A sharp, persistent knocking ripped Chloe from the cold, endless darkness.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Her senses flooded with information that didn't make sense. The scent of fresh lilies. The feel of soft, high-thread-count silk sheets against her skin. The warmth of sunlight on her eyelids.

She forced her eyes open.

Not a grimy warehouse ceiling, but an ornate, cream-colored one with intricate crown molding. She sat up with a jolt, her hands flying to her chest. There was no wound. No blood. Just smooth, unbroken skin beneath an expensive silk pajama top.

The knocking came again, more insistent this time, followed by a voice. A sickeningly sweet voice she had prayed she would never hear again.

"Chloe? Are you awake? We're running out of time!"

It was June Powell.

Chloe froze. Pure, undiluted hatred, the last thing she had felt before dying, surged through her veins like a jolt of electricity. Her heart hammered against her ribs, not with fear, but with a chilling, predatory rage.

The door clicked open and June swept in, using a keycard. She was a vision of sisterly concern, her face a perfect mask of worry. "Oh, you're finally awake! I was getting so worried."

Chloe stared at her. June looked... younger. The triumphant cruelty Chloe had last seen on the tablet screen was gone, replaced by the familiar, feigned innocence she had known for years. Six years younger, to be exact.

Her eyes darted to the full-length mirror across the room. She saw her own reflection: younger, healthier, her face free of the terror and pain that had been etched upon it in her final moments.

June walked to the edge of the bed, her expression softening into manufactured sympathy. "You can't be having second thoughts now, Chloe," she said, her voice a gentle coo. "I know you don't want to marry Damian Montgomery."

The name hit Chloe like a physical blow. Damian Montgomery.

It all came rushing back. The arranged marriage. The powerful, reclusive CEO. The rumors that he was a monster.

Today. Today was her wedding day. Her wedding to Damian.

This was the day it had all started. The day June had convinced her to jilt Damian at the altar, to run away with Braden, setting in motion the chain of events that led to her ruin and death.

She had been reborn.

She was back. Six years in the past, on the single most pivotal day of her life.

The knowledge didn't bring joy. It brought a cold, terrifying clarity. A sense of purpose so sharp it felt like a shard of ice in her chest.

June continued her script, oblivious to the storm raging behind Chloe's eyes. "He's a monster, Chloe. A cripple in a wheelchair. Everyone knows what happened to his last three fiancées. They all ended up in mental institutions. You can't marry him."

June placed a comforting hand on Chloe's arm. "Braden is waiting for you," she coaxed. "He loves you. He has a car waiting downstairs. You should run away with him. I'll help you. I'll cover for you."

In her past life, Chloe had clung to those words like a lifeline. She had believed June was her savior, her only ally in a world that terrified her.

Now, she saw the predatory glint in June's eyes, the barely concealed eagerness for Chloe to self-destruct. The touch of June's hand on her arm felt like a viper's bite. Chloe flinched away, pulling her arm back as if it had been burned.

June looked momentarily surprised by the sharp, instinctive rejection.

Slowly, deliberately, Chloe swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her mind was racing, processing the miracle of her return, the impossible second chance she had been given.

She remembered the consequences of her past choice. Jilting Damian had disgraced both the Powell and Montgomery families. Running to Braden had made her an outcast, completely dependent on him and June, making her the perfect, helpless target for their schemes.

This time, there would be no running.

This time, there would be a wedding.

June, misinterpreting her silence as fear, pressed on. "Don't be afraid, Chloe. It's the right thing to do. Your happiness with Braden is all that matters."

Chloe looked up, meeting June's gaze directly. A slow, predatory smile touched her lips for the first time. It was an expression so foreign, so cold, that it made June take an involuntary step back.

The script for this day was about to be rewritten. And Chloe was holding the pen.

"Chloe, what's wrong?" June asked, her voice laced with a forced concern that couldn't quite mask her unease. Chloe's smile was unnerving. "Are you listening to me?"

Chloe stood up, her movements fluid and deliberate, a stark contrast to the hesitant, almost apologetic way she used to carry herself.

"I was just thinking, June," Chloe said, her voice smooth as glass. "You've always given me such... devoted advice."

Before June could process the biting sarcasm in her tone, Chloe's hand whipped through the air.

CRACK.

The sound of the slap was sharp and loud in the quiet, opulent suite. June stumbled back a step, her hand flying to her cheek, her eyes wide with sheer, unadulterated shock.

"You... you hit me?" she sputtered, her brain struggling to catch up. The weak, pliable Chloe she had known her whole life had just struck her.

"Did I?" Chloe feigned surprise, examining her own hand as if it had acted of its own accord. "My hand must have slipped. I'm just so terribly stressed about the wedding, you see."

The stinging sensation in her palm was a grounding force. It was real. This was all real. And it felt deeply, primally satisfying.

June's shock quickly curdled into rage. The mask of the concerned sister fell away, revealing the venomous creature beneath. "How dare you! After everything I'm doing to help you!"

"Help me?" Chloe let out a laugh, a cold, humorless sound that made the hairs on June's arms stand up. "Help me ruin my own reputation? Help me disgrace the Powell and Montgomery families? Is that your idea of help, June?"

Just as June opened her mouth to shriek, the suite door swung open.

Arthur Powell, the stern patriarch of the family, stood in the doorway, his face a thundercloud of impatience. "What is all this shouting about? The ceremony starts in an hour!"

The change in June was instantaneous. Her face crumpled, and she burst into theatrical sobs, rushing to her grandfather's side like a wronged child.

"Grandpa, Chloe's gone mad!" she cried, pointing a trembling finger at Chloe. "She wants to call off the wedding! And when I tried to reason with her, she... she hit me!"

Arthur Powell's furious gaze landed on Chloe, who stood calmly by the bed, her expression unreadable. Before he could unleash his legendary temper on her, Chloe's own face crumpled. She mirrored June's act, but with a subtlety and depth of pain that June's performance lacked. After all, she'd had six years to study the master.

"Grandpa," Chloe's voice trembled, thick with unshed tears. "That's not what happened."

She took a shaky breath, looking up at him with wide, wounded eyes. "I was just saying how nervous I was to marry Mr. Montgomery... and June... she started insisting I run away."

She expertly twisted June's own words into a weapon. "She said Mr. Montgomery was a monster and that I should abandon the wedding for another man. She even said she'd help me escape."

"I told her that was insane," Chloe continued, a single, perfect tear tracing a path down her cheek. "I told her I would never, ever disgrace our family like that. And that's when she got angry. She grabbed my arm, and I... I got scared. I just pushed her away. I didn't mean to slap her so hard."

Arthur's expression shifted. His anger at Chloe flickered, replaced by a sharp, cold suspicion directed at June.

June saw the tables turning and panicked. "She's lying! Grandpa, you know I would never say such things!"

But Chloe's performance was flawless. Her story was one of a daughter's loyalty and duty under pressure. June's (real) plan, when laid bare, sounded like reckless, selfish sabotage. To a man like Arthur Powell, obsessed with family honor and reputation, there was no question which version was more believable.

"Is this true, June?" Arthur asked, his voice dangerously low. "Did you encourage your sister to jilt the groom on her wedding day?"

June was trapped. Admitting it would be admitting to treason against the family. Denying it was useless; Chloe's story was more plausible, and her own hesitation was damning.

Arthur saw the flicker of guilt in her eyes and his face hardened. He knew his granddaughter's jealous nature all too well.

"You foolish, shortsighted girl!" he bellowed, his rage now redirected entirely at June. "Do you have any idea what a scandal that would cause? Get out of my sight! Now!"

June stared, horrified, as her grandfather sided with Chloe for the first time in her life. Humiliated and furious, she fled the room, her sobs now genuine.

Arthur turned back to Chloe, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. "Get ready," he commanded gruffly. "Do not disappoint me."

He turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Chloe stood alone in the silent room. The first battle was won. She let out a slow breath, the adrenaline beginning to fade. But as she turned, her eyes landed on the pristine white dress bag hanging on the wardrobe.

A jolt of cold dread went through her. She remembered.

Inside that bag was not a wedding dress. It was an instrument of humiliation. The hideous, scandalous black gown that June and her mother had prepared for her, designed to make her the laughingstock of New York.