The first thing I remember about dying was the sound.
Not the gunshot.
Not the screaming.
Not even my own breath breaking inside my chest.
It was the soft click of his cufflinks.
Precise. Calm. Controlled.
Like he was adjusting himself before a board meeting.
Like my death was a schedule.
I remember looking at him — standing across the marble floor, the city lights of Aurelia bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him — and thinking:
He looks beautiful tonight.
Cold.
Immaculate.
Untouchable.
My husband.
My executioner.
—
"Miss Elara Vale?"
The present snapped back like a blade against skin.
My reflection stared at me from the full-length mirror in the bridal suite.
White silk. Hand-embroidered veil. Diamond collar pressed against my throat like a quiet threat.
Outside, violins swelled.
Inside, my pulse roared.
"Five minutes," the wedding planner whispered nervously. "Mr. Thorne is already at the altar."
Mr. Thorne.
Cassian Thorne.
The most powerful man in the country.
Billionaire. Media tycoon. Political kingmaker.
And in my last life—
The man who ordered my death.
My fingers tightened around the vanity table.
No.
That's not right.
He didn't order it.
He did it himself.
I remember the weight of his hand at the back of my neck.
The cold press of metal against my ribs.
The way he leaned close and said—
"Find me again."
My stomach twisted.
This isn't possible.
You don't die and wake up the morning of your wedding to the same man who killed you.
You don't relive the day you once thought was salvation.
You don't get a second chance at betrayal.
Unless something is deeply wrong.
Or deeply intentional.
"Miss Vale?" the planner urged again.
I inhaled slowly.
I would not panic.
If this is a hallucination, I will survive it.
If this is a dream, I will wake up.
And if this is real—
Then I will not die the same way twice.
—
The church doors opened.
Light spilled down the aisle like judgment.
Hundreds of eyes turned.
Flashbulbs exploded.
The elite were here.
Politicians. CEOs. Dynasty heirs.
All of them watching me walk toward the man who once watched me bleed.
Cassian stood at the altar in black.
Not charcoal.
Not midnight.
Black.
Sharp suit tailored to perfection. Dark hair slicked back. Expression carved from stone.
He did not smile.
He never smiled in public.
His eyes lifted.
And locked onto mine.
The world disappeared.
The music faded.
The guests blurred.
There it was.
Recognition.
Not surprise.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
He knows.
The realization hit like ice water.
He knows I remember.
His gaze did not soften.
Did not flicker.
But something moved beneath it.
Something ancient.
Something dangerous.
I forced myself to keep walking.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Don't show fear.
You survived him once.
You can survive him again.
When I reached the altar, he extended his hand.
In my past life, I thought that gesture meant protection.
Now I know better.
His fingers closed around mine.
Warm.
Firm.
Possessive.
My skin burned.
Memories flashed—
Gunpowder.
Blood.
His whisper against my ear.
My body collapsing into his arms.
"You look pale," he murmured quietly enough that only I could hear.
His voice.
Exactly the same.
Low. Controlled. Cultured.
"I didn't sleep," I replied evenly.
A lie.
I slept.
I died.
And I woke up.
His thumb brushed over my knuckles in a slow stroke.
A warning.
Or reassurance.
I couldn't tell.
The priest began speaking.
Words about devotion.
Unity.
Eternal partnership.
I watched Cassian instead.
Last time, I thought he married me for power.
My family owned Vale Infrastructure — the last independent logistics empire in the country.
Merging with him created a monopoly.
A political shield.
I thought I was strategic.
I thought I was clever.
But six months after the wedding—
My father was arrested.
Our assets were frozen.
My brother disappeared.
And I was charged with treason.
Fabricated evidence.
Media assassination.
Public humiliation.
And Cassian?
He testified against me.
Calmly.
Clinically.
Like I was a business liability.
Not his wife.
The memory tightened around my throat.
The priest asked, "Do you, Cassian Thorne, take Elara Vale—"
"I do."
Immediate.
Certain.
No hesitation.
The priest turned to me.
My heart hammered.
If I say no—
What happens?
Does time fracture?
Does he kill me sooner?
Or does everything change?
Cassian's fingers tightened.
Not painfully.
But enough.
Enough to remind me who holds the power here.
The entire country is watching this broadcast.
Walking away would ignite war.
And I'm not ready.
Not yet.
"I do," I said.
The words tasted like poison.
The priest smiled.
"You may kiss your bride."
Cassian stepped closer.
Too close.
His scent — cedar and something darker — wrapped around me.
His hand slid to my jaw.
Gentle.
Too gentle.
Like last time.
His lips brushed mine.
Soft.
Controlled.
A performance for cameras.
But as he pulled back, he leaned to my ear.
And whispered—
"You remember."
My breath stopped.
It wasn't a question.
It was confirmation.
He stepped away before I could react.
Applause thundered.
Cameras flashed.
The most powerful marriage in the country had just been sealed.
Again.
—
The reception was chaos.
Champagne. Crystal chandeliers. Political alliances disguised as congratulations.
Cassian never left my side.
His hand remained at my lower back.
A public show of possession.
A private cage.
"You're trembling," he observed quietly as another senator walked away.
"I'm cold."
"It's summer."
"I'm aware."
His mouth twitched faintly.
Almost amused.
"Be careful, Elara," he murmured. "Your fear is visible."
I turned to him sharply.
"I'm not afraid of you."
His eyes darkened.
"You should be."
There it was.
No pretense.
No charm.
Just truth.
I smiled sweetly for the cameras approaching us.
"Then perhaps you should have killed me more efficiently."
The flashbulbs popped.
Our smiles remained perfect.
His grip tightened slightly.
And for the first time—
He looked shaken.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But I saw it.
He did not expect that answer.
Interesting.
—
An hour later, we escaped to the private hallway leading to the penthouse suite above the hotel ballroom.
Security cleared the corridor.
The doors shut behind us.
Silence fell.
Cassian removed his cufflinks slowly.
Click.
The sound pierced my spine.
Memory overlapped with reality so violently I had to grip the wall.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He notices everything.
"Sit," he said calmly.
"I'd rather stand."
His gaze sharpened.
"You're not in a position to defy me yet."
Yet.
The word lingered.
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
Just close enough to dominate space.
"Tell me," he said quietly, "what do you remember?"
I met his eyes.
All of it.
The trial.
The prison cell.
The execution order.
The betrayal.
The way he held me when I was bleeding.
The way he whispered like I was something precious.
Why?
Why kill me yourself?
Why not let the state do it?
Why whisper those words?
Find me again.
"I remember you lying," I said softly.
He watched me carefully.
"About what?"
"About loving me."
Silence stretched.
Heavy.
Tight.
Then he said something that cracked the air open.
"I never lied about that."
My pulse skipped.
That's impossible.
"You testified against me," I snapped.
"Yes."
"You destroyed my family."
"Yes."
"You shot me."
His eyes flickered.
Barely.
"Yes."
My breathing grew uneven.
"Then what exactly do you call that, Cassian?"
He stepped forward.
This time his hand reached up.
But not to hurt me.
To cradle my face.
Like before.
"I call it necessary."
The word detonated inside my chest.
Necessary.
Necessary for what?
For power?
For control?
For amusement?
My voice dropped to a whisper.
"If you needed me dead…"
His thumb brushed beneath my eye gently.
"…why marry me again?"
For the first time that night—
Cassian Thorne smiled.
Not for cameras.
Not for politics.
But something darker.
More intimate.
Almost possessive.
"Because," he said softly,
"I won't let them take you from me again."
The hallway lights flickered.
Somewhere below us, the reception music cut abruptly.
Security radios crackled.
And then—
A gunshot echoed from the ballroom.
Cassian's expression changed instantly.
Not fear.
Calculation.
He pulled me behind him.
Shielding me.
Just like he did the night he killed me.
More shots.
Screams rising.
Chaos exploding downstairs.
His jaw tightened.
"They're early," he muttered.
My blood turned to ice.
"They?"
He looked back at me.
And for the first time—
I saw something that wasn't control.
It was urgency.
"They remember too."
Another gunshot rang out.
Closer.
Footsteps racing toward the private corridor.
Cassian reached inside his jacket.
Pulled out a concealed handgun.
And placed something cold into my palm.
A second weapon.
My hands trembled.
"You said you wouldn't kill me again," I whispered.
His eyes locked onto mine.
Dark.
Intense.
Unreadable.
"Elara," he said quietly,
"I didn't kill you."
Footsteps stopped outside the door.
The handle began to turn.
"And this time," he continued,
"If I have to burn the entire country to prove it—
I will."
The door burst open.
And the first masked gunman stepped inside.
—
End of Chapter One.