dangerous game, Miss Rossi," Killian murmured, offering his arm. "If we walk out together, there is no turning back."
"I burned the bridge behind me a long time ago," Evelyn said, slipping her hand into his.
As the lights dimmed for the big announcement, the "Devil" and the Architect walked out into the night, leaving Marcus Vance holding an empty ring box in front of a thousand cameras.
The revenge had begun. And the romance? It was going to be a war.