Zara's POV

I didn't know if I was dead or just dreaming, but I saw a memory of Cassian and I. Three months ago at my apartment with a movie playing on the screen. A love scene flickered.

"She'll still cheat on him," Cassian muttered.

I turned to him. "Wait... have you seen this movie before?"

"No," he scoffed. "But that's what women do. Good thing I don't have a girlfriend."

The air shifted. I sat up, my heart tightening. "Then why are you here? What is this... what are we doing?"

He blinked. "I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly. "You know I've said we should just get married, but you keep saying no."

I folded my arms. "Because I have goals, Cassian. I'm building something. I want emotional and financial stability before I even think about marriage or kids."

He leaned closer. "But I'm stable. I can take care of us."

I rolled my eyes. "God forbid a woman wants her own stability."

"I get it," he said softly. "That's why I want to invest in your restaurant, maybe once it's doing better, you'll feel ready."

That calmed me a little. I exhaled. "Well... I appreciate that."

He smiled and opened his arms. "Come here."

I hesitated. Then gave in, resting my head on his chest, his fingers threaded through my hair.

"I love you, Zara," he whispered.

I didn't answer. I never did. I just laid there, trying to ignore the heaviness that wouldn't leave my chest. There had never been a confession, no 'Will you be my girlfriend?' No clarity, just collision.

We bumped into each other at my restaurant, exchanged a few words and something sparked. After that, it was phone calls till morning, dates, making love like newlyweds.

We blurred the lines, and somewhere in-between, I assumed it meant something. When I thought he'd finally define it, he didn't. Just dropped a marriage comment like spare change. No ring or proposal, just vague permanence wrapped in charm.

The darkness pulled me under again. Somewhere in that abyss, a sound pierced through. A steady beep, mechanical like a heartbeat.

I tried to move, I felt my finger twitch. Then my eyes fluttered open. A shadow moved above me, but I couldn't make out the face. It leaned closer, then vanished before my vision cleared.

The ceiling came into view, unfamiliar and high, adorned with ornate moldings. This wasn't a hospital. I turned my head slowly, every muscle aching like I hadn't used it in years. I was lying on a massive bed, draped in soft, expensive sheets. The room was sprawling, too pristine and luxurious for any house I've seen.

'So... this is heaven?' I thought.

Then the door burst open. A woman entered briskly, followed by a man in a white coat and a nurse in pale blue scrubs.

"Oh dear, you're finally awake," the man said cheerfully. "I had just finished administering an injection."

Injection? This is not heaven, and definitely not a hospital. Where the hell was I?

"Can you see me clearly?" the man asked, his smile tight.

I blinked at him, my throat raw. "Who... who are you?"

My voice sounded off, lighter and softer, but I shoved that thought away.

"I'm the family doctor," he said, his voice syrupy-sweet. "Doctor Henry, remember?"

Remember? I didn't. Nothing about this was familiar. All I remembered was Cassian shooting me, the name escaped my lips.

"Cassian"

The doctor nodded. "Mr. Cassian will be back soon."

My heart stuttered. So this was Cassian's plan. To finish what he started, to make sure I disappeared for good, panic surged like a current through my veins. I bolted upright, yanking out the IV lines with trembling fingers. Blood trickled down my wrist, but I didn't care.

I stumbled toward the door, but I froze in front of a full-length mirror, it was not me. I staggered closer, gripping the edge of a nearby table to steady myself.

It wasn't my face staring back. It was Aria Everhart, the heiress. The face in every magazine spread, the golden girl. Big expressive eyes, delicate nose, sharp jawline, and a perfect body.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out, just air and disbelief. The nurse and doctor tried to guide me back to the bed, their voices just noise, muffled and distant. Everything around me blurred at the edges.

What is happening? What trick is this?

Maybe I imagined it. Maybe that mirror... maybe it was a painting.

"Can I have a mirror?" I asked, my voice shaky but urgent.

The nurse moved quickly, walking over to the table and picking up a small hand mirror.

"Here, Mrs. Blackwell," she said kindly.

I froze. Mrs. Blackwell? That name didn't belong to me, that name belonged to Aria.

I gripped the mirror tighter and brought it to my face, and there it was again. Not my face. Aria Everhart stared back at me, flawless.

"I'm not hallucinating," I whispered.

"Lucky for you, Mrs. Blackwell," the doctor said, oblivious to the tremble in my hands. "The accident didn't affect your face. Just a minor cut on your arm."

Accident? What accident? Where am I?

"What is this place?" I asked, my breath quickening. "What's going on?"

Before anyone could answer, the door opened, and a presence so commanding stepped in, tall, bald with beards. I'd seen that face on headlines, financial shows and magazines. Mr. Everhart. Aria's father, a man built of power and legacy.

And suddenly, the weight of it all collapsed on me like an avalanche. I was inside her. Her body. Her life. And I had no idea how.

"She's finally awake," Mr. Everhart said, his voice low. "How is she doing?"

Before the doctor could respond, I beat him to it. My finger pointed toward the towering man.

"Who is this?" I asked.

The room stilled. A collective gasp cut through the silence, the nurse's eyes widened, the older woman beside me let out a sharp inhale.

The doctor blinked. "Don't you remember your father?"

I shook my head slowly.

"What is your name?" the doctor asked, a new seriousness in his tone.

I looked down. "I heard you say... Mrs. Blackwell?"

The older woman gasped again. "Oh dear," she murmured, her voice shaking. "This is bad. This is very bad."

I glanced at the elderly woman beside me, her features were warm, her skin was deep-toned, her accent faintly Indian. She wasn't Aria's mother. A nanny? A domestic staff member, perhaps.

"Yes... do you recognize Nana?" the doctor asked, following my gaze.

I looked at her again, then shook my head. "No."

More questions followed. Simple things like names, dates, places. I answered each one the same way. No.

I wasn't lying technically. I really didn't know, but the moment I realized what was happening, I knew one thing for certain: I had to pretend. Until I understood this situation, I would play the part.

The doctor straightened, removing his stethoscope. "It's likely temporary amnesia. Shock from the accident," he said confidently. "Her memories should return soon. I promise."

Mr. Everhart's gaze was like a blade. "Fix this," he said, his voice devoid of warmth.

Then he turned and walked out without another word, no concern or affection. Why was he angry? His daughter had survived. Shouldn't that be a relief? But his anger wasn't my problem. Not yet.

The doctor ran more checks, eyes, reflexes, and pulse. His brows furrowed as he scribbled something on his notepad.

"You seem stable," he murmured. "Let's hope this really is temporary. The memories may return with rest."

My mind was spiraling after being left alone. The woman the doctor called Nana appeared again, carrying a silver tray with food. I didn't wait for permission. I ate like a woman who hadn't tasted food in weeks.

"How long have I been unconscious?" I asked, swallowing quickly.

"Since the 12th," she said gently. "That's two weeks now."

My hand froze mid-air. The 12th. That was the same day Cassian shot me. So Aria had her accident that day too?

This wasn't a coincidence, this was something else. A soul swap perhaps. Then the question hit me like ice: Where is Aria now? Is she in my body? Is she dead? Or watching me through a crack in reality?

I didn't know how long I had inside her life, this body, but I was certain of one thing: I didn't come back by accident. I came back for revenge.

But Cassian wasn't alone that night. I remembered it clearly. It wasn't just his hand that threw me into the river, there were four hands, someone else was with him.

But who?

Zara's POV

The next three days passed in a blur of quiet tension and pretend peace. Dr. Henry continued his rounds, checking vitals that were already stable, offering calm reassurances I didn't need.

"Physically, you're fine," he said, tapping at his clipboard. "Sometimes, reconnecting with nature or revisiting familiar places can jog the memory. Even conversations with loved ones might help."

I nodded, said thank you, smiled when expected, but inside, my mind was a battlefield. I didn't care about that. I wasn't here to get Aria's memories. I'm back for revenge.

Every second that ticked by was time slipping through my fingers, time I needed to gather evidence, to figure out who helped Cassian throw me into that water, and to bring them both down. I hadn't seen Cassian since waking up in Aria's body.

So after the doctor left that morning, I turned to Nana. She was fluffing pillows and humming softly to herself.

"Where is Cassian?" I asked, keeping my voice light.

She looked up. "Oh, he traveled. Two days after your accident."

"Traveled?" I repeated.

She nodded. "Yes. That's why Mr. Everhart insisted you be brought here. We didn't want any press photos from the hospital, it's safer here."

I sat back slowly, digesting that. Aria is a public figure, a billionaire heiress, socialite, face of brands. Of course the news would've feasted on her injuries if word got out. But her husband, newly married, had just left? After two days?

Who does that? What kind of man leaves his wife in a coma and vanishes for weeks? It didn't add up. None of it did.

I glanced at the luxurious room again, the gold-framed mirrors, the velvet drapes, the way the sunlight filtered through cream sheers and landed gently on a crystal vase by the window. Every detail was immaculate.

Aria's world was beautiful. I didn't know the rules here, the people or routines, but I would learn. I had no choice. Because somewhere inside this life I didn't choose, was the only path revenge.

Nana watched me carefully. "You know, dear," she said gently, "maybe walking around the house will help jog your memory."

I nodded, if I was going to pretend to be Aria, I needed to know the stage I'd been thrown onto.

We began the tour. The fourth floor was off-limits, Mr. Everhart's private domain, but even the glimpse I caught through the locked glass doors screamed untouchable power.

On the third floor was a dining room that looked like it belonged in a palace, its long, sleek table faced a panoramic skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. In another room is an arcade. Of course.

I paused at a balcony wrapped in elegant wrought iron. Below, a matte-black helicopter rested on a private helipad like something from a spy film.

The second floor was just as unreal. A bar, each bottle looking more expensive than my rent. Past that, a music room housed a black grand piano, polished to perfection. Even that room was bigger than my old apartment.

Down the hall, a glass-walled gym gleamed with top-tier equipment. The kind celebrities brag about but rarely use. Twin staircases spiraled toward the lower floors, and two elevators glided silently between them.

Each turn unveiled another corner of obscene wealth, balconies that framed the estate like art galleries, and an infinity pool so pristine it looked photoshopped.

Just when I thought I'd seen the extent of it, Nana led me down a private pathway through the garden. At the end, we stepped onto a private marina where two yachts bobbed gently.

"You love hosting parties here," she said with a knowing smile.

I almost asked, Me? But I stopped myself just in time. Right. Aria.

Then, as if this world hadn't already broken every rule of excess, she led me further to a hangar. Inside were two private jets. Not chartered, but owned.

It hit me all at once: this wasn't wealth. This was an empire. And Mr. Everhart wasn't just rich, he was untouchable, he was a man who could rewrite rules, erase stories, and silence worlds.

"Would you rather walk through the estate?" Nana asked. "You had so many favorite spots growing up."

"No," I said quietly. "I think... I'll rest."

Because the truth was, I'd seen enough. When I finally returned to my chambers, I sat motionless on the edge of the bed. This was a life I didn't recognize.

The next day after lunch, a domestic staff member came to my room. "Ma'am, Mr. Everhart requests your presence at a birthday party this evening."

Nana, seated beside me, perked up immediately. "Let me call your stylist."

Stylist?

I gently stopped her. "It's alright, Nana. I can manage."

She hesitated. "You haven't been seen in public for a while. People will start talking. Are you sure you can manage on your own?"

I nodded. "Yes."

By evening, I'd settled on a sleek black gown that hugged curves I still wasn't used to. It felt foreign, like I was slipping into someone else's polished skin. Matching heels, a simple purse, and a smile I had to glue to my lips.

In the car, silence stretched until Mr. Everhart finally spoke, his voice cold and mechanical.

"When we arrive, smile and return greetings. Don't show any sign of amnesia. We can't afford a scandal."

I nodded, hands clenched tight in my lap. "Okay."

Scandal? Because Aria was sick? He didn't even ask if I was doing okay, I just had to make an appearance.

I expected a gala, something grand and political, but when we arrived, I froze for half a beat. It wasn't a boardroom event, not a fundraiser or launch.

It was a birthday party for a cat. A cat!

The venue was a vision, twinkling chandeliers, champagne trays, a live string quartet playing soft jazz. There were canapés labeled like museum pieces. An actual cake shaped like a diamond-encrusted tuna can.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. This wasn't just wealth, it was insanity dressed in designer couture.

Still, I smiled. Nodded. Replied "thank you" and "so lovely to see you" like a script I'd memorized. Every time someone said "Aria," I flinched internally, reminding myself that's my name now.

Mr. Everhart melted into the crowd, mingling with the elites gathered near a gold-trimmed bar, leaving me adrift. I stood alone, surrounded by clinking glasses, laughter, and eyes that felt like lasers.

My hands trembled slightly. I wasn't made for this, these people's jokes could pay off my debt. Their shoes probably cost more than my entire apartment and restaurant, but I kept smiling, because if I cracked now, they'd smell the difference.

That's when I saw a man whose presence didn't just command attention, it silenced the room without trying. He looked younger than most of the men here, early forties maybe.

Black hair, effortlessly styled, framed a face sharp enough to be sculpted. High cheekbones. A jawline carved like a greek god, and that frame, tall, broad, and commanding made his tailored suit fall over him like liquid power.

I didn't mean to speak to him, but I felt his eyes on me. I turned to refill my glass, hoping the motion would ground me. It didn't. The moment he stepped closer, I caught the scent, something masculine and expensive.

My heart skipped. That scent. The same one from Hudson Yards. The stranger who caught me when I collapsed, the one who vanished before I woke in the hospital.

But colognes are mass-produced, anyone could wear it. I just needed to hear his voice. He reached for the decanter beside me, before I could think, the word escaped:

"Hi."

He looked at me, his lips pulling into a slight, unreadable smile. "Hi," he replied.

That voice, deep and smooth, was unmistakable. My vision had been blurred that day, but I remembered that voice. I almost said thank you.

But that was Zara. Now, I am Aria.

"Nice party," I said casually, trying to sound like someone who belonged in this world.

He let out a quiet scoff, just the hint of amusement dancing in his storm-grey eyes.

"Is it?" he murmured. "Personally, I think I have better ways to waste my evening. She called it her 'child's birthday.' It's a cat."

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "I know, right?"

I took a slow sip of champagne, grateful for the glass in my hand to steady me. I could see his reflection in it, eyes still fixed on me. Was he married? Taken? Before I could spiral too deep, he spoke again softer this time.

"How are you doing?"

It wasn't small talk. There was something else in the way he said it, like he already knew something. Did he remember me? That's impossible.

"Better now that you're talking to me," I said, lips curling into a playful smile.

He studied me. Something flickered in his eyes, he looked like a man who didn't trust easily, but for a second, I saw a softer shadow behind the sharpness.

Before I could say more, another polished man approached us.

"Aria," he said warmly, extending a hand.

I took it with a poised smile. "Good evening, kind sir."

Then he turned to the man beside me.

"Mr. Blackwell," he greeted, shaking his hand. "It's been a while."

Everything inside me stilled. The man who helped me. The man now standing beside me...

Was a Blackwell?

Zara's POV

When the man left, the handsome stranger turned his attention back to me, his charming smile fading.

"My nephew told me you had an accident. I'm glad you're doing okay. Have a nice evening." With that, he walked away.

For a moment, I felt like the ground beneath my feet should swallow me whole. Did I really just try to flirt with Cassian's uncle?

Heat rushed to my cheeks at the thought, but despite the embarrassment, I couldn't deny the thrill of it. He was everything I'd ever imagined wanting in a man, refined, enigmatic, and captivating beyond reason.

But shouldn't he have been offended? Instead, he seemed almost intrigued by me. My mind screamed at me to be cautious, especially around a Blackwell, but the pull he exerted was undeniable.

Throughout the remainder of the party, I kept catching fleeting glances of him. I, on the other hand, was doing my best to blend into this masquerade of wealth and privilege, praying I wouldn't slip up and expose myself.

At last, Mr. Everhart approached and murmured that it was time to leave. Relief washed over me. I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep up this charade without unraveling completely.

Mr. Everhart led me to the waiting car, a sleek black luxury sedan with tinted windows and gleaming chrome details that caught the light like liquid metal.

The door was opened for me by a uniformed chauffeur, and as I sank into the plush leather seat, the rich scent of expensive upholstery filled my senses. I'd never sat in a car like this before, it felt more like a rolling throne than a mere vehicle. Despite coming to the party in the car, it still amused me.

I tried to steady my breath, but my hands still trembled slightly. The quiet purr of the engine hummed beneath me, so smooth and silent it felt almost unreal. Mr. Everhart sat beside me, his sharp profile unreadable.

Finally, we turned off the main road and through the gates of an exclusive estate in Central Park South.

The winding path was lined with perfectly manicured hedges and towering trees. At the center stood a grand villa.It was a house that didn't just speak of wealth, it roared it.

From the beautiful gate to the luxurious exterior of the Villa, everything screamed old money. The driveway was breathtaking, with so many luxurious cars.

Once the car stopped, Mr. Everhart turned towards me.

"You looked odd today," Mr. Everhart remarked, his voice clipped and void of warmth.

Before I could form a reply, he cut in again, his tone sharper.

"Never behave like a servant when you are the daughter of a king," he warned, each word landing like ice.

I blinked, unsure whether it was correction, insult, or some strange expectation I could never meet. I exhaled deeply after he left the car.

My door was opened as well and I stepped out, going straight to my room. I couldn't help but think of Mr. Blackwell. Was it really me who was drawn to the stranger, or was it Aria?

But deep down, I knew the answer, it's me, maybe because he was kind to me before. Now that I'd met him, I was certain this wouldn't be the last time our paths would cross.

The next morning, Nana brought breakfast to my room. I ate in silence. When Nana returned to check on me, I decided to ask her about Mr. Everhart.

"Nana... has my father always been this cold towards me?" I asked hesitantly.

She paused, her eyes softening with a touch of sorrow. "Yes, child. But he loves you in his own way. I always tell myself that."

I nodded. I realized something else, there were no pictures of Aria's mother. The only portrait in the house was that of Mr. Everhart himself.

"What... what happened to my mother?" I asked carefully, searching Nana's face for a clue.

Her expression shifted. "She died years ago, Aria. We don't talk about her much... but she was different. She was kind. I know you miss her too."

For some reason at the mention of that, I felt my heart ache, I winced trying to hide the sudden pain.

"Is there any important information in particular I should know?" I asked her, trying to fill in the blanks of this life that didn't truly belong to me.

Nana hesitated, counting on her fingers as if she were trying to piece together a puzzle. "Well, let's see... you'll soon be twenty-nine..." She trailed off, lost in thought.

Twenty-nine? Aria and I were the same age. My real birthday was in two months.

"...you're already the president at your father's company," Nana continued, drawing me back from my own thoughts. "And your father has plans, he's going to make you chairman once you turn thirty. He says he wants more time for himself, but he also wanted you to be married before then."

"I see," I nodded. I decided to use the opportunity and ask of Mr. Blackwell.

"Nana, does Cassian have an uncle?" I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.

"Yes," she said without missing a beat, "Mr. Sterling Blackwell, the chairman of Vanguard Visions."

Vanguard Visions. Of course. Cassian's family's tech empire. I'd always known Cassian wasn't the chairman, it had to be his uncle.

"Is he married?" I added lightly, hoping my curiosity wouldn't raise any alarms.

Nana paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "No, dear. He doesn't really... well, it's not that he doesn't like women, but he's hardly ever seen with them. When the idea of a marriage proposal came up, everyone assumed you'd end up with him."

I blinked. "Wait, a marriage proposal? I asked.

Nana gave me a long look, as if deciding how much to share.

"Nana," I said, more firmly, "you know I have no memory of any of this. Can you explain it to me like I'm hearing it for the first time?"

She sighed moving closer. "Alright, dear. Your father, or rather, the Emerald Group, needed cutting-edge technology to keep up with modern demands. The hotels, the luxury lines, they all need AI integration, smart systems... Well, if I remember right, that's what you always said."

I nodded slowly. "Okay... and Vanguard Visions?"

"Vanguard Visions needed elite branding," she continued, "and access to the circles your family already moves in. They wanted to break into the billionaire club, and Emerald Group was their ticket in."

"So," I murmured, the pieces clicking into place, "a merger sealed by marriage." A strategic union dressed up as a love story.

She smiled faintly. "Exactly that. Well, not exactly because you love Cassian," Nana said with a small shrug, her words casual, but her eyes watching me carefully.

If I wanted to bring Cassian down, I first had to know how they saw him, saint, devil... or something far worse.