Ava's eyes snap open. The blinding light of a massive crystal chandelier pierced her retinas.

She gasped for air, her lungs expanding fully without the sharp agony of a broken rib. Her hands flew to her face in a blind panic. Her fingertips met smooth, unscarred skin. There were no chemical burns. There was no melted flesh.

The elegant classical music of a live string quartet filled her ears. The harmonious sound momentarily disoriented her senses, a stark contrast to the dripping pipes of the basement.

She looked down. She was wearing a pristine, custom-made haute couture gown. The heavy silk pooled around her legs. It was her 18th birthday gala.

Seraphina approached her. She wore a saccharine smile, her hands delicately holding a luxurious velvet jewelry box.

Ava suppressed a violent physical flinch. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. Her muscles tensed defensively at the sight of the woman who had just confessed to murdering her family.

"Happy birthday, Ava!" Seraphina announced loudly. She made sure her voice carried so the nearby high-society guests could hear every word.

The guests turned their attention to the siblings. They murmured praises, their champagne flutes clinking as they admired Seraphina's generous and loving nature.

Seraphina popped the velvet box open. A limited-edition luxury watch glittered under the ballroom lights, its diamond-encrusted face catching the chandelier's glare.

A memory from her past life violently triggered in Ava's mind. A sharp pain spiked behind her eyes. She remembered the hidden military-grade GPS tracker and audio bug surgically implanted inside the casing of that exact watch.

Ava forced a stiff, polite smile. She dug her fingernails so hard into her palms that they almost broke the skin. The sharp physical pain kept her grounded.

Seraphina stepped closer. She reached out, attempting to clasp the heavy watch onto Ava's delicate wrist.

Ava subtly stepped backward. She smoothly avoided the physical contact, keeping her hands clasped in front of her under the guise of admiring the gift.

"It's too precious to wear right now," Ava said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline flooding her veins.

Seraphina's fake smile faltered for a fraction of a second at the unexpected rejection. She bit her lower lip, a habit she used when her plans hit a snag.

Ethan Thorne approached from the crowd. He walked with an arrogant swagger, wrapping a possessive arm around Seraphina's waist. He casually adjusted his expensive cuffs with his free hand.

"You should be grateful for your sister's effort, Ava," Ethan said. His tone was laced with subtle condescension.

Ava felt a surge of pure nausea looking at Ethan's hypocritical, handsome face. She could still taste his blood in her mouth from her dying moment.

Ava coldly reached out. She snapped the velvet box shut, trapping the watch inside, and took it from Seraphina's hands without putting it on. She immediately turned and set the velvet box down on a nearby marble side table, physically distancing herself from the tainted gift.

Seraphina immediately pouted. She dropped her shoulders, playing the disappointed, misunderstood victim for the watching crowd.

Ethan glared at Ava. He silently warned her with his eyes not to cause a scene and embarrass the family in front of the elite.

Ava completely ignored his warning. She kept her spine rigidly straight. "The room is far too stuffy for me," she stated aloud, her voice carrying a chilling edge.

Stephen Sinclair noticed the rising tension. He quickly walked over, a deep frown marring his face. He was already sweating, wiping his damp palms on his tailored trousers.

Stephen leaned in and harshly reprimanded Ava in a low voice. "Where are your manners? Do not embarrass me in front of these guests."

Ava stared dead into her father's eyes. She felt absolutely zero lingering affection for the man who had sold her out and allowed her to rot in an asylum.

"I have a severe migraine, Father," Ava said flatly. "I need fresh air."

Stephen sighed in disgust. He waved his hand dismissively. "Just go. Leave before you ruin the celebratory mood."

Ava turned her back on the trio. She maintained a perfectly straight posture as she walked away, her silk gown gliding over the marble floor.

Behind her, Seraphina immediately used the distraction to network with a prominent Hollywood producer standing nearby, her sweet laughter echoing in the hall.

Ava navigated the crowded, opulent hallway. Her mind rapidly calculated her next strategic move. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

A sudden realization hit her like a freight train. She stopped dead in her tracks. Tonight was the exact night her grandfather, Augustus Carlisle, was turned away at the estate gates.

Ava walked briskly down the marble-floored corridor. Her silk gown trailed heavily behind her, but she didn't care.

She passed by a row of antique portraits. She scoffed internally. Stephen Sinclair had bought them at auction, a desperate attempt to buy Old Money pedigree to mask his newly-rich insecurities.

Lydia Vance stepped out of a side parlor. She held a glass of champagne, laughing loudly with a group of sycophantic socialites.

Lydia spotted Ava. She immediately put on a mask of maternal concern. "Ava, darling! Are you alright?" she called out.

Ava's stomach churned violently. The sound of the woman who orchestrated her mother's death made bile rise in her throat.

Without breaking her stride, Ava pretended not to hear Lydia over the ambient noise of the party. She kept her eyes locked straight ahead.

Ava ducked into a narrower servant's hallway. The dim lighting provided immediate cover, allowing her to completely bypass Lydia and her followers.

She paused briefly in front of a gilded mirror hanging on the wall. She took a deep, shuddering breath to steady her racing heart.

Ava stared at her youthful, unblemished reflection. She touched her cheek, feeling the soft skin. She whispered a solemn promise to her mother that things would be different this time.

She pushed open the heavy side doors. She stepped out into the cool evening air of the estate grounds. The sudden drop in temperature sent a shiver down her spine.

The sprawling front lawn was filled with luxury vehicles, meticulously parked by the valet staff.

Ava kicked off her restrictive high heels. She picked them up in one hand so she could run faster across the manicured grass.

The damp grass chilled her bare feet. The cold sensation grounded her in the physical reality of her second chance at life. She was alive. She was here.

In the distance, the imposing wrought-iron gates of the Sinclair estate loomed under the harsh glare of the security floodlights.

Ava heard the faint sound of an argument carrying over the gentle evening breeze.

She quickened her pace. Her heart pounded relentlessly against her ribs. Fear gripped her chest—the fear that she might be too late to stop the humiliation that had severed her from her true family.

As she got closer, she spotted the flashing amber lights of a private security vehicle blocking the main entrance.

Seraphina was standing near the security booth. Ava’s mind raced back to the banquet hall: she remembered how Seraphina had wrapped up her conversation with the Hollywood producer quickly after Ava left, slipping out the main exit before anyone could notice. She had clearly been out here for some time, setting up her trap.

Seraphina was speaking to Officer Miles, the head of estate security. She was pointing an accusatory finger directly at the gates.

Ava hid behind a large, decorative marble fountain. The splashing water masked the sound of her breathing. She needed to observe the situation before intervening.

Through the thick iron bars, Ava saw the familiar, sleek silhouette of a black Maybach Pullman idling on the street.

An elderly man with a silver-tipped cane stood outside the car. His posture was rigid with suppressed fury.

Augustus Carlisle, her maternal grandfather, was arguing with the security guards who stood on the other side of the bars, refusing to open the gates.

Griffin Carlisle stood beside him. His face was a mask of cold, corporate rage. He was dialing a number on his phone, his jaw clenched tight.

Seraphina told Officer Miles in a loud, clear voice, "Those men are known fraudsters. They are trying to crash my sister's party."

Officer Miles hesitated. He looked at the obvious wealth of the men outside, the custom tailoring of their suits, and the multi-million dollar vehicle.

"It's a rental car," Seraphina insisted, biting her lip to look innocent. "My father said no uninvited guests. You will be fired if you let them ruin tonight."

Officer Miles nodded nervously. He wiped sweat from his forehead and reached for the manual override switch on the console to lock the gates permanently.

Ava realized Seraphina's true motive. She was intentionally trying to alienate the Carlisles to isolate Ava from her true family and their massive power.

Ava dropped her shoes onto the damp grass, leaving them behind as her eyes blazed with absolute fury. She stepped out from behind the fountain.