Zahra died on a Tuesday.
Leather jacket. Black matte helmet. Thighs gripping a throbbing machine that could outrun the wind itself. The night air had tasted like freedom, the city lights blurring into golden streaks behind her. She had been laughing—wild, careless—when the truck ran the red light.
She didn't feel pain. Just a jolt. A hard snap. Then silence.
No dramatic monologue. No flashbacks. No one crying over her broken body. Just stillness.
And then...
She opened her eyes.
This time, on silk.
The ceiling was too high, the chandelier too expensive. The air was thick with something expensive — roses and oud and old money. She blinked, sat up, and took in the suite that clearly wasn't hers.
Except, somehow, it was.
The girl whose body she now inhabited had impeccable taste. High-end skincare on the vanity, black cards in the drawer, silk robes hung like casual afterthoughts in an all-marble closet. Zahra rolled her eyes fondly.
Whoever she was, she knew how to live.
It didn't take long to adjust. Zahra had always been a fast learner — sharp, strategic, with a dash of wicked. When she realized the body she'd landed in came with a family, her first instinct was caution.
They proved themselves snakes within a week.
Aunts with too much opinion and not enough money. Cousins who thought inheritance was their birthright. A father who saw her as currency, not kin.
She cleaned house.
Quietly. Beautifully.
The maid who tried to poison her tea found herself fired and blacklisted. The uncle who wanted to sell her properties? Now had a scandal to his name. And the cousin who tried to move into her penthouse? Evicted and disgraced.
By the time she lit her third lavender candle in the master suite, the penthouse was hers. Not by blood, but by dominance.
Zahra had barely settled into her new reality when the universe tilted again.
It was subtle — a pressure behind her eyes, a static hum in her bones. She knew the signs of a shift. Then, at exactly 2:44 a.m., a screen blinked into her vision.
> [Welcome, Host. You have been selected by the Harem Fortress Domination System.]
[System Assistant: B4. Initialization complete.]
Zahra stared at it.
Paused.
Then smiled.
Of course.
She'd always known she was meant for more — not just wealth or beauty, but power. And apparently, the universe agreed. What followed the system binding wasn't panic. It was preparation. Ruthless, luxurious preparation.
The world was ending. But unlike the last time she died, this time, she had time. And money. And now, something better than reincarnation: a system, a mission, and the freedom to live on her own terms.
She wouldn't just survive the apocalypse.
She'd build an empire on its ashes.
And, apparently, collect a harem while at it.
Zahra leaned back in her chair, legs crossed, eyes gleaming.
Let the games begin.