The queen of Hawthorne City, Aria Crestwood, the ice queen known as the "Black Widow," announced her engagement to my stepbrother, Spencer Sinclair.

Spencer was terrified, but I pulled him aside and calmly offered to take his place.

In exchange, he would have to spend three years at a remote family estate in Maine, guarding an old safe my father left me. He was forbidden from opening it until those three years were over.

Spencer, believing the safe held the immense fortune he dreamed of, greedily agreed.

A wave of greed and relief washed over his face, and I sneered to myself.

Little did he know, he was guarding the very key to his and his mother's damnation.

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1

"I'm sorry, Rhys," my mother, Genevieve Sinclair, said, her voice trembling. "But we have no other choice. We can't afford to offend the Crestwood family."

She pressed a lace handkerchief to the corner of her eye, squeezing out a few crocodile tears. The performance made my stomach turn.

Everyone in Hawthorne City knew who Aria Crestwood was—the city's uncrowned queen. A car accident claimed her parents' lives, leaving her colder and more ruthless than ever—a beautiful but lethal phantom.

And the man she was set to marry was none other than the heir to the Sinclair family, Spencer Sinclair.

But at this moment, I was the one being pushed forward.

As the Sinclair family's adopted son—the "counterfeit heir"—I was the natural sacrifice.

Spencer stood to the side, unable to hide the smug grin plastered across his face.

A lawyer's voice broke the silence. "Mr. Sinclair, once you sign this agreement, you will officially become Miss Crestwood's legal spouse. As compensation, the Sinclair family will provide a considerable sum."

I looked up at the three vile faces before me. The scene was all too familiar.

In my past life, I had clenched my fists and tearfully demanded to know why. The only response I received was Genevieve's bone-chilling mockery.

"You should be honored, you worthless freeloader! It's the chance of a lifetime to be connected to Miss Crestwood. Don't you dare act like you're above this!"

After that, they drugged me and sent me to Aria's mansion. There, she treated me like I was nothing more than air.

It wasn't until much later that I learned the truth. Aria wanted to marry into the Sinclair family because she suspected they were behind the car crash that killed her parents.

She planned to marry her enemy's son, torture him slowly, and lure out the true mastermind.

But the Sinclairs couldn't bear to part with their precious son. So, they sent me, the substitute.

Aria's plan fell through, and all her pent-up fury and hatred were unleashed on me.

In that vast, magnificent estate, she lifted my chin with a silver cane, her gaze cold enough to freeze blood.

"Did Genevieve send you to humiliate me?" she asked coldly. "Tell her—the game has just begun."

I died in the second winter of my marriage to Aria. By then, my mind had completely shattered. One snowy night, I fled the mansion and threw myself in front of a skidding truck.

My soul floated in the air, watching as Aria stood over my body for a long, long time. There was no vengeful satisfaction on her face, only a bottomless sorrow.

Meanwhile, the Sinclair family thrived, living off the vast inheritance they had stolen from my biological father.

It was that burning injustice that allowed me to be reborn. I had returned to this day, the day they forced me to sign this damned agreement.

"Fine," I said, my voice steady. "I'll sign."

I picked up the pen and wrote my name, Rhys Sinclair, on the document. My handwriting was firm, without a tremor.

All three of them froze, staring at me in disbelief. They had clearly expected tears or a total collapse.

Genevieve blinked, surprised, before a cold, satisfied smile spread across her face. The insincere smirk on my stepfather Philip Sinclair’s face deepened.

Only Spencer looked uneasy, his gloating expression slowly curdling into one of caution and suspicion.

After signing, I stood and turned to him.

"As we agreed, get ready to leave for the estate in Maine. Don't forget our deal."

"What are you trying to pull?" he asked, taking a wary step back.

I smiled faintly. "You've always been curious, haven't you? About why my father, that so-called 'bankrupt merchant,' left me that estate by the sea."

Spencer's eyes widened. This had always been a thorn in his side.

My biological father, Will Montgomery, was once a business genius on par with Aria's father, until he was framed by Genevieve and died young. Genevieve stole everything he left behind, spinning a tale that he was a bankrupt merchant and I was just his worthless son.

Only that seaside estate remained in my name.

She thought the dilapidated house was worthless. But later, when the land was zoned for a top-tier resort, her regret was palpable.

I leaned close to Spencer's ear and lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The truth is, my father wasn't who you think he was. He founded Montgomery Enterprises. And in the basement of that estate, there's a safe filled with bearer bonds he stashed away. We're talking an astronomical sum."

"Bearer bonds?" Spencer's breath hitched.

"Only problem is," I said, pausing to let out a theatrical sigh, "the bonds have a three-year lock-in period. Can't be cashed early. And you know my father—always the showman. His will states that a direct blood relative has to guard the safe at the estate for three years straight. Otherwise, the whole fortune is cursed."

A fanatical gleam ignited in Spencer's eyes.

Three years in a rundown estate in exchange for an unimaginable fortune.

He looked at me as if I were a colossal fool, sitting on a mountain of gold and about to hand it over.

I lowered my eyes and said softly to Spencer, "I'm about to be sent to Aria's. Who knows what will happen to me once I'm there?"

My tone grew heavy. "I can't protect that money. We're brothers, Spencer… so consider it my gift to you."

The wariness in his eyes vanished completely, replaced by pure, scorching greed.

"Don't worry, Rhys," he said, giving my shoulder a pat that was meant to feel sincere. "I'll take good care of that money for you. And when you get to the Crestwoods'... just try to be patient."

That afternoon, Spencer packed his bags and eagerly set off for Maine, under the guise of "guarding the inheritance" for my father.

Though Genevieve and Philip were puzzled, they couldn't sway him and had no choice but to let him go. In their eyes, what could a rundown estate in the middle of nowhere possibly hold of value?

I stood at an upstairs window, watching Spencer's car vanish into the rain as the ghost of a smile touched my lips.

There was indeed something in that safe—but it wasn't bonds.

Inside was my real birth certificate and all the evidence my father had left behind—enough to prove every one of Genevieve's crimes.

In my past life, I had almost gotten my hands on it. But before I could act, they forced me into the marriage with Aria, and my plan for revenge was cut short.

This time, I would let that fool guard the evidence for me.

Once I dealt with Aria, I would expose everything.

A week later, after Aria and I completed the legal formalities, a black Rolls-Royce delivered me to her estate on Long Island.

The housekeeper opened my car door, her face a blank mask, and gestured me inside.

"Miss Crestwood is waiting for you in the study upstairs."

I nodded and followed her.

The first time I came here, my palms were sweaty, and my every step was fraught with trepidation. But now, walking down this familiar hallway again, my heart was perfectly calm.

The study door opened, and there she was—Aria.

She was dressed in a sharply tailored custom suit, sitting in a high-tech wheelchair with a soft cashmere blanket draped over her legs.

Sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, yet it did nothing to warm the chill in her eyes.

"So, you're the son Genevieve sent?" she began, her voice a low, sharp monotone.

"Yes," I answered calmly.

She finally looked up, her gaze filled with undisguised contempt.

"Don't think I don't know you're just a substitute," she said. "I thought she would have parted with her precious son."

I remained silent, just looking at her.

Her weakness and injuries were all a performance.

In my past life, her act had deceived me. I thought she was a broken, pitiful woman and tried to thaw her icy exterior with kindness.

In return, all I received was a humiliation deeper than I could have ever imagined.

"Get out," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "Stay in the guest room. Don't let me see you. You're an eyesore."

This was our wedding night.

It was exactly the same as in my previous life.

But this time, I didn't panic. I didn't even look away. I met her cold gaze and said calmly, "Miss Crestwood, I think we need to talk."

The staff outside the door shot me glances of mixed pity and contempt.

I didn't back down or move, just watched Aria calmly, as if appraising a work of art.

To her, my calmness was a provocation. How dare a sacrificial lamb, sent to be slaughtered, be so composed?

Then, I heard the faint rustle of the cashmere blanket slipping.

She propped herself up on the wheelchair's armrests, the lines of her body instantly tensing. Then, with a whisper of fabric, she shot up from the wheelchair!

The facade of sickliness and weakness she had so carefully constructed was torn to shreds in an instant.

Faced with her tall and powerful figure, I felt a suffocating pressure.

As she strode toward me, I involuntarily took a step back.

"Who gave you the nerve to look at me like that?"

Before she finished speaking, a slender, powerful hand shot out and clamped around my throat.

My airway was cut off instantly. I was forced to tilt my head back, my face flushing red from lack of oxygen as I met her murderous eyes.

"What game is Genevieve playing this time?" she growled, her voice thick with rage.

The pain of suffocation made my vision darken, but I knew this was my only chance. Pleading would only earn me her deeper contempt.

I used all my strength to squeeze out a few broken syllables. "Miss Crestwood… your legs… they healed… six months ago… didn't they?"

As soon as the words left my lips, I felt the hand on my throat freeze.

The rage in her eyes vanished, replaced first by shock, then by a colder, more dangerous scrutiny.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

She didn't let go; instead, her grip tightened. My vision began to blur.

But I knew I had played the right card.

A moment later, she abruptly released me.

I collapsed to the floor, leaning against the doorframe and coughing violently, greedily sucking in air like a drowning man.

Aria sat back down in her wheelchair, as if the woman who had just stood had been a figment of my imagination.

She was still staring at me, but the murderous intent had been replaced by a sharp, calculating suspicion.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"Actually, I know much more than that," I replied.

I slowly pushed myself up and looked her straight in the eye.

"I know you're faking your paralysis to draw out your real enemy. And I know that enemy is Genevieve Sinclair—the same woman who sent me to you."

Aria's pupils contracted sharply.

"We're natural allies, Miss Crestwood," I said.

My throat burned, my voice hoarse.

I laid it all out—the truths from my past life combined with the clues I'd just tricked out of Spencer. "Genevieve stole my father's fortune. She swapped me with her lover's son at birth and sent me here to die like a pawn. And the car crash that killed your parents? She orchestrated it."

The study fell silent.

"So, the safe my father left doesn't contain bonds. It holds proof of Genevieve's crimes and my birth certificate, which Spencer is currently 'guarding' in the countryside. I'm sure you have the case file from your parents' crash. All the evidence points to one person."

"Genevieve!" Aria ground the name out through her teeth. Her hand on the wheelchair armrest clenched so tightly her nails dug into the expensive wood.

The shock and pain in her eyes could no longer be concealed, finally erupting into a monstrous hatred.

She had thought she was a lone hunter, but she never expected her chosen prey to be another avenger.

Just then, her private phone on the desk rang.

The caller ID showed Genevieve.

A cold glint flashed in Aria's eyes as she pressed the speakerphone button.

Genevieve's cloyingly sweet voice came through. "Aria, dear, is my son Rhys settling in alright over there?"

Aria didn't speak, just tapped her fingertips lightly on the desk.

Genevieve sounded a little nervous, covering it with a laugh. "I just wanted to check on Rhys. Is he settled in? He's always been very introverted; I hope he hasn't been any trouble."

"He's busy," Aria finally said, her voice tight with suppressed rage, "fulfilling his duties as my husband."

The words were loaded with insinuation. Genevieve's breath hitched, followed by a suggestive laugh. "Haha, that's good. You young people are so full of energy."

She quickly revealed her true purpose. "Aria, could I, um, speak to Rhys alone for a moment? You know, a mother always worries."

She wanted a private word, clearly assuming Aria couldn't overhear. A sarcastic smile touched Aria's lips as she handed me the phone, the speaker still on.

I calmly took the phone. "Hello, Mother."

"Oh, Rhys!" The moment she heard my voice, Genevieve's tone turned venomous. "Spencer has his eye on a project and needs some funding. You're Miss Crestwood's husband now, so put in a good word. See if she can get you a seat on the board, maybe funnel some resources our way. We're family, after all. She ought to help."

Her voice was low and domineering.

"And don't forget Philip's birthday is coming up. Get him a decent gift. Don't let people think you've forgotten your place just because you married a Crestwood. Don't embarrass us!"

Before I could answer, Philip snatched the phone, his shrill voice yelling, "Rhys! Stop playing dead! Did you hear your mother? Get Aria to invest two hundred million in the Sinclair family—no, five hundred million! What's that to her! And get me that Aston Martin I was looking at! Don't think you've made it just because you married into the Crestwoods. You're a replacement for Spencer! He's the real heir! Everything you have, we gave you, and it's time you paid us back!"

Just then, a loud crash echoed through the room.

Aria snatched the phone from my hand and slammed it against the wall. The screen shattered, the casing buckled, and the expensive custom phone was destroyed.

Genevieve and Philip's voices were cut off. Silence returned to the study.

Aria slowly looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot, filled with a ferocious, murderous intent.