Three months ago was when everything truly began—when my world crumbled for the last time.
Back then, I was still Layla Bennett. A naive twenty-three-year-old trying to make the best of a poisoned life, clinging to hope in a house full of lies. I wasn't searching for trouble. I was just a quiet girl working part-time jobs, trying to save money and build something for myself—anything that would give me even the illusion of peace.
That night, my sister Victoria suggested we go to a club. She said I looked tired and needed a break. I stupidly agreed. I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and she was unusually kind to me that day. Of course, I should've known. The calm always came before the storm with her.
I only had two drinks. Two shots of margarita. That's it. I remember the burning in my throat, the loud music, the flickering lights—and then, pain. A terrible, sudden pain. My stomach turned, my head spun, and I couldn't feel my own legs. It wasn't drunkenness. It was something else. Something darker.
I stumbled to the restroom, clutching the sink for balance, splashing cold water on my face. But the water didn't help. The room still spun, and my limbs were like jelly. I barely stayed upright before strong arms grabbed me from behind and stopped me from collapsing.
He caught me, Jordan King.
I didn't recognize him at first. His face was blurred, but that voice... that voice I'd heard so many times, calm and deep, promising Victoria the world. He helped me out of the restroom and took me upstairs, into one of the club's private rooms. His steps were unsteady, and he reeked of alcohol, but it was his eyes that haunted me—lost, unfocused... hollow.
And then it happened.
A moment of confusion. A moment where we gave in—no thought, no logic, just fire and chaos. That night, I betrayed myself. I betrayed everything I stood for. I don't even know if he knew who I was, but I knew exactly who he was. And I hated him for it.
I hated that he could touch me so easily when he belonged to the very woman who had always found ways to destroy me.
Victoria.
My beautiful, toxic half-sister. The one who always smiled with venom behind her teeth. She hated how I was loved, even if it was only scraps from our cold parents. She hated how I never tried to compete with her, yet somehow always got in her way. She hated me for existing.
And what better revenge than to destroy my name?
The next morning, when I woke up beside Jordan in a room that wasn't mine, I ran. I ran like hell. My body ached, my heart collapsed inside my chest, and shame coated my skin like filth I couldn't wash off.
I thought I could hide it. I thought maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to survive it quietly. But I was wrong.
Two days later, the video surfaced.
Grainy, raw, and heartbreaking. A video of Jordan and me—together. Victoria made sure it went viral. She made sure everyone saw it. She told everyone I seduced him. Drugged him. That I always wanted what was hers.
And just like that, my life turned to ash.
My father disowned me. My mother looked at me like I was filth. Victoria cried crocodile tears and painted herself as the betrayed angel. And Jordan… he didn't even ask for my side. He called me a liar. A manipulator. He said I planned it all to trap him.
I wanted to scream the truth. I wanted to tell him how I couldn't even remember the night, how I only had two drinks, how nothing about it felt right. But no one would listen. I was the whore. The homewrecker. The liar.
Then came the wedding.
Not his and Victoria's—ours.
To "fix the scandal," Jordan was forced to marry me. A Bennett-King merger was already in the works, and they needed a public distraction. I was nothing but a bandage for their reputation.
He never came home. And when he did, he didn't speak. I was left alone with his cold, judgmental mother, who made my life a living hell. The woman blamed me for everything and called me a curse. I believed her. Because how could I not?
I was pregnant and alone.
Yes. I found out two months into the marriage that I was carrying Jordan's child. I never told anyone. Not even him. That child was the only light in my life—and I held onto it with everything I had. But even that light was snuffed out.
Victoria found out. I don't know how. But she did.
She cornered me on the balcony one rainy night and smiled like the devil.
"You've always ruined everything. This time, I'm going to ruin you," she whispered.
And then she pushed me.
The wind was cold. The fall was long. But the pain… the pain was short.
My last thought was of the tiny heartbeat inside me.
My baby never got to live.
And me?
I was supposed to die.
But fate had other plans.
—
I don't know how long I was gone.
When I opened my eyes again, everything was white and blue. A monitor beeped beside me. The scent of antiseptic stung my nose. My body ached. My throat was sandpaper.
I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. I was too weak.
But I was alive.
The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. Tall, calm, professional. A man in a lab coat. Glasses on his nose. A mask covering half his face. But it was the voice that stayed with me.
"You're awake," he said, softly. "I was starting to think you planned to sleep through the next decade."
He walked closer, his eyes scanning me—warm hazel eyes. Familiar, but not in a haunting way. Gentle. Safe.
"My name is Dr. Damien Cole," he said, sitting beside me. "You don't remember me yet, but I was the one who found you that night. You were barely breathing. Broken bones. Internal bleeding. A baby lost... but you survived."
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I couldn't let them fall.
"Why?" I croaked out.
"Because they wanted you dead," he said, voice low and serious. "And I don't believe people like you should die at the hands of monsters."
I blinked at him, unable to understand what he saw in me.
"You have two choices," he continued. "You can die again—or you can live as someone new. Someone stronger. Someone who takes back everything they stole from her."
He stood to leave.
But I forced my hand up and grabbed the hem of his coat with trembling fingers.
He turned, surprised.
"Help me," I rasped. "I won't let them win."
His gaze sharpened.
"Then you're not Layla Bennett anymore," he said. "She's dead."
He leaned down, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
"You're Elle Brooks now. And this is your rebirth."
And just like that, a new fire burned inside me.
I would rise again.
And when I did...
Jordan. Victoria. Mrs. King.
They would all pay.