Elena woke to the sound of birdsong.
Not alarms.
Not fire.
Not her own screaming.
Birds.
Her breath caught before she could stop it, like her lungs didn't trust the air. The softness of the sheets, the warmth of sunlight on her face—it all felt like a cruel joke. A dream borrowed from someone else's life. She lay still, bracing for the sear of pain, for the scent of smoke, for the sharp finality of death.
But none came.
Instead, there was the faint hum of a fan. The sound of someone's heels clicking down a hallway. And then—laughter. Familiar. Unmistakable.
Serena.
Elena's eyes snapped open.
She expected to see flames. The charred ruin of her home. Her body curled in ash. But instead, she was staring at a ceiling she hadn't seen in years—pale pink, with delicate crown molding. Her old bedroom. Her room in the Hayes family estate.
She sat up too fast, the world spinning before settling into sharp, disorienting clarity. Everything was wrong. Or right. Or impossible.
The vanity across from her held a neatly arranged row of perfume bottles she hadn't owned in a decade. Her old jewelry box—painted white with a tiny silver lock—sat untouched on the dresser. And on the far wall, a calendar hung slightly crooked.
October 12.
No. It couldn't be. That date had been burned into her memory for reasons she hadn't let herself revisit. It was the day everything began. The day she got engaged to Lucas Bennett.
Elena stood, feet hitting the floor like they belonged to someone else. She crossed the room on autopilot, toward the nightstand. There, a framed photo greeted her—she and Lucas, smiling for the camera, arms wrapped around each other like they had something real. She stared at it with a bitter kind of awe.
She hadn't seen this version of herself in so long—young, polished, hopeful. A lamb walking into the slaughterhouse.
And yet, here she was.
Back in her twenty-three-year-old body. Back before the wedding. Before the betrayal. Before the company was stolen, the child lost, the fire lit.
Back at the beginning.
She moved to the mirror, half-expecting to see soot still on her skin, the shadows of burns, the grief etched deep into her face. But the reflection staring back at her was flawless. Too flawless. Eyes wide with shock, not despair. Lips parted in disbelief, not rage. She was healthy. Unscarred. Whole.
Her knees buckled and she gripped the edge of the vanity.
This wasn't a dream.
Somehow
Somehow, she had come back to life. Worse, ten years before the fire.
She didn't know how. Or why. But the weight of what it meant settled in her chest like thunder.
She remembered everything.
The lies. The stolen life. The child. The voice memo.
"She's starting to notice."
"Then it's time. You said your mother had a plan."
She remembered Lucas's hand on Serena's thigh beneath the dinner table. The empty promises. The way they made her doubt her own instincts until she felt like a stranger in her own skin.
She remembered the fire. The heat. The final thought that pierced through the pain: If I ever get another chance, I'll never waste it.
And now—she had that chance.
The knock on her bedroom door startled her.
"Elena?" It was her mother's voice—sharp, rehearsed, brittle. "You're not dressed. The Bennetts will be here in an hour."
Elena looked at the closet door. She knew what was inside: the soft blue dress her mother picked for her. The one that made her look "innocent, but not naïve." It was meant to make her palatable. Appealing. Obedient.
But Elena Hayes was no longer any of those things.
Not after what they did.
She took a long, steady breath and looked at her reflection again—not the girl she used to be, but the woman she had become. Hardened by fire. Reborn by rage.
A slow, deliberate smile curved her lips.
She knew how this story ended.
But this time, she would be the one writing it.
Elena dressed slowly.
Not in the soft blue dress laid out for her—but in something from the back of her closet, a silk champagne slip with a high collar and subtle slit. It hugged her body differently than it had back then. She noticed it. Owned it. Every movement she made now had weight—intention.
In her past life, she would've dressed for approval. For her mother's praise. For Lucas's barely-there attention. Now she dressed like armor.
When she descended the staircase, the staff glanced up in quiet surprise. It was subtle—just a flicker in their eyes. But she caught it. Her past self had floated through this house like a ghost, too obedient to be noticed. Today, she moved like someone who had woken from a nightmare with fire still in her veins.
She made her way to the breakfast room where her mother, Colette Hayes, was already seated, nursing an espresso and flipping through catering notes.
"Elena," she said, barely looking up. "You're late. I told you to wear the blue."
"I didn't feel like blue," Elena said evenly, taking a seat across from her.
Colette's eyes lifted, narrowed. "It's a modest shade. Makes you seem trustworthy."
"I'm not."
That earned a full pause. Her mother's brow twitched—but only slightly. Years of social training kicked in.
"Elena," she said carefully, "you're nervous. It's natural. Lucas is a big step up for you. For all of us."
Elena's lips curved. "Oh, I know exactly what kind of step he is."
Her mother stared at her for a beat too long.
In the old timeline, she would have backed down—apologized, softened her voice. Not anymore.
Instead, she stood. "I'll be civil today. Smile for the cameras. Say what you want me to say. But after this engagement party, I make my own decisions. No more matching scripts."
Colette said nothing.
Elena leaned in slightly. "And if you ever try to lock me into a corner again, I will set the whole house on fire."
She left her mother speechless, for once.
***
By the time guests began arriving that afternoon, the Hayes estate looked exactly as it had in her memories—manicured, decadent, designed for show. Silver trays of champagne floated by on the arms of servers. String music played in the background. It was a perfect performance.
But Elena was watching everything now. Every look. Every touch. Every secret shared in passing glances.
She saw Serena, floating through the crowd in a lilac dress far too polished for someone not being celebrated today. She saw Lucas watching her with more interest than he should've. She remembered what this day truly was—not a celebration, but the beginning of a long con.
This time, she wouldn't be fooled. And she wouldn't let them play their game unchecked.
As the announcement toast began and Lucas took her hand, raising it for the crowd with his trademark politician's smile, Elena smiled too.
But hers was sharper. Colder. Calculated.
She already knew what she'd do next.
Tonight, after the toasts and fake congratulations, after the wine and forced laughter—she would begin her own plan.
She would write a letter. One she should have written a long time ago.
To Damien, Serena's fiancée and her best friend whom they'd never allowed her to see after she graduated from high-school.
Because if she wanted to burn down the future they built on her broken life, she'd need a partner who knew how to destroy from the inside.