Felicity stared at the dying screen of her only remaining lifeline. Her muscles screamed in protest as she gripped the cold metal tighter.

The harsh, blinding light of the incoming notification illuminated the pitch-black cabin.

A secure video file from her adopted sister, Brinley, sat in the center of the screen.

The loading circle spun agonizingly slow, tethered to a single bar of signal. It pulled taut the very last thread of her sanity.

Felicity couldn't use her fingers. She pressed her numb chin against the play button.

The video jerked violently. Brinley's flawless, innocent face filled the screen, her lips twisted into a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Hey, big sister," Brinley chirped. The tinny audio sliced through the howling wind.

Brinley held up a stack of documents. The camera zoomed in on a private jet maintenance log.

"Thought you should know before you freeze to death," Brinley laughed. "Mom and Dad's plane crash? Not an accident."

Felicity's pupils dilated to the size of saucers. Her stomach violently dropped, as if she had been kicked off a cliff.

"Brandt and I planned the whole thing," Brinley continued, her eyes gleaming with malice. "The kidnapping, too. We need the Klein family trust fund, and you were just... in the way."

A massive wave of bile and blood surged up Felicity's throat. She coughed violently, spraying warm, crimson blood across the glowing screen.

The red droplets smeared across Brinley's laughing face.

"Enjoy the snow, Felicity," Brinley whispered, blowing a kiss to the camera.

The video auto-deleted. The screen went black.

Felicity bit down on her lower lip until her teeth broke the skin. Hot blood trickled down her chin. She wanted to scream, to smash the phone into a million pieces, but her arms were paralyzed.

The sheer force of her rage burned through the last of her body heat. Massive black patches swallowed her vision.

The wooden beams of the cabin groaned under the weight of the blizzard, a morbid lullaby for her final moments.

Her breathing reduced to shallow, ragged gasps.

Her life flashed before her eyes-the Oscar nominations, the flashing cameras, the hollow love she had begged for. It was all a lie.

Her eyelids felt like they were made of lead. They fluttered shut.

Suddenly, a deafening crash shook the entire cabin.

A massive, violent force slammed into the rotting front door.

Felicity's fading consciousness hitched. She forced her eyes open a fraction of a millimeter.

The heavy wooden door, frame and all, was kicked completely off its hinges. It flew into the room, followed by a violent swirl of snow and killing intent.

A towering, broad-shouldered silhouette stood in the doorway, backlit by the raging storm.

The man stepped inside. His heavy military boots crunched over the broken glass, the sound sharp and terrifying.

He crossed the room in three massive strides and dropped to his knees beside her.

Collins Saunders. The man who had fought her at every turn in the business world, the one she had supposedly hated, was actually standing here in the flesh.

He was covered in snow, his chest heaving. He reached out with trembling hands and pulled her frozen, stiff body into his arms.

His touch was impossibly gentle. He ripped off his heavy, body-warmed cashmere coat and wrapped it tightly around her.

His large, rough hands cupped her ice-cold face. "Felicity," he choked out, his voice completely shredded by fear.

Felicity forced her eyes to focus. She stared at the man she had publicly despised for years. Shock paralyzed her vocal cords.

Collins pressed her tightly against his massive, burning chest, desperately trying to transfer his body heat into her dying frame.

He buried his face in her frozen hair. Hot, heavy tears dropped from his eyes, landing on her eyelashes and melting the frost.

The walls she had built against him for a decade shattered into dust.

She opened her mouth to speak, but only a wet, broken gurgle came out. Fresh blood spilled over her lips.

"No, no, no," Collins panicked. He used the cuff of his custom-made silk shirt to wipe the blood from her mouth.

He turned his head toward the doorway, his eyes bloodshot and wild. "Get the chopper down here now!" he roared at the shadows outside.

The faint, rhythmic thumping of helicopter blades echoed over the mountain peak, but Felicity knew it was useless.

Her organs were shutting down.

She marshaled the absolute last ounce of her strength. She lifted her trembling, bloody hand toward his face.

She wanted to smooth the deep, agonizing crease between his brows.

Her icy fingertips barely brushed against his sharp jawline.

Then, the last spark of life extinguished. Her hand dropped, falling limply through the air to hit the floorboards.

Collins let out a guttural, soul-tearing scream that ripped through the frozen valley. He crushed her lifeless body against his chest.

Felicity's world went completely black, but in that final millisecond, the sensation of his burning tears branded itself into her soul.

Gravity vanished.

Felicity felt a violent yank upward. She looked down and gasped.

She was floating near the ceiling of the cabin. Below her, Collins was rocking back and forth, clutching her dead body, his face buried in her neck.

"Collins!" she screamed.

No sound came out. She had no vocal cords. She watched in absolute horror as the most powerful man in New York broke down into a sobbing, broken mess.

Suddenly, a terrifying vacuum force grabbed her ethereal form. The snowy cabin dissolved into a blur of blinding light and rushing colors.

She was pulled across thousands of miles in a fraction of a second.

Her feet hit a solid surface. She stumbled forward, instinctively shielding her eyes from the blinding crystal chandeliers.

She was standing in the center of her own living room in her Bel Air mansion.

Brandt stood by the massive marble fireplace. He held a crystal champagne flute, his face flushed with triumph. There was no grief in his eyes.

Brinley was draped over his arm. She was wearing Felicity's custom-made, limited-edition Dior gown.

"To the Klein trust fund," Brandt smirked, raising his glass. "God, she was so stupid. Believed every word I said."

Brinley giggled, a sharp, grating sound that made Felicity's ghostly stomach churn. "Hollywood is finally mine. No more living in her shadow."

Brandt grabbed Brinley's waist and pulled her into a deep, filthy kiss right in the middle of Felicity's living room.

Felicity's soul vibrated with a rage so intense it felt like nuclear fission. She lunged forward, swinging her hand to slap Brandt across his smug face.

Her hand phased right through his jaw.

She stared at her translucent fingers. A suffocating wave of helplessness crashed over her. She was a ghost. A spectator to her own desecration.

On the massive flat-screen TV, a TMZ breaking news banner flashed red: FELICITY KLEIN MISSING? FLEEING SCANDAL?

Brandt pulled away from Brinley and smirked at the TV. He pulled out his phone. "Time to call the PR team. Let's make sure she's remembered as a homewrecker who ran away."

Before his thumb could hit the screen, a deafening screech of tires tore through the quiet Bel Air night.

The heavy, custom-built mahogany double doors of the mansion exploded inward.

An armored, matte-black SUV smashed through the entrance, sending massive chunks of wood and shattered glass flying across the marble foyer.

Brandt and Brinley screamed. The champagne flute slipped from Brandt's hand, shattering on the floor.

The SUV's high beams flooded the living room, blinding them. The engine roared like a mechanical beast.

The driver's side door was kicked open.

Collins Saunders stepped out. He wore a black trench coat soaked in melted snow and dark blood. He looked like a demon crawling out of hell.

A dozen heavily armed men in tactical gear swarmed into the house behind him, instantly securing every exit and cutting the phone lines.

Collins held a heavy Glock 19 in his right hand. The sharp, metallic smell of gunpowder instantly filled the room.

He locked his dead, bloodshot eyes onto Brandt. The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.

"What the hell is this?!" Brandt stammered, his voice cracking. He stumbled backward, his knees knocking together.

Brinley shrieked and dove behind the white leather sofa. She frantically tapped her phone, but the screen showed zero signal.

Collins didn't say a word. He stalked forward. His heavy boots crushed the broken champagne glass into fine powder.

He stopped two feet away from Brandt. He raised his left hand and violently whipped something directly into Brandt's face.

It was a diamond necklace, heavily coated in dark, dried blood. It sliced a thin cut across Brandt's cheek.

Brandt looked down at the floor. He recognized Felicity's lucky charm. His pupils shrank to pinpricks.

"She's dead," Collins rasped. His voice was a terrifying, hollow scrape of metal on metal.

"No... I didn't..." Brandt babbled, holding his hands up in surrender.

Felicity hovered in the air, staring at Collins. The sheer magnitude of his violence, all for her, sent shockwaves through her ghostly form.

Collins slowly raised the Glock. He pressed the cold steel barrel directly against the center of Brandt's forehead.

His finger curled around the trigger.

Time stopped in the Bel Air mansion. The slaughter was about to begin.

Collins shifted his wrist downward in a blur of motion.

He pulled the trigger.

The deafening crack of the gunshot echoed off the high ceilings. The bullet tore straight through Brandt's right kneecap.

Brandt let out a high-pitched, agonizing squeal. His leg buckled, and he collapsed onto the Persian rug, clutching his shattered knee as blood pumped through his fingers.

Behind the sofa, Brinley screamed in pure terror. She scrambled on her hands and knees toward the back patio doors.

Two massive bodyguards grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back, throwing her onto the floor next to Brandt.

Collins stared down at Brandt with dead, empty eyes. He lifted his heavy leather boot and stomped directly onto the bullet wound, grinding his heel into the shattered bone.

Brandt howled, his face turning purple. "Please! Please! It was her idea!" He pointed a shaking, bloody finger at Brinley. "She hacked the plane! She hired the kidnappers!"

Brinley's eyes bulged. "You lying piece of trash! You paid them!" she shrieked, spitting at him.

Felicity floated above them, nausea rolling through her phantom body. They were pathetic, rabid dogs turning on each other to survive.

Collins didn't care about their confessions. He raised two fingers.

The bodyguards stepped forward, carrying heavy steel jerrycans.

The sharp, toxic stench of high-octane gasoline flooded the room. The men poured the fuel over the custom leather sofas, the drapes, and the expensive rugs.

Brandt smelled the fumes. His eyes rolled back in panic. He dragged his bleeding body across the floor, leaving a thick red smear, trying to reach Collins' boots.

Collins kicked him in the jaw, sending him sprawling.

He reached into his trench coat and pulled out a small, velvet jewelry box. It was frozen solid.

He ran his thumb over the velvet. The psychotic rage in his eyes instantly melted into a hollow, devastating tenderness.

"Get out. Lock the doors," Collins ordered his men.

The bodyguards didn't hesitate. They marched out, pulling the heavy shattered doors shut behind them, sealing the mansion.

Brandt and Brinley realized what was happening. They scrambled toward the reinforced, bulletproof windows, pounding on the glass and screaming for help.

Felicity's soul dropped to the floor. She rushed to Collins, waving her transparent hands frantically in front of his face. "No! Collins, don't do this!"

Her phantom tears fell, evaporating before they hit the ground.

Collins paused. He slowly lifted his head, looking directly at the empty space where Felicity was standing.

A faint, broken smile touched his lips.

He pulled a lit silver Zippo lighter from his pocket, the blue flame already dancing steadily in his palm. Lighting it in this gasoline-heavy air would have blown them all to hell prematurely. He stared at the dancing fire for a fraction of a second.

Then, without a moment of hesitation, he opened his fingers and let it drop.

The second the flame touched the rug, a massive wall of fire erupted. The heat wave blasted across the room, consuming the furniture in seconds.

The crystal chandelier above them superheated and exploded, raining shards of glass into the inferno.

Brandt and Brinley were swallowed by the flames. Their clothes caught fire, and their screams turned into inhuman, gargling shrieks.

Collins stood perfectly still in the center of the blaze. The fire licked up his trench coat. He didn't flinch.

He clutched the velvet box to his heart and closed his eyes.

The intense, blinding light of the fire pierced Felicity's soul. The heat couldn't burn her, but the spiritual pressure tore at her consciousness.

The massive marble pillars of the mansion cracked under the extreme temperature. The ceiling groaned and collapsed, burying Collins under tons of burning rubble.

Felicity let out a silent, agonizing scream.

The space around her began to fracture like a broken mirror.

A massive, cosmic force slammed into her chest. The fire, the smoke, and the ruins were swallowed by a blinding, absolute white light.

She felt a violent sensation of falling backward through time.

In the final millisecond before her consciousness faded, she made a vow to the universe: If I get a second chance, I will burn them all to the ground.