As her awareness snapped back with a suffocating, bone-deep chill, Laylani Morgan had the fleeting, sick thought that she was still trapped in that grim, hopeless hellhole of a rehab center. The sharp bite of antiseptic, the grime-crusted sheets clinging to her skin, the scornful glares that cut like glass, her parents’ distant, uncaring shadows—and Zechariah Boyd’s careless, sneering line as he sided with Kayla Morgan: “She’s cleaner than you.”

Every agonizing memory stabbed into her consciousness like jagged shards.

Laylani was the real Morgan heiress, the name synonymous with wealth and beauty in Southampton. Yet somehow she had become the city’s biggest punchline.

Her father had moved his mistress and his illegitimate daughter, Kayla, right into the family mansion, doting on them like they were his real family. Her mother was forever lost in her own world of young male models and downtown clubs, treating Laylani as nothing more than a glorified inconvenience. Her brother Tate looked at her with pure disgust, always accusing her of being spiteful and selfish, while he showered adoration on Kayla. And Zechariah—her childhood fiancé, the heartthrob every girl drooled over—ended up picking Kayla, sneering at Laylani, “I never liked you. You just make me sick.”

The worst, most unforgivable moment happened on her eighteenth birthday. That was the night she got lured to a nightclub by so-called “friends,” only to be tricked into booze and drugs—the start of her long, brutal downward spiral.

From then on, her grades tanked, her temper got worse and worse, and she was abandoned by her family, despised by Zechariah, and systematically stripped of everything by Kayla. In the end, she lost her home, was isolated from everyone she’d ever known, and died alone and forgotten in some cold, forgotten corner.

“Yo, Laylani, why the hell are you zoning out? Drink up!”

Deafening music and a dizzying blaze of neon lights yanked Laylani back into the present. She glanced down at her hands—pale and delicate, without a single needle mark. She wasn’t in that nightmare state yet.

Somebody was shoving a cocktail into her line of sight, the liquid glowing an unnatural pink with a little lemon slice perched on the rim. Around her huddled several people from her past life she’d been dumb enough to think of as “friends.” Their smiles were plastered on, nerves and deception darting behind their eyes.

Jerking her head up, Laylani zeroed in on the banner stretched across the wall. The date glared back at her in bold letters—her eighteenth birthday night, the first week of freshman year.

Her breath stuttered out of her chest.

This wasn’t a dream.

Everything could still be changed.

Her heart jackhammered against her ribs. Cold sweat slicked her back. In her previous life, on this exact day, she’d been so laughably naive—all because of a single text from Kayla that sounded so innocent: [Sis, Zechariah said he’s swinging by with a surprise. Wait in the room.]

Laylani had clung to that stupid, desperate hope, planted herself in this sketchy nightclub, and eagerly waited for Zechariah to show. She’d taken the drinks with half-hearted protests, thinking, *Just five more minutes. I’ll leave when Zechariah gets here.*

That one weak-ass moment of hesitation made her knock back the spiked cocktail—and sent her spiraling into an abyss she never crawled out of.

When she’d woken up, her mind was frosted over, her body humming with a sick, buzzing euphoria, and the seed of a bone-deep addiction had already taken root.

“Come on, Laylani, you gotta enjoy your birthday,” the girl next to her urged, pressing the glass closer.

Laylani locked eyes with the girl’s insincere expression. Her own stare was cold and razor-sharp.

These people weren’t friends. They were just cheap pawns Kayla had paid to drag her straight into hell.

Slowly, Laylani let her lips curve into a smile that never touched her eyes. Instead of taking the glass, she nudged it away with the back of her fingers—light, almost dismissive.

*Crash—*

The drink erupted all over the girl. It drenched her hair, streamed down her face, and smeared her makeup into a garish mess.

The whole room went dead silent. Everyone just froze.

The Laylani they knew was soft, compliant, pathetically love-struck—a girl who tiptoed around everyone, and even when she was wronged and miserable, she’d swallow it down in silence.

What the actual hell was happening tonight?

“Wh-what the hell are you doing?” The girl sputtered, a sloppy cocktail of anger and shock on her face.

Laylani rose from the armrest of the sofa, straightening up slowly. She was in a pink dress tonight, her delicate collarbone and sleek waist making her look like a fierce, untouchable kind of beautiful. Before, she’d always dressed down, buttoned-up and modest for Zechariah. But now she realized that being a doormat didn’t earn respect—it just invited more people to wipe their feet on you.

“What am I doing?” Laylani let out a soft, humorless laugh.

Her gaze swept across the group, cutting as a blade. “Why aren’t you drinking what you just tried to hand me?”

At her words, their faces drained of color.

What was she getting at?

The girl’s expression faltered into panic. “Laylani, don’t be such a brat! We’re just trying to celebrate your birthday—”

“Celebrate?” Laylani cut in, her voice pure frost. “Slipping something nasty into my drink—that’s your idea of celebrating?”

“How much did Kayla pay you to set me up?”

Exposed point-blank, the girl went into full-blown panic mode. Someone lunged to grab Laylani’s arm, trying to pull her away.

“Don’t you dare talk crap, I didn’t—”

Laylani shook off the hand like it was contaminated. “Don’t touch me.”

Her face twisted with disgust, as though something filthy had just brushed her skin.

A searing rage burned inside her chest, anger flooding her veins, the little clean alcohol she’d had earlier still making her head buzz.

Without so much as a glance at their stunned faces, she turned and walked out.

Her heels clicked against the floor, crisp and cutting.

Stepping out into the bitter night air, the icy wind smacked into her, making her dizzy. Inside, she’d had a few clean drinks, so her head was fuzzy but her mind was brutally sharp.

Sharp enough to remember every single wound from her old life.

Laylani pulled out her phone and dialed. “Hello, is this the police? I’d like to report illegal activity in Suite 15 at The Oasis nightclub…”

That suite had been booked under the excuse of celebrating her birthday—all orchestrated by Kayla.

Kayla loved putting on that precious sister act, didn’t she? She’d set the trap, hired the players, and paved the whole damn road.

Now that her little game was ruined, it was only fair that Kayla be left to deal with the aftermath.

Hanging up, Laylani didn’t bother hailing a cab. She wasn’t ready to go back to that suffocating house.

She walked alone under the streetlights, fragments of memory flickering through her head, playing on an endless, cruel loop.

Before she knew it, she’d wandered into a narrow, shadow-drenched alley.

The space was cramped, the streetlights weak and buzzing. On either side, the walls were cracked and weather-beaten.

Ahead, the ugly sounds of a brutal fight reached her ears.

Wet thuds of fists, rough shouts, groans of pain.

The coppery stench of blood laced the cold wind.

Laylani froze. She’d seen too many scenes like this in her past life. Dealers, bruisers, debt collectors—all with the same dead, sinister eyes.

She wanted zero part of it.

Almost on instinct, Laylani melted back into the shadows, holding her breath, already calculating how to slip away unnoticed.

But as soon as she settled into her hiding spot, the fighting just… stopped.

The only thing left was ragged, heavy breathing.

Carefully, Laylani peeked around the corner for a quick look.

Beneath the dim, flickering light stood a tall, lean silhouette.

He was in a black hoodie, the hood pulled low so all she could see was a sharp-cut jawline.

One hand was shoved casually in his pocket. The other flicked downward, knuckles gleaming with fresh blood.

Scattered on the ground at his feet, several figures lay groaning, unable to get up.

He’d taken down a whole crew—all by himself.

Laylani’s heart lurched.

That posture, that brutal skill…

Before she could figure out who he was, the guy—attuned like a damn predator—turned his head slightly and locked his gaze dead on her hiding place.

“Had your fill yet?”

His voice was low and rough from the fight, scratchy yet weirdly magnetic, all raw power.

Laylani’s heart skipped a beat.

*Hell. Caught?*

She didn’t move. It was dark as hell. No way he had cat eyes that could see her in the shadows.

But within seconds, the guy stepped forward, approaching with lazy, swaggering strides that spilled confidence everywhere.

His presence was heavy, commanding.

Laylani went rigid.

He didn’t stop until he was right in front of her. Bending slightly, he pushed back his hood.

Under the dim glow, an absurdly striking face was revealed.

Sharp brow bones, slightly deep-set eyes, pupils dark as coal that delivered a fierce, icy stare practically dripping with rebellion.

A strong nose and lips that were thin, slightly downturned, giving off a vibe of someone who was impossible to deal with.

It was Elio Bradley.

Laylani recognized him in a heartbeat.

Morgan University’s infamous hellion. Smoking, drinking, skipping class, brawling, underground street racing—the guy did it all. A walking nightmare for teachers, and a delirious mix of terror and fascination for students.

But Laylani knew the truth: all of that was just a front.

His real identity was the heir to a top-tier empire, a genuine prince of the elite, with colossal wealth and power at his fingertips.

And he was also Zechariah’s half-brother.

What hit Laylani harder was the memory from her past life—when she was at rock bottom, he’d been the only person who’d ever reached out a hand.

Elio looked down at her, his gaze almost mocking.

The girl was backed against the wall, face pale and wide-eyed, drunk but staring up at him with those glossy eyes, a hazy cloud of alcohol wrapping around her.

He frowned briefly, his voice a rough blade. “What? You stunned or something? How long have you been standing here watching me?”

Laylani stood there in silence, her mind still hazy, lost for words.

Elio moved a step closer, radiating menace. "You’ve got some real nerve, spying on me like this," he said, his voice a low threat. "What did you see?"

His eyes burned with the intensity of a predator, a clear warning: *Know what you should and shouldn’t see, what you should and shouldn’t say. Cross me and there will be consequences.*

He was so menacing anyone would swear he was ruthless. But who could have guessed that this terrifying man would be the one to help her when everyone else turned their backs? In her past life, he was the one who stayed during her darkest times, helping her beat her addiction, shielding her when danger came. It wasn’t until later that Laylani discovered Elio had been into her all along.

Looking at his fierce expression now, a surge of emotion crashed over her.

Elio caught her silence and that weird look in her eyes, his frown deepening. "Hey, do you speak English?" he snapped. "You hear me? Zip it."

Laylani jolted back to the present, swallowing the tide of emotions. She gave a small nod. "I understand," she said, her voice surprisingly soft and submissive.

Elio blinked, caught off guard. He’d expected a spoiled heiress like Laylani to scream at him or throw around threats in that haughty way of hers. But she was being… compliant.

He looked her over, taking in her expensive Victorian dress and the faint whiff of alcohol. Out this late, all alone? She was definitely up to no good. His irritation flared. "What the hell are you still standing here for? Beat it. You’re in the way."

Laylani blinked, her eyes wide but focused, before turning to leave, mulling over his words. Could he actually have a crush on her?

With each step away from that dark alley, a fresh resolve settled in her chest. From the moment she turned down that drink, her life had veered onto a different track.

Her father, Johnathan; her ice-cold mother, Amanda; Tate, her traitor of a brother; and Zechariah, her worthless ex-fiancé—all of them who owed her or had wronged her would now face her fury.

And Elio…

She paused and glanced back over her shoulder. But he was gone, the alley empty and silent.

Dawn was breaking as Laylani stepped into her family home, only to be met with a sickeningly sweet voice. "Sister! You're finally back! We were all so worried about you last night!"

Laylani’s gaze swept over the living room scene—Johnathan, unusually tender as he comforted a teary-eyed Kayla. Tate sat nearby, chatting warmly with her, while Amanda was glued to her phone, lost in some digital flirtation on WhatsApp. The whole picture was so disgustingly "family."

In her previous life, Laylani would’ve been crushed, desperate for just a simple "happy birthday" from Zechariah. Now, it all seemed laughable.

At the sound of her entrance, all heads turned to her. Johnathan’s face darkened with irritation. "Where have you been all night? Your sister was worried sick!"

His usual scolding no longer stung the way it used to.

Before, Laylani might’ve ducked her head and apologized. Not now. "Dad, yesterday was my eighteenth birthday. You promised me that once I became an adult, Starlight Media would be my gift. Remember?"

Johnathan was stunned—he hadn’t expected her to bring that up. His face flushed with anger as he slammed his hand on the table. "Laylani! I haven’t even started on your behavior! Look at you! I don’t ask for much, but can’t you at least behave?"

She’d always been the obedient daughter, never questioning, always chasing his approval. Now, Laylani found it utterly ridiculous.

The mention of Starlight Media instantly put Kayla on alert. She rushed over, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Sister, don’t talk like that. We were all so worried. Are you feeling alright?"

Her hand reached for Laylani’s, but Laylani stepped aside, her voice icy. "Don’t touch me."

Kayla’s hand froze mid-air, her eyes instantly filling with tears. "Did I upset you, sister? Please, don’t be angry."

Laylani smirked at the staged drama. "I’m not angry. I just think you’re filthy."

The room went dead silent, the atmosphere turning cold and charged.

Johnathan pounded the table. "Laylani! How dare you talk to your sister like that! She was only concerned about you!"

"Concern?" Laylani met his gaze, unmoved. "Dad, did you know she lured me out last night and had someone spike my drink?"

Johnathan was momentarily speechless. Kayla immediately burst into sobs. "I didn’t, Dad! I really didn’t! Sister, why are you making up such lies?"

"Making it up?" Laylani’s voice was sharp. "Should I track those people down and confirm it?"

Kayla’s tears came faster. Tate stepped in, fury blazing in his eyes. "Laylani! Enough!"

"You go running around recklessly and now you try to drag Kayla down with you. You disgust me!"

Tate’s words hit like a cold blade, but Laylani stayed calm. "I disgust you?"

"Brother, don’t forget—she’s the child of a mistress. You dote on her while tearing down your own flesh and blood. Who’s really disgusting here?"

Two years ago, when Kayla was first brought into their home, Tate had sworn he’d always be Laylani’s brother. But now, she couldn’t even pinpoint when he’d changed.

Once, he was the brother who shielded her from everything. Now, all he saw were Kayla’s crocodile tears.

Some promises only last for the one who keeps listening.

Tate’s eyes were hard. "Kayla is also Dad’s daughter, and my sister. Unlike you, with your deceitful ways, she deserves her place here."

Accepting a love child? Laylani thought about it and let out a cold laugh. "Fine."

She remembered that her mother had also strayed, giving birth to a son who must be sixteen or seventeen by now. If her father could accept his bastard, why not bring home her mother’s, too? She’d handle it soon enough.

Brushing off any more confrontation, Laylani glanced toward the doorway, where a tall figure stood.

Zechariah Boyd.

He was impeccably dressed, oozing charm, every inch the picture of perfection in everyone’s eyes.

Kayla’s eyes gleamed possessively at the sight of him. She wiped her tears and moved toward him, looking pale and fragile. "Zechariah, you’re here…"

He patted her back gently before turning his gaze to Laylani, disapproval written all over his face.

Laylani dropped her gaze for a moment, thinking of the man she’d once loved for a lifetime. But now, there was nothing—only a sense of closure.

She just shrugged and moved to step around them. But Zechariah stuck out an arm, blocking her path. "Laylani, don’t you have anything to say for yourself?"

She reacted on instinct, slapping his arm away with a sharp smack.

Ignoring the stunned faces, Laylani walked off.

Zechariah stared after her retreating figure, his expression darkening. He’d always expected her obsession, her constant hovering. The idea of her walking away now filled him with an inexplicable panic and a hollow sense of loss.

But the moment Laylani reached her room, she shut the door and quickly dialed a private number.

"Hello, yes, it’s Laylani. I need you to find someone for me…"

From the moment she came to, her plan had been crystal clear.

Take back Starlight, tear up that ridiculous engagement, and make her biased parents, her indifferent brother, and her blind ex-fiancé all regret the day they ever crossed her.

It was one of those crisp Monday mornings, the kind where the air bites just enough to make you shove your hands deeper into your pockets. Outside the gates of Morgan University, traffic droned on, a steady hum of privilege and ambition. This place wasn't just a school—it was a breeding ground for the elite. Old money, sharp minds, and a cutthroat social ladder no one talked about but everyone climbed.

Laylani Morgan cut through it all like she owned the place, her white canvas sneakers tapping a quiet rhythm on the pavement. The breeze flirted with the hem of her skirt, and her bare face—no makeup, no pretense—had that kind of cool, effortless beauty that made people do double takes. They stared. She didn’t care.

A crowd had clustered around the bulletin board, voices buzzing like a disturbed beehive. She glanced up and immediately locked onto the results sheet. Programming competition winners, bold and center. First-year finance student, second place: Laylani Morgan. The words practically screamed at her, sharp and ugly as a needle to the chest.

In another lifetime, this award had been the first knife in her back. Cheating accusations had flown fast, and she’d been too lost in the haze of early addiction to even fight back. By the time she’d dragged herself back to campus, the prize had been stripped, her name dragged through the mud, “cheat” branded across her forehead like a scarlet letter.

Kayla had been vicious, methodical. She’d gone after everything—Laylani’s family ties, her education, her future. But not this time. This time, Laylani wasn’t about to roll over.

Her fingers curled into a fist, knuckles whitening. A flicker of cold, hard resolve settled in her eyes. She walked on, heading straight for class.

The lecture hall was bright and ice-cold from the AC, desks lined up in perfect, emotionless rows. Laylani slid into her usual spot—third row, by the window. She barely had time to settle before a head popped into view beside her.

Nataly Hughes. Low ponytail, fair skin, big earnest eyes that practically spelled out “wholesome.” She was the kind of girl who radiated innocence without even trying. They’d only been friends for a week, but something about Nataly felt solid—real.

She’d come from nothing, worked her way into Oxford on sheer brainpower, always soft-spoken, always grinding. In Laylani’s past life, Nataly had abruptly dropped out and gotten married, and not long after, the news had hit like a gut punch: suicide during pregnancy. Postpartum depression, the rumors said. Laylani had pieced it together from whispers and half-truths, and the tragedy still sat heavy in her chest.

“Hey, Laylani! You made it!” Nataly beamed, genuine as always. “I couldn’t come to your birthday party yesterday—I had to go home. I’m so sorry I missed it.”

She thrust a silver fountain pen across the desk, delicate etchings catching the light. “This is for you. Happy Birthday.”

Laylani took it, her throat tight. “Thank you.”

How did someone this alive end up taking her own life?

Nataly, a little flustered by the intensity of Laylani’s gaze, gave her a playful nudge. “Why are you being so formal? We’re desk buddies! So, how was the party last night? I heard from some people…”

A shrill blast from the classroom PA system cut her off, harsh and intrusive.

“Would Laylani Morgan from finance please report to the administration office immediately? Laylani Morgan, to the administration office.”

The announcement echoed twice, then silence slammed down. Then came the whispers, low and hungry.

Laylani didn’t flinch. She rose smoothly, calm as glass.

This was it.

She tugged at her collar, straightened it with deliberate care, and started walking. The eyes on her were a mix of curiosity, judgment, and that ugly little spark of schadenfreude.

As soon as she stepped out of the room, the gossip exploded.

“Did you hear? Laylani Morgan got busted for cheating in the programming contest!”

“No way! But she’s, like, top of the class.”

“Top or not, character matters. There’s a reason not everybody likes her.”

“Man, the faculty looked pissed. She’s probably gonna lose her qualifications—maybe even get a major demerit.”

Laylani’s jaw tightened. Rumors, slander, all of it designed to corner her, force her into a confession.

Inside the admin office, the air was thick enough to choke on.

The dean sat ramrod-straight behind his desk, face carved from stone. Her programming coach stood nearby, expression a little warmer—barely. And opposite them, the snake herself: Elise Mason.

Elise had her head bowed, the picture of wounded innocence, but her eyes glittered with smug victory. The brave whistleblower, playing her part to perfection.

And there, standing off to the side like he’d walked into the wrong room, was Zechariah Boyd. Tall, lean, in a white button-down and black trousers, his features cool and refined. Student council officer, by pure coincidence, he’d come to handle some paperwork and stumbled into this mess. His gaze snagged on Laylani as she walked in, something flickering behind his eyes.

Since that day—whatever that day was—she hadn’t texted him. Not once. No calls, no good-morning, good-night nonsense. It was unprecedented, and it was driving him low-key insane. She used to orbit him like a satellite, but now? Nothing. And he hated that it bothered him.

“Laylani, you’re here.” The dean’s voice was all business. “Elise Mason has lodged an official complaint accusing you of cheating in the math competition. What do you have to say?”

Elise didn’t miss a beat. “Sir, on competition day, Laylani handed in her paper in twenty minutes! The questions were insane—even national team members couldn’t finish that fast. She had to have seen the questions beforehand!”

“I didn’t.”

Laylani’s voice was flat, steady.

Elise snorted. “Oh yeah? Then how do you explain finishing so fast?”

“I knew the answers, so I worked quickly.” Laylani met her gaze head-on, unblinking. “So let me get this straight: taking your time means you’re serious, but being fast means you’re a cheater?”

Zechariah, silent until now, suddenly stepped forward. He had this way of looking gentle and understanding, like he was doing you a favor just by speaking. “Laylani, what’s really going on? Just tell the truth. The school will go easy on you if you come clean.”

In his head, she’d probably freaked out, got desperate to win, and did something stupid. All she had to do was admit it, and he’d smooth things over. She was his fiancée, after all.

The lack of trust in his voice hit like a needle straight to the heart.

Laylani closed her eyes for just a second. In her past life, she’d poured everything into him, made him her entire world. And he’d never once bothered to look for the truth, never once tried to separate right from wrong. He just stood on his moral high horse, passing judgment like it was his birthright.

God, had she been under some kind of spell? Why had she been so obsessed with Zechariah? To the point of treating someone like him as her north star?

“Mr. Boyd.” Her voice came out frosty enough to give someone hypothermia. “Did you see me cheat with your own eyes? Or do you just believe anything people whisper to you?”

Zechariah blinked, caught completely off guard. “I’m not saying I doubt you, but—”

“But you trust her more, don’t you?” Laylani cut him clean, her gaze cutting like glass. “Zechariah, is that all I am to you? Someone so desperate I’d cheat for a stupid trophy?”

His brow furrowed. “Laylani, that’s not what I meant. Don’t be unreasonable.”

There it was. “Unreasonable.”

In her last life, that word had been his favorite weapon. No matter how badly she was wronged, no matter how many people schemed against her, the second she opened her mouth to defend herself, she was being “unreasonable.”

Her patience snapped.

She turned to the dean. “Sir, I’d like to request the exam room surveillance footage and contact the academic department to verify whether the papers were leaked ahead of time. And Elise”—she didn’t even look at the girl—“needs to apologize for her baseless accusation.”

Elise’s face drained of color.

Her coach, who’d always had a soft spot for Laylani, jumped in quickly. “Actually, we still have a backup set of competition questions. Same difficulty as the original. Laylani, if you can finish it here in the office with a passing accuracy within twenty minutes, that’ll prove your innocence right now.”

“Fine.”

Paper and pen were pushed in front of her. She didn’t hesitate. Her pen shot across the page, calculations crisp and precise, the logic so clean it was almost scary.

Zechariah watched her, his focus locked on her profile. Motes of sunlight caught in her lashes, a soft shadow falling across her cheek. She looked cool, determined—a far cry from the girl who used to trail after him like a lost puppy. Something in his chest did an unexpected, uncomfortable lurch.

Less than twenty minutes later, she set the pen down.

“Done.”

The coach snatched up the paper, eyes scanning feverishly. His excitement ratcheted up with every line. “All correct! Steps are flawless, and her solution’s even more concise than the standard one!”

Just like that, it was over.

Elise went bone-white, her whole body trembling.

The dean let out a heavy breath and turned to her, tone sharp. “Elise, you’ve made a reckless accusation against a fellow student, causing considerable disruption. Apologize to Laylani immediately.”

Elise’s eyes went red-rimmed, her lip quivering with pure, undiluted resentment. “I… I’m sorry.”

Three pathetic little words, zero sincerity.

Laylani’s voice was cool. “Is that it?”

“You accused me in the admin office. My entire class knows, the whole school’s gossiping about it. And you think a simple ‘sorry’ is enough?”

“At the flag-raising ceremony, in front of the entire school, you’ll apologize publicly and make it crystal clear that I didn’t cheat.”

Elise’s head snapped up, panic flaring. “No! Laylani, you’re going way too far!”

A public apology would tank her reputation, and she knew it.

The dean shifted uneasily. “Laylani, perhaps we could let this go—just a simple misunderstanding among students…”

“A misunderstanding?” Laylani’s laugh was pure ice. “Easy to say when you’re not the one being slandered.”

Zechariah spoke up again, playing peacemaker. “Laylani, let it go. Elise already apologized. There’s no need to drag this out.”

He had that look—like she was being dramatic, making a scene to get attention. In his eyes, she was still the same spoiled, entitled heiress.