A cough raked out of my throat before the pain I felt enveloped my senses. I blinked but darkness stared back at me. I raised my hand to touch something, but the cold feel of plastic reached out as well. I turned my head, feeling around, but it was all plastic. That's when a sense of dread crawled up my spine. No. I was in a fucking body bag.

I clawed at it, ignoring the pain in my broken body as my breath caught in my throat because of my claustrophobia.

"Help! Help me, please! I'm alive, damn it!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, unsure if anyone would even hear my cries.

My breathing sped up and my vision swam. I was going to die here. I was going to die. I was already giving up when I heard the bag rustle from the outside and the zipper open, allowing light to flood in. I rushed out, sitting up to leave the darkness behind, my breathing still ragged.

A hand rested on my back, rubbing small circles.

"Breathe. You're okay, just breathe, Melanie."

At the sound of my name, I turned around abruptly, coming face to face with a beautiful woman. Sharp cheekbones, intelligent eyes, short brown hair styled with precision. I blinked, not knowing who she was, so I pulled away once my breathing normalized. I got out of the body bag and took a step back, not sure if she was the one who put me in it, but all I knew was that I wanted to get away, despite the ache in my legs.

She put out her arms to calm me and spoke like I was a wounded animal.

"Calm down. You can't stand for long. I need to get you to a hospital or…" She took a step forward, but I took one back, my eyes scanning for a weapon to fend her off. She paused and frowned.

"My name is Enid Hargrave." She told me, but I just cocked my head and eyed her. I didn't know that name.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, though there was something almost amused in her expression.

"The billionaire philanthropist. The main face on Forbes list for the past three years now. The woman whose husband left her for his twenty-three-year-old assistant after seventeen years of marriage." Her voice caught on the last part, something raw and bitter flashing across her face before she smoothed it away.

"I have no idea who you are," I interrupted with a small scowl. I didn’t know this woman and what she said might just be a ploy to get me to trust her. For God’s sake I woke up in a body bag in her house.

Enid sighed and ran her hand through her short brown hair. She gestured to a chair beside her.

"I won't hurt you. Just take a seat before you collapse." She offered, but I wasn't in a trusting mood.

"And why should I trust you?" I retorted.

"Wouldn't you like to know how you're still alive? How you've been dead for six hours and somehow your heart started beating again in my laboratory?"

My lips tightened. She laid the bait and I was interested, to say the least. With tentative steps, I moved forward and took a seat, my legs collapsing beneath me. I groaned, my adrenaline crashing down and the pain settling back in. Every breath felt like knives in my ribs.

"Stay still." Enid instructed before she rushed off and came back a minute later with a tray of drugs, syringes, and some instruments. She laid it down beside us and turned to me.

"Be calm, please. I just want to check your vitals a bit before knowing what to do. This is for…"

"I'm a nurse. I know what they are," I finished for her, my head splitting from a headache. "Fuck," I mumbled, placing a hand on my head.

"You need morphine. You've gone six hours without any pain medicine after your fall. Hell, I'm shocked that you're still alive. Your chart said you had at least three broken ribs, internal bleeding, a fractured wrist…"

"How am I still alive?" I asked, my eyes closing as I felt my body failing me. The pain was too much. Like last time, my world went black.

•••••

The beeping was what woke me up. I strained against the needle in my hand and opened my eyes to white ceilings. My headache had subsided and I felt numb. No doubt thanks to morphine.

"Ah, you're finally awake. To be honest, I didn't think you'd make it through the night. Remember me?" Enid said as she came into view, dark circles under her eyes suggesting she hadn't slept.

"Are you a doctor?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"I have a doctorate in biomedical sciences and emergency medicine training, but I don't practice clinically. I teach for the fun of it," she gave me a clipped reply as she took a seat beside my bed. "Now, to how you're still alive. I guess I'll start from the beginning."

She leaned back, studying me carefully. "You were found dead at the foot of your apartment building at 11:47 PM. Your husband was the one who found you and called the paramedics. They pronounced you dead at the scene. No pulse, no respiration, pupils fixed and dilated. You'd been dead for approximately forty-five minutes when they loaded you into the ambulance."

My stomach turned. Forty-five minutes.

"They didn't perform an autopsy because it seemed like an obvious suicide. Your husband told them you'd been depressed, that you'd threatened to jump before because of you not being able to have children." Enid's eyes narrowed. "The report says you jumped. But I'm guessing that's not what happened, is it?”

I grimaced when the memories came flooding back. Davon, his lovers, the beating, being thrown over the railing like trash.

"I didn't jump. I was thrown over," I corrected her, my eyes roaming the white linen covering my bandaged legs.

"What?" Enid sat forward, her expression shifting from clinical interest to something harder.

"My husband murdered me," I said, finally looking at her.

For a moment, she said nothing. Then her jaw tightened. "That son of a bitch."

"We need to call the police then," she said, reaching for her phone, but I grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"No. No police, please."

She looked at me incredulously. "Don't you want your husband to pay for what he did?"

"I do, but on my terms," I replied, letting go of her arm. "I want him to pay for everything he's done to me, but I want him to suffer before he gets arrested for hurting me."

"That's going to be difficult considering your situation," Enid pointed out, settling back into her seat. "You're legally dead, Melanie. Do you understand what that means?"

I stared at her. "What?"

"You have a death certificate. Your body, well, you, were released to my research program. As far as the state of New York is concerned, Melanie Monroe died last night from suicide. Your bank accounts will be frozen and transferred to your next of kin. Your husband, I'm assuming?"

The full weight of it hit me. I didn't exist anymore. Everything I'd worked for, saved, built, it was all Davon's now. The bastard.

"He gets everything," I whispered.

"Unless you come forward. But if you do that, you lose the element of surprise. He'll know you're alive, and if he tried to kill you once…”

"He'll try again," I finished. My hands clenched into fists despite the pain. "I need time. I need to heal, and then I need to make him pay."

Enid watched me carefully, something calculating in her expression.

"That's not going to be easy. You'd need money, a new identity, resources. You'd need someone willing to help you stay dead."

I looked at her, hope and desperation warring in my chest.

"Will you help me?"

She was quiet for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but edged with steel.

"My ex-husband cleaned out our joint accounts before he left. Took eighteen million dollars that I'd earned and transferred it to the Caymans before I could stop him. By the time my lawyers caught up with him, he'd married his little girlfriend and the money was long gone." Her eyes met mine. "The law did nothing. He got away with it because he knew how to work the system. Men like that always do."

She stood up and walked to the window, her back to me. "I swore I'd never let another woman go through what I did. Never let another man get away with destroying someone just because he could." She turned back to me. "But I have conditions."

"Anything," I said.

"First, you let me study what happened to you. The Lazarus effect… the spontaneous return of circulation after resuscitation efforts have stopped, after the person is clinically dead,…is incredibly rare. You were dead for six hours before you woke up in that body bag. That shouldn't be possible. I need to understand why it happened."

I nodded.

"What else?"

"Second, we do this carefully. Methodically. You can't just walk back into his life and expect revenge to fall into your lap. You'll need to become someone else entirely. New name, new face if necessary, new identity. That takes time and money."

"How much time?"

"Years, probably. Can you be patient?"

I thought about Davon sleeping in our bed, spending my money, living his life while I was supposed to be rotting in the ground. Could I wait years?

But then I thought about how much sweeter it would be when I finally brought him to his knees. When he realized the woman he murdered had come back to destroy him.

"I can be patient," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips.

Enid studied me for another moment, then nodded.

"Then we have a deal. You become my research subject, and I'll give you the resources you need for your revenge."

She extended her hand. I took it, ignoring the pain in my fractured wrist.

"Thank you for this," I said.

"Don't thank me yet," Enid replied. "Try to get some rest. I'll get you some food, and then we'll start planning."

She walked out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I had died. I had been thrown away like garbage. But I'd come back.

And now I had time, resources, and nothing left to lose.

Davon had no idea what was coming for him. Karma was a bitch, but he would find out that I was a bigger one.

Three years. That's how long it took to kill Melanie Monroe and give birth to the new me, Adrianna Sloane. Three years of plastic surgery, training, building an empire from Enid's investments and my own ruthless ambition. Three years of watching Davon from the shadows, learning his patterns, his weaknesses, his desires. And today, all that patience would finally pay off.

I tucked a strand of my now long hazel brown hair behind my ear and puckered my lips in the mirror. Green eyes adorned by diamond jewelry stared back at me as I straightened my black backless dinner gown. I gave myself one last look over in the car before taking a deep breath and frowning. Some years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to wear this custom dress because of my weight and now here I was a completely different person, a size small and all because of a man who didn’t want me.

I swallowed the anger and resentment that built up inside me and forced a smile. It was show time.

The car doors opened and I stepped out, taking purposeful strides into the building. Security didn’t even bother checking if I was on the list or not for this private function. They knew who I was and I didn’t tolerate nonsense. I moved past the lobby, whispers of admiration, praise and jealousy reaching my ears and I reached the room where things were going to change.

The man at the entrance gave me a subtle nod before he handed me a numbered pad and stepped aside for me to walk in. Like always I arrived fashionably late, the auction already in full swing by the time I walked in.

“Two million,”

“Four,”

“Five million for the Livingston estate,” voices shouted out at the coveted piece of real estate but that was not why I was here. My target had blonde hair and blue eyes.

I swiped a glass of champagne from a waiter just as I heard his voice ring out.

“Seven million for the estate.”

Murmurs filled the room, no one ready to contest his bid but I was not just anybody, not now anyway. I took a step forward, a coy smile on my face.

“Twenty million for the estate.”

The murmurs stopped and then eyes turned to me, mouths agape as they wondered who would make such a bid. My eyes stayed glued on him though. Davon. My ex-husband. His lip twitched and his jaw flexed in anger as he realised someone bid against him but when his eyes landed on me, his demeanour changed completely, eyes widening as if he just discovered a rare jewel. Good.

I raised my glass to him and sent him a wink before moving forward as the auctioneer spoke up.

“And who should we thank for this generous bid?”

I cocked my head.

“Adrianna Sloane.”

The auctioneer blinked and stepped forward, his hand outstretched.

“I’m so sorry madam. I didn’t know that you were THE Adrianna Sloane.”

“Of course you didn’t.” I replied, handing him my drink and smiling. “Give the details to my assistant, she’ll handle it.” I said before I walked out of the room, my illusion quickly pulling in my target. I had set the bait now all that remained was for him to take it.

I didn’t even make it to the door before a hand rested on mine and held me from moving. Bingo. I turned around, a brow raised as I eyed Davon Blake. He chuckled nervously and let go of me, running a hand through his hair, that sickly charm of his already pooling around him.

“Hi. I’m Davon. Davon Blake. COO of Blake Industries. Nice to meet you Adrianna.” He introduced himself. I licked my lips and gave him a stoic look.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I asked with a pointed look. If there was one thing I had learned while studying my murderous ex-husband it was that he was drawn to unattainable women and that was what I had become.

“Uh, you winked at me in there. Well, you did outdo my bid so…” He stuttered before I cut him off.

“If I outbid you then you don’t need to be speaking to me. Good bye.” I mused, spinning around to leave without missing a beat but Davon, the fool was a determined man. He sidestepped me and blocked my way, a playful smirk on his face.

“Come on. Give me a chance to get to know you. I can be very good company. What do you say? Dinner at The Opal tonight and then you can decide whether I’m worth your time or not.” He bargained, his brow raised matching mine. The Opal. A popular and expensive restaurant. He was pulling out all the stops huh.

I sighed and rolled my eyes, seemingly giving in.

“Fine but just dinner and mind you I don’t like my time being wasted.” I warned, my words making Davon even more bold.

“I promise you I won’t. Can I have your number then, or do I just pick you up from your home tonight? Wait, I don’t even know where you live.” He spouted his little trick, wanting to get either my number or home address but I was prepared for that.

“No need, I’ll see you there. 7:00pm sharp. Don’t be late Mr. Blake. Good bye.” I let him know before finally walking away from him, no doubt leaving him stunned.

The door was opened for me once more and I got into the car, the breath I was holding leaving my lungs as soon as the car zoomed off. I had played the role I had curated for three years well. A wealthy and no nonsense socialite, adept in the world of business and rumored to have only dated billionaires in her lifetime. I had made myself the perfect catch and he had fallen for it.

I took out my phone and texted the one person I trusted in this world, Enid.

I’ve got him. Dinner tonight at the Opal.

She replied almost instantly.

Great. I’ve got the perfect dress for you.

With that sorted out, I dropped my phone and looked out the window, lost in thought.

To the world I was Adrianna Sloane but in reality I was still Melanie Monroe. The murdered wife, back from the dead to haunt her husband. Oh, and haunt him I will. Right into the grave with me.

•••••

Hours flew by and true to my word, I stood in the lobby at The Opay while the waitress looked up my name.

“Yes, Ms. Adrianna Sloane on a table for two under the name Davon Blake. Right this way, miss.” She insisted as she stepped away from her station and showed me around the room.

Eyes roamed my body as the mostly red sheer Jovani dress hung to my curves and swayed as I moved. With Enid’s help, I looked like a runway model. I looked hot. And soon Davon would see that too.

Like I expected, as I reached the table, already laid with complementary glasses of champagne, Davon stood up and approached, his mouth slack as his eyes could barely contain the hunger I could see brewing in him. He scoffed lightly.

“Adrianna you look stunning. My God, where have you been all my life.” He complimented as he pulled a seat for me. I took it, crossing my legs to expose my thigh to his view.

Davon liked his lips and took his seat opposite me, waving a waiter over as soon as he did.

“A bottle of your most expensive wine please and…”

“Not wine. Bourbon for me. And a filet mignon, medium rare with a side of garlic and saffron vinaigrette. He’ll have the same.” I ordered for Davon and I, not wasting a breath.

The waiter paused before finding the words to say, unsure of what to do here. I didn’t blame her. I was acting like a snob.

“We don’t do those kinds of combinations here. If I can recommend some…”

“I thought your establishment catered to all needs, yes?” I countered, pursing my lips.

“Yes, we do but…”

“Then cater, Alice.” I muttered, eyeing her name tag before looking back up to her eyes. “Or else I’ll have a talk with your manager and you wouldn’t want that now would you?”

Mentally, I frowned as I watched the girl squirm under my gaze before conceding. God, I would leave a huge tip and a note for her by the end of this dinner to apologize.

“Of course I miss.” Alice whispered before stalking away, leaving Davon and I alone once more.

“Wow, I’ve never seen a woman take so much charge before. It’s somewhat refreshing.” Davon mused, eyes twinkling with curiosity.

“Well you better get used to it if I choose to keep you around, Mr. Blake. I like my things a certain kind of way.”

My right leg went up, lightly brushing his as I took my glass in my hands. Davon seemed to light up before he followed my lead with a grin and raised his glass for a toast.

“Well, to new beginnings and maybe something more.”

I met him halfway, our glasses clicking together and smiled.

“To something more.”

I took a sip of my drink, my eyes never leaving the man I had once promised my entire world to. I dropped the glass and licked my lips so he could see.

“So, Mr. Blake,...”

“Please, call me Davon.” He interrupted but I let it go. I needed him to think that I was now somewhat comfortable with him. I placed my hands on the table and leaned in, the gaze of him making me feel sickened but keeping it under control.

“Fine then, Davon, tell me more about yourself. I want to know all the dirty secrets you have.” I purred just like how Enid had taught me, eliciting a smile from him.

Davon swirled his drink around, his eyes taking in the show of cleavage I was putting on display for the briefest second before actually focusing on my face.

“Well, if you insist.” He mused, raising his glass to me again. I chuckled, fighting the urge to curse him out. Regardless of how much my blood boiled sitting next to him there was one thing I could not deny. Davon was smitten.

The man was a goner.

The Opal was everything its reputation promised. White tablecloths, lighting that did favors for everyone, the kind of quiet hum that told you the evening was going to cost someone a great deal of money. I let Enid put me in deep red that night, a dress that moved exactly the way she said it would, and I stood in the lobby while the hostess found my name on the list and felt, just for a moment, like a completely different woman.

That was the idea, I reminded myself.

"Right this way, Ms. Sloane." The hostess led me through the room and I felt eyes follow me the whole way. That used to embarrass me when I was Melanie Monroe. Now it felt like a tool I had learned to use.

Davon was already standing when he saw me coming. He had pushed his chair back and stood, which told me he had been watching the entrance for at least ten minutes.

Good.

"Adrianna." He said my name like he was tasting it. "You look incredible. I don't even have words."

"Then let's hope the conversation makes up for it," I replied, taking my seat without waiting for him to pull it out.

He laughed, surprised, and sat back down across from me.

A waiter appeared and I ordered before Davon could try to take control of it. Bourbon, the specific kind, and something off-menu that any kitchen worth its reputation would manage without issue. The waiter hesitated. I gave him the kind of look that ended hesitation, and he left.

"I've never seen a woman do that," Davon said.

"Do what?"

"Order like the menu is beneath her."

"Get used to it," I told him pleasantly, "if you intend to keep my attention."

He leaned forward with that charm of his working at full capacity, and I watched it the way you watch a machine you've spent years taking apart. Every smile was calculated. Every pause was designed. I had studied recordings of him for six months before setting foot in the same room as him, and I knew his performance better than he knew it himself.

What he didn't know was that I knew what lived underneath the performance too. The cruelty that sat there, quiet and patient. The way he had looked at me on the floor of our apartment and felt nothing that wasn't impatience.

"So tell me about yourself," he said. "All I know is that you have a great deal of money and a very low tolerance for people who bid against you."

"That about covers it."

He laughed. "Come on. Give me something."

I gave him the version of Adrianna Sloane that Enid and I had built over two years. Family trust out of Boston. A business she'd grown herself in her late twenties. Three properties. A reputation for being impossible to impress. I delivered it with the boredom of someone who had told this story too many times, and I watched Davon file every piece of it away like a man calculating what it was worth.

That was what he did with people. He calculated their value. I just hadn't been able to see it when I was the one sitting across from him.

"What about you?" I said. "Blake Industries."

"COO," he confirmed, with the specific pleasure of a man who liked saying his own title. "Real estate development, some private equity. It's a good business."

"I know what Blake Industries is," I said. "I do my research before dinner."

He blinked. "Then you already know what I'm about."

"I know your public profile. Which is a carefully constructed thing." I tilted my head. "I'm more interested in what's underneath it."

Something moved across his face. He covered it quickly with another smile, but I had already seen it. The flicker of a man who has heard something too close to true.

"You're direct," he said.

"Ruthlessly," I confirmed.

"I like that." He leaned back, reassured. "Most women I meet want me to do all the talking."

"I'm not most women."

"No," he said, looking at me. "You're really not."

I smiled and lifted my bourbon.

The evening moved the way I had planned it to. I gave him just enough to stay interested without giving him anything real. Every time he pressed for something personal I redirected with a question about him, and every time I redirected he answered at length, because Davon Blake's favorite subject had always been Davon Blake. He talked about the company and his connections and deals he had closed, and underneath every story was the same insecurity he had always carried. The boy from nothing trying to convince a room full of people that he had always belonged there.

I knew that insecurity. I had spent five years trying to soothe it.

By the time dessert arrived, which I didn't touch, he was leaning forward with both elbows on the table.

"I want to see you again," he said.

"Maybe."

"That's not a no."

"It's not a yes either. Impress me first."

"And how exactly does a man impress Adrianna Sloane?"

"Figure it out," I said, standing. "That's part of it."

He was grinning when I left. The grin of a man who thinks the game is going his way.

---

Enid was still up when I got back, sitting at the kitchen table with her reading glasses on and a cold cup of tea she had clearly forgotten about. She looked up when I came through the door and did that quick scan she always did, head to toe, making sure I was still in one piece.

"Well?" she said.

I dropped onto the chair across from her and reached back to unclasp my necklace. "He bought everything. Wants to see me again." I set it on the table between us. "He was exactly what I expected."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he spent three hours being charming and I spent three hours watching him calculate what I was worth." I pulled one heel off, then the other. "He hasn't changed at all."

Enid studied me over the rim of her glasses. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine."

She didn't push it. She had known me long enough to tell the difference.

"Were you able to get the recording?" I asked.

She slid a small drive across the table without a word. I picked it up and turned it over in my hand.

"Clean feed," she said. "Full audio from the moment he sat down. His people swept the table before you arrived but they didn't think to check the centerpiece."

"Of course they didn't." I closed my fingers around the drive. Three hours of Davon talking, his deals, the things he was proud of. Three hours of him saying things in a room he thought was safe. "Good work, Enid."

"Always." She pulled her glasses off and set them on the table. "Get some rest. We'll go through it in the morning."

I pushed back from the table and picked up my shoes. I was halfway to the hall when she spoke again.

"Scarlett."

I stopped. She only used that name when it mattered.

"Thomas found something," she said.

I turned around slowly. I looked at her across the table, at the way she was sitting, careful and still, the way Enid got when she was deciding how to hand you something heavy.

"Tell me."