A decree from the Don of the Thorne Group sent a tremor through Chicago—he was choosing a wife.

The Don was known for his ruthlessness. So, my foster mother replaced my sister Camilla's name with mine.

Her words were not a request.

"Aveline, your sister is too delicate. She won't survive the selection. You will go in her place."

She grabbed my hand, tears sliding down her cheeks with perfect timing.

"When it's over, Marco will come and get you. I swear it on your father's name."

In my last life, I believed that oath.

I went to the Thorne Group's headquarters, only to be singled out and humiliated by the Don himself.

I barely escaped his territory alive and spent two years in exile, finally shaking off his pursuers.

When I returned to Chicago—branded a traitor to the family—I arrived just in time for Camilla's engagement party.

My foster mother stood at the center of the festivities, her gaze sweeping right past me as if I were thin air.

"Traitor. There is no place for you here."

Cast out a second time, my spirit broken, I died alone in the crossfire of a street shootout.

When I regained consciousness, I was standing in the same luxurious living room. My foster mother wore the same calculated expression as she watched me.

"Aveline, are you willing to take Camilla's place in the selection?"

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1

Her words were met with a dead silence.

I let my gaze drop, concealing the cold glint in my eyes before I answered slowly.

"Alright."

That single word made everyone in the living room freeze.

She clearly hadn't expected me to agree so easily. The rest of her prepared speech died in her throat.

Beside her, Marco’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening with suspicion.

"You've been refusing for days. Why the sudden change of heart?"

I lifted my head, my voice deceptively soft.

"Mother has already decided. I'll go."

The tension instantly drained from her face.

She seized my hand—her fingertips were icy, her grip like iron.

"Aveline, I knew you were the most sensible one. Once the selection is over, Marco will bring you home. I won't go back on my word."

I sneered internally, my face a placid mask.

In my last life, it was that "sensibility" that had gotten me killed on the streets.

Everyone knew that Killian, the Don of the Thorne Group, was a cold man. To trick me into being Camilla's shield, my foster mother had lied without hesitation.

She told me that Killian despised weakness the most—that if I acted helpless, I would be eliminated quickly.

I obediently hid all my strengths. But Killian dragged me out, mocking and humiliating me for his own sick amusement.

I fled in disgrace and was hunted for two years.

I couldn't afford to stop, surviving on shady jobs from the black market, always evading my pursuers until I finally shook the Thorne Group’s men.

Afterward, I stayed away for two more years, afraid my return would endanger the family, before daring to go back.

But what awaited me was not a warm embrace.

It was Camilla's lavish engagement party.

Camilla stood beside her fiancé, bathed in everyone's blessings.

And my foster mother stood in the center of the crowd. When she saw me, her eyes were like those of a stranger—cold and distant.

"You're a traitor to this family. There's no place for you here."

In that moment, I finally understood.

She had never intended for me to come back.

My will to live shattered. A few days later, in despair, I died alone under the gunfire on the street.

The memory of death’s cold embrace was a chilling reminder. I looked at her eager face and spoke.

"I have one condition."

She blinked.

"What is it?"

"The downtown nightclub and the stock portfolio my father left me—I want full control of both before I go."

A heavy silence fell over the living room.

She immediately frowned.

"Those are for your future dowry. You want them now—don't you trust me?"

I shrugged.

"This isn't about trust. Don Killian's selection is dangerous. If I die out there, I'd rather die with something to my name."

The color drained from her face, quickly replaced by a flush of anger. She finally suppressed her rage and nodded.

"Fine. I'll have the lawyer transfer ownership to you."

I lowered my head in a small gesture of respect.

"Thank you, Mother."

She looked at me, then sighed, her voice softening slightly.

"Don't dwell on it. When you come back, the Ricci family will still be your home."

In my last life, I heard the exact same words.

Later, she said with her own mouth:

"There is no place for you here."

Late at night, I returned to my penthouse apartment.

I heard whispering outside—the bodyguards she’d posted.

They were her watchdogs, making sure I didn't have a last-minute change of heart and bolt.

I stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, my fists slowly clenching.

This time, of course I would go.

But I would never again be the Aveline who was casually discarded as a sacrifice.

The selection—I wouldn't just survive it. I would win it.

Everyone who owed me a debt would pay it back, one by one.

This time, relying on the memories of my past life, I passed the selection unscathed.

By the time I returned from the Thorne Group's headquarters to my family's penthouse, it was nearly dusk.

I went back to my apartment.

Before I even entered, I heard voices from inside.

Camilla's tone was honeyed, laced with a practiced worry.

"Mother, I've been using Aveline's apartment. What if she suddenly comes back?"

My foster mother’s voice was warm with an affection she never showed me.

"Don't worry. Killian is ruthless, and his selection is brutal. No one who goes in comes back alive."

A pause.

"Besides, you're different from her. You're destined to marry the Don of another family."

Camilla giggled.

"Marco said the same thing. He even helped me pick out my engagement dress."

Marco interjected smugly:

"Camilla, of course, deserves the best."

My foster mother smiled.

"He adores you, of course."

I stood outside the door, my fingertips turning cold.

In my last life, I had overheard a similar conversation.

Back then, I had desperately tried to make excuses for them.

Even after being reborn, I still couldn't understand.

Why? Why did she treat us so differently?

Before I could dwell on it, I heard the sound of a jewelry box opening inside.

Her gentle voice followed:

"This antique Cartier necklace is something I saved especially for you. It was your father's—originally meant for Aveline. But since she's gone to the Thorne Group, we shouldn't let such a fine thing go to waste."

Camilla's voice was filled with delight.

"Mother, you're so good to me."

I lowered my eyes and knocked on the door.

A moment of silence.

When my foster mother saw me, her composure cracked.

"You—you're back?"

"Shouldn't I be?"

Marco cut in, his tone impatient as he tried to usher me away, as if desperate to hide something.

"This is Camilla's room now. Mother arranged a new room for you—the servants' quarters in the southwest wing. You should go get some rest."

The servants' quarters. The dampest, darkest place in the entire building.

A cold smile touched my lips.

"I've only been gone a few days, and my apartment has already been claimed. You can't blame me for wanting to see it for myself."

Her face darkened, and she hissed in a low voice.

"Don't make a scene. We were just borrowing your things. You're back in one piece, so what's the big deal?"

"Borrowing? The Cartier necklace my father left me is one of a kind. How does she plan to return it?"

Just then, Camilla stepped forward, putting on her signature expression—a mix of wronged innocence and sensibility.

"Please don't be angry. I didn't know these were yours. I just thought, since you've already joined Killian's selection, you might be leaving the family someday. Keeping these things here with me... seemed practical."

Marco immediately jumped to her defense.

"She's right. You're going to end up with Killian anyway—these treasures would be wasted on you."

I looked at him.

"So you've all decided my future for me?"

My foster mother's voice hardened.

"That's enough. You're not yourself tonight. Go rest."

I nodded, not arguing further.

"Since my apartment no longer belongs to me, I demand to reclaim full ownership of all the personal assets my father left me before I go to Killian's territory."

Her face went pale.

"What are you trying to do?!"

I paused at the door and glanced back.

"Mother seems so certain I'll die. Is it really so wrong for me to settle my affairs beforehand?"

Marco scoffed.

"You're acting like a real outsider."

"You're the ones who treated me like an outsider first."

I met their gazes, calm and resolute.

Camilla was bathed in light. I stood in the shadows.

The scene was identical to my previous life.

Rage and injustice threatened to swallow me whole.

This time, I would not make the same mistake again.

To avoid handing over more property, my foster mother reluctantly returned the apartment to me.

Though the place was now unrecognizable.

The walls were bare. The custom handgun my father had left me was gone.

I stood there for a long time, motionless.

That handgun was custom-made for me by my father. The grip was even engraved with my initials.

I had used it to complete my first mission. After my father's death, that gun had been my companion through the toughest years.

I walked to the bookshelf.

The shelves of finance and strategy books had been replaced with gaudy fashion magazines, clearly just for show.

In the safe, my documents had been rummaged through and left in a mess.

My father's family ring was shoved in a corner, buried under a pile of junk—as if someone had intentionally tried to hide it.

I crouched down and picked up the ring.

The moment my fingertips touched the engraved crest, my heart tightened. Its familiar touch felt strangely alien.

I froze.

Something was wrong.

It wasn't like this before.

In my last life, I had never noticed these details. I was too busy trying to survive.

Looking back, none of it made sense.