Saltwater filled her lungs.

The initial searing pain gave way to a dull, spreading numbness. Her body was a dead weight, sinking into the cold, black depths. The instinct to survive had finally given up.

In the final second before her consciousness dissolved completely, a vision flooded her mind，sharp, vivid, more memory than dream. She saw the aftermath of her death as if through a detached lens.

She saw the face of Demetri Sterling, devastatingly handsome, his intelligent eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses as cold as winter steel. He wore an impeccable suit, utterly composed. Heir to the Sterling fortune, her fiancé in name only—a man she barely knew, bound to her by a business arrangement she had never wanted.

In the days after her death,they are insatiably greedy, repeatedly holding back progress within their alliance with the Sterling family, tarnishing the Sterling family’s reputation, and even maintaining covert ties with a rival enterprise.Demetri Sterling could not tolerate such a family; he destroyed the Warren family's corporate empire, seized assets, and exposed decades of corruption.

She saw Hattie, stripped of her glamour and lies, being led away in handcuffs. She saw the proud Warren Group headquarters reduced to rubble. Arthur and Ford were left penniless, utterly broken.

The images of the destruction gave her a strange, fleeting sense of comfort—a feeling of delayed justice. Although this sensation seemed not to stem from emotion but from the cold logic of commerce, it was enough.

The final scene seared itself into her mind. Demetri stood in a pristine boardroom, signing the documents that finalized the hostile takeover. His expression held not a trace of grief，only the icy satisfaction of a man who had crushed an enemy. The Warrens’ downfall was total.

The sight of their annihilation stabbed through the encroaching darkness.

She took a breath.

It was a ragged, tearing gasp that turned into a violent fit of coughing.

The taste of salt was gone, replaced by the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic. The cold embrace of the ocean was gone, replaced by the softness of a mattress.

Azaria forced her eyes open. The first thing she saw was the flat, white ceiling of a hospital room.

She looked down at her hands. They were her hands. Unblemished. She touched her face. No cuts, no bruises.

Wasn't she supposed to be dead?

She struggled to sit up, her muscles protesting with pain. Her gaze fell upon a digital calendar on the bedside table. On the calendar, it showed three months ago, which was also the date her dear sister began pretending to be blind.

She was alive. She had been reborn.

The initial wave of elation was quickly followed by an icy chill.If she didn't take action,after some time, the same tragedy will still happen.

No, wait. She looked around the room, her mind racing. This was City General Hospital.Not long ago, Hattie had staged her "accidental" fall down the stairs. As the prime suspect, the family had sent her here, ostensibly for a psychological evaluation, but really just to keep her locked away.

The door to her room swung open.

Her mother, Eleanor Warren, walked in, flanked by two imposing bodyguards.

Eleanor's face was a mask of practiced concern. "Azaria, you're finally awake. Hattie's condition is very poor. The doctors say her corneas have suffered irreversible damage."

Azaria's heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. She understood. Last time, they had waited for the privacy of the yacht. This time, they weren't waiting. They were going to force her to "donate" her corneas right here, in the hospital.

Eleanor continued, her voice smooth and persuasive. "Your blood type is a match with Hattie's, and the tissue typing for a cornea transplant was successful. This is your chance to atone for what you've done."

Azaria stared at her mother's face, at the false sympathy in her eyes. The hatred from her past life and the cold vigilance of her present one swirled together, igniting a fire in her gaze.

Besides her mother before her, she also heard the voices of Arthur and Ford in the hallway. They were here. They were all here.

Arthur Warren and Ford Warren entered the room, their expressions just as cold and unforgiving as they had been on the deck of the yacht.

Azaria watched them, her heart a frozen lake. The panic and fear from her past life were gone, replaced by an unnerving calm.

Arthur wasted no time. He spoke as if issuing a corporate directive. "Azaria, sign the consent form. This is the price you will pay for your mistake."

A file folder was tossed onto her bed. The words on the top sheet were stark and clinical: "Voluntary Organ Donation Agreement."

She didn't look at the papers. Instead, her gaze shifted to Hattie, who was being fussed over by Eleanor, the picture of fragile suffering.

A small, mocking smile touched Azaria's lips. "Hattie, are your eyes really blind?"

Hattie's body stiffened for a fraction of a second, a barely perceptible flinch. Then she leaned deeper into her mother's embrace, her voice choked with manufactured tears. "Sister, why won't you believe me?"

Azaria let out a soft laugh. "Because a truly blind person, when entering an unfamiliar room, would walk with hesitation, testing the ground. They wouldn't have so perfectly sidestepped the puddle of water by the door."

Her words dropped into the room like a stone into a silent pond.

Everyone turned to look at the floor near Hattie's feet. A small, glistening patch of water, spilled by a passing janitor, was right where Azaria had said.

The color drained from Hattie's face. She had never imagined Azaria could be so observant.

Ford immediately jumped to Hattie's defense. "What nonsense are you talking about? Hattie just got lucky!"

Azaria's eyes, sharp as shards of glass, turned to Ford. "Is that so? Then why don't we call in the best ophthalmologist in the city for a full examination? I believe Dr. Evans at New York-Presbyterian is the leading authority."

She said the name deliberately. She knew Dr. Evans had a reputation for being incorruptible. He couldn't be bought or intimidated by the Warren family.

Arthur's face darkened. He had expected tears, pleading, submission. Not this sharp, aggressive girl who was suddenly fighting back.

"Insolence!" he boomed, trying to crush her with the force of his authority.

But Azaria was no longer afraid of him. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, meeting his furious gaze without flinching. "What's insolent is you. Forcibly harvesting someone's organs is a felony in this country."

Her defiance pushed Ford over the edge. His authority challenged, his sister questioned, he lunged forward, his hand reaching to grab a fistful of Azaria's hair.

The instant before his fingers could touch her, Azaria moved.

She twisted her body to the side, his hand grasping at empty air. At the same time, she drove her elbow upward, a sharp, precise strike that connected squarely with his jaw.

As he staggered back, she grabbed his outstretched wrist, pivoted, and executed a clean, perfect shoulder throw.

Ford's large body, all six-foot-two of it, slammed onto the hard linoleum floor with a sickening thud. He tried to break his fall with his hand, but it landed at an awkward angle. A sharp crack echoed in the silent room.

A raw, agonized scream ripped from his throat.

The entire Warren family stood frozen, their faces a mixture of shock and disbelief. They couldn't process what they had just seen. This quiet, timid girl they had bullied for years had just crippled their golden boy.

Azaria looked down at Ford, her expression glacial. "Don't touch me."

For the past two years, to deal with the relentless bullying she faced at school, she had been secretly training in Krav Maga. It was a secret she had guarded well. Her family had no idea.

While they were still reeling, Azaria didn't hesitate. She spun around and bolted for the door.

The two bodyguards snapped out of their stupor and moved to block her path. But Azaria was fast, agile as a cat. She slipped through the narrow gap between them before they could react.

She burst out of the room and sprinted down the hallway, not daring to look back. She headed for the emergency exit, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor.

Behind her, she could hear Arthur's enraged roar. "Get her! Don't let her escape!"

She shoved open the heavy door to the stairwell. For a brief moment, she glanced back. She saw them crowded in the doorway of her room-her "family"-their faces contorted with rage and astonishment.

A final, defiant smirk crossed her lips.

From this day forward, she and the Warren family were done.