Location: Ashira Lin's Residence
Timing: After soul transfer, morning 6AM
---
The scent of rosewater was the first thing she noticed.
Ashira stirred with a quiet gasp, her throat dry, limbs heavy. The world was spinning—too clean, too soft, too silent. Her eyes blinked open to cream-colored ceiling panels, carved with delicate golden lines. The air was cool, conditioned, humming like a whisper. Her hand slid across satin sheets and brushed against—
Silk?
She bolted upright.
This wasn't her apartment. This wasn't even her body.
She was in a room fit for a queen: a sprawling bedroom bathed in ivory and gold. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a glittering skyline beyond. Every surface gleamed—glass, marble, velvet.
A curved mirror across the room caught her movement.
Ashira stumbled out of bed and froze in front of it.
The face that stared back wasn't hers.
High cheekbones, flawless porcelain skin, glossy black hair cascading down in perfect waves. Her reflection tilted her head—and the movement was real. The woman in the mirror was her… and yet, not.
Her hand flew to her chest. The heart under her palm beat—alive, real.
Then memory struck like a bolt of lightning.
The rain. The truck's headlights. The scream.
Her death.
No. That had been real. That car had ended her life. She remembered pain, then darkness. And now this?
"Ashira Lin," she murmured aloud, as if tasting the name.
It clicked. The name had shown up on some file folder—vague, blurred in the back of her new mind. Heiress to a major conglomerate. Disgraced daughter. And more importantly… contract wife to—
Her breath caught as a phone buzzed nearby. A sleek black device lay atop the glass vanity.
Hands trembling, she picked it up. 17 missed calls. All from a name displayed simply as:
Damien Z.
Before she could make sense of that, voices drifted in from beyond the door.
Her instincts sharpened. She crept toward the double doors and cracked them open an inch.
A man's voice. Deep, calm, and ice-cold.
"She's awake, I presume. Good. Remind her of the contract. No public appearances unless necessary, and zero interference in board operations. I want this marriage over in six months. Quietly."
Ashira didn't move. She couldn't. The voice belonged to him.
Damien Zhuang.
She couldn't see him clearly—just the edge of his tailored suit sleeve, one hand shoved into his pocket, another holding a phone. Sharp jaw. Impossibly still posture. Every inch a man used to controlling worlds with a nod.
"She was always obedient," he added with a dry, bored chuckle. "I doubt that's changed."
A slow fire rose in her chest.
Obedient?
Six months?
Discardable?
She was a side character in her old world. Always in the background. Always ignored. But this time—this time—she refused to play anyone's script.
With quiet, measured steps, she walked out.
He turned toward the sound.
Their eyes met for the first time.
Damien Zhuang was taller than she expected. Dark gray eyes, like stormclouds before lightning, scanned her with mild annoyance, like he was glancing at a contract, not a person.
"You're awake," he said, tone clipped.
Ashira crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe.
"I heard," she said, her voice perfectly calm. "You're counting down to divorce."
His brow ticked, barely.
"I don't recall giving you permission to eavesdrop."
"I don't recall marrying a man who thinks I'm a doormat."
A flicker of something—confusion? amusement?—crossed his face.
"Then let's be clear," he said, walking closer. "This arrangement was never about love. It's corporate. You keep your family afloat, I keep the board quiet, and we part ways as planned. Don't get ideas."
Ashira smiled.
Not sweetly.
Dangerously.
"Oh, don't worry. I wouldn't dream of staying longer than I have to."
She moved past him, her perfume trailing something sharper than flowers—something electric.
He turned as she opened the front door, heels clicking against the marble like thunder in a cathedral.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
She didn't look back.
"To get a life. You should try it sometime."
---
✨ Scene Break: Flashback Memory Unlock (Her Old Life)
Her old self—Anney—stood in the rain once, holding coffee for a man who never loved her. She was the "best friend," the fallback, the convenience. She died thinking she didn't matter.
But this world?
This world was a blank page.
And she was going to write herself in bold.
---
Back in the penthouse, Damien Zhuang watched the door swing shut with a soft click.
He stared at the space she'd left behind.
That wasn't the same Ashira Lin.
Something about her had changed.
The fire. The look in her eyes. The confidence. It was like a completely different person had stepped into her skin.
He didn't like mysteries.
He especially didn't like the ones that smelled like temptation and chaos wrapped in silk.
"Track her," he muttered to his assistant. "I want to know where she goes. And who she talks to."
---
🧨 Final Hook Before Chapter Close
Ashira stood before the Lin Corporation's glass headquarters, a storm behind her and a new name on her lips.
"Let's see who really owns this empire."
And this time…
No one's writing me off.
---
Chapter 2 Preview:
At a company gala that evening, she arrives wearing the old Ashira's dress—but not the old Ashira's silence. She publicly humiliates a board member with a single line, sending ripples through the crowd.
And Damien? He watches from the shadows, glass in hand, as the wife he thought was a pawn… becomes the queen on the board.
—