The rain came like mourning—heavy, relentless, and without warmth. It beat down on the midnight streets of Hangzhou like a symphony of farewells, drowning the city's neon glow into watercolor blurs.
Inside the black Mercedes-Benz parked along a deserted riverside bridge, Aurora Lin sat perfectly still.
Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. Her dress—emerald silk, hand-stitched—clung to her like it was mourning too, soaked in sweat and betrayal. The diamond engagement ring sparkled mockingly on her finger. Just hours ago, she had worn it with pride. Now, it burned on her skin like ice on an open wound.
"Play it again," she whispered to herself. Her voice cracked.
With trembling fingers, she pressed the screen of her phone.
A secret video flickered to life—grainy footage, but vivid in its cruelty. Her fiancé, Vincent Zhou, lay shirtless in bed. His voice drawled sweet nothings.
Not to her.
To her stepsister, Eva.
"You think Aurora suspects anything?" Eva giggled in that lilting voice that once used to beg for her approval.
"She suspects nothing," Vincent purred, running his hand through Eva's hair. "She's too busy playing the perfect daughter. The perfect fiancée. She's just a placeholder until the will changes."
Aurora didn't look away.
She watched it again. And again. Until the ache in her chest no longer pulsed but throbbed like a second heartbeat.
Lightning cracked above the city skyline, illuminating her reflection in the rearview mirror—eyes swollen, lips bloodless, the faint gold ring of her iris glowing eerily in the light.
It had always been there, unnoticed, explained away as a trick of light or a genetic anomaly. But tonight, something about it felt… prophetic.
She looked down at her lap. Clutched in her hand was a letter. Not a suicide note, but a confession. One she had intended to leave behind. A list of fund transfers, fraudulent accounts, bribes—all connected to Vincent and Eva. She had spent three months collecting the evidence. She was ready to expose them.
But now... what for?
"Why fight for a world that threw me away?" she whispered, tears indistinguishable from the rain.
She stepped out of the car and into the storm.
The bridge beneath her heels trembled faintly as thunder rolled over West Lake. Below, the water swirled like an ink painting torn by grief.
She climbed the railing slowly.
Behind her, no one called her name. No headlights. No one searched. No one knew. No one cared.
And yet… as she leaned forward, a voice—low, ancient—whispered behind her ear:
"Your time has not yet ended, Lin Qingli."
She turned sharply, heart pounding. No one was there.
The air around her shimmered like heat waves. Her vision blurred.
And then—
BOOM.
The car exploded behind her in a roar of flame and steel. The shockwave hurled her into the air. Pain shot through her skull as her body collided with the railing and tumbled into the river below.
Darkness swallowed her.
When she opened her eyes again, the world smelled of sandalwood and silk.
She wasn't drowning.
She was in a bedroom—opulent but cold. Strange.
The face in the mirror was hers. And yet… not. The jaw sharper. The hair shorter. But the eyes—those golden-ringed eyes—were still hers.
A woman's voice echoed faintly in her mind:
"This body has given up… but your soul still wants to live."
Aurora Lin had died.
And yet, she had awoken—reborn in the body of a stranger with her name, her face, and the same enemies circling like wolves.
Only this time, she wouldn't die quietly.
This time, she'd make sure they remembered her.