Chapter 1

I opened my eyes, and the first thing I felt was a dull ache in my chest.

This wasn't my body, but the pain was real.

The memory of its previous owner, Ava, was a ghost haunting the corners of my mind.

She was gone, faded away after a final, desperate wish for justice.

My mission was simple.

Revenge.

I sat up in the bed, the silk sheets feeling foreign against my skin. Downstairs, the low murmur of voices confirmed my location. I was back in the Smith family home, a place Ava had both loved and hated.

A place she had been destroyed.

I had been summoned here for a final, cruel performance.

I walked to the top of the grand staircase and looked down.

There she was. Chloe. My so-called sister, dressed in white, her face a mask of delicate grief. She was clinging to the arm of Mark, my fiancé. Or rather, Ava's fiancé.

He was looking at Chloe with a tenderness he hadn't shown Ava in years.

The scene was sickeningly perfect.

My father, Mr. Smith, a man who commanded boardrooms with an iron will, stood beside them, his hand on Chloe's shoulder. He looked at her with a pained affection he never once gave his own biological daughter.

They were a perfect, grieving family.

And I was the unwanted spectator.

I walked down the stairs, my steps silent on the thick carpet.

Their conversation stopped. Three pairs of eyes turned to me.

"Ava," my father's voice was cold, a tool of authority. "You're finally down. We were just discussing the service."

"Don't worry," I said, my voice flat. "I'm not here to disrupt your little play."

Chloe's eyes filled with tears instantly. It was a remarkable skill.

"Ava, please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I know this is hard for you, but we have to be strong for Dad."

Mark stepped forward, placing himself between me and Chloe, a protective gesture that was a slap in the face.

"Ava, that's enough," he said, his tone sharp. "Chloe is grieving. We all are. Can't you show some compassion?"

"Compassion?" I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Is that what you were showing me when you were sleeping with her?"

The air turned to ice.

Chloe gasped, a perfect, theatrical sound of shock and hurt.

My father's face darkened with rage. "How dare you?" he boomed. "You come into this house, on the day we are mourning, and you spew such vile accusations?"

"It's not an accusation when it's the truth," I said, my eyes locked on Mark.

Mark's composure finally cracked. He couldn't meet my gaze.

"It's not what you think, Ava," he stammered.

"Oh, I think it's exactly what I think," I replied calmly.

Chloe let out a sob and buried her face in my father's chest. "Dad, she's always hated me. She's trying to ruin everything. She's just jealous."

"Jealous?" I repeated the word, tasting it. "Of what? Your talent for crying on cue? Or your ability to manipulate every man in this room?"

"ENOUGH!" my father roared. He took a step toward me, his finger jabbing the air. "I have tolerated your coldness, your ambition, your complete lack of familial warmth for years. I thought sending you to the best schools, giving you a position at the firm, would make you a better person. Instead, it has made you a monster."

He pointed a shaking finger at Chloe.

"This girl, Chloe, has more grace and kindness in her little finger than you have in your entire body. She is the daughter I always wished I had."

Every word was a hammer blow, not to me, but to the lingering spirit of Ava. I could feel her sorrow, a faint echo in my soul.

This was the core of her pain. The reason she gave up.

Mark finally looked at me, his face a mixture of guilt and defiance.

"He's right, Ava," he said, his voice gaining a cruel strength. "I'm sorry, but it's over between us. I'm with Chloe now."

He paused, delivering the final, killing blow.

"Chloe brings out a softness in me that you, with your ambition, never could. I'm going to marry her."

The words hung in the air, heavy and poisonous.

I looked at their faces. The grieving daughter, the protective lover, the disappointed father. A perfect, disgusting tableau.

They thought this was the end. They thought they had broken me.

They were wrong.

This was the beginning.

I smiled, a slow, cold smile that didn't reach my eyes. It was the first genuine expression I had shown since waking up in this body.

"Good," I said, my voice clear and steady. "Then you won't mind when I take back everything that is rightfully mine."

My gaze swept over them, one by one.

"Every last thing."