The cold rain soaked Amara's trembling body as she lay in the dark alley. Each breath she took was a struggle, shallow and painful, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. She couldn't move. Her body felt heavy, her blood pooling around her as the chill seeped into her bones.

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear muffled footsteps fading away. The sound of betrayal.

She clenched her jaw, fighting against the numbness spreading through her. Her lips quivered as she whispered to herself, "It wasn't supposed to end like this."

Her mind raced through the choices she'd made—the reckless decision to confront Liam Hargrove, the CEO of Hargrove Industries, a man whose world was built on power and deception. She had been foolish enough to think she could expose him, foolish enough to trust someone who turned against her.

A laugh, cold and mocking, echoed in her mind. The face of her betrayer flashed before her eyes, their voice dripping with malice.

"Did you really think you could win against him? Against me?"

Her chest heaved as she fought back tears. The betrayal cut deeper than any wound.

Amara's vision blurred, the dark alley spinning around her. Rain splattered against her face, washing away the blood from the corner of her mouth.

Her fingers twitched, reaching for something—anything. But there was nothing to hold on to. No one to save her.

And then, there was Liam.

His face appeared in her mind, clear and sharp even as the rest of the world faded. That piercing gaze, the way his lips curled into a smirk that held both charm and danger. She hated him, but deep down, she hated herself more for ever falling for him.

"If only I could do it over…" she murmured, her voice barely audible over the rain.

Her body gave in, and darkness consumed her.

Warmth.

It was the first thing she felt. A soft, comforting warmth that wrapped around her like a familiar embrace.

Amara's eyes fluttered open, her breath hitching as sunlight poured into the room. She blinked rapidly, the brightness blinding her for a moment.

She sat up abruptly, her heart pounding.

"What…?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Her gaze darted around, taking in the room. It was impossibly familiar—the faded floral wallpaper, the old bookshelf cluttered with sketchpads and worn novels, the wooden desk in the corner with a single lamp perched on top.

"No," she muttered, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet touched the cool floor, grounding her in the surreal reality.

"This can't be…"

She stumbled toward the dresser, catching her reflection in the mirror. Her hands froze midair as she stared at herself.

It was her—Amara Kingsley—but younger. Her face was softer, untouched by the harshness of the years she'd endured. Her eyes, though wide with confusion, lacked the weariness that had once clouded them.

She reached up, running her fingers over her smooth skin, her unscarred arms. She turned her head, looking for the faint scar she had earned three years ago—or was it yet to come?

"This isn't real," she whispered, shaking her head.

Her eyes landed on the calendar hanging by the door. She stepped closer, her pulse quickening with every step.

The date stared back at her, taunting her: March 15, 2015.

"No… no, no, no," she said, her voice rising. Her knees buckled, and she gripped the edge of the desk for support.

Her mind raced, replaying the events of her final moments. The rain, the blood, the pain—it had all been real. She had died. She was sure of it.

So how was she here, ten years in the past?

Amara paced the room, her hands running through her hair as she tried to make sense of it all.

"This doesn't make any sense," she muttered. "I'm supposed to be dead. I… I died."

Her breaths came in shallow bursts, panic gripping her chest. She pinched herself, hard, but the pain only confirmed what she already knew. This wasn't a dream.

She sank onto the bed, her head in her hands. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, fragments of her past life colliding with the present.

And then, the realization hit her.

This wasn't just some cruel twist of fate. This was a second chance.

Her head snapped up, her wide eyes staring at nothing in particular.

"A second chance," she whispered, the words tasting foreign on her tongue.

If this was real—if she truly had been sent back in time—then she had the power to change everything. She could avoid Liam Hargrove, avoid the heartbreak, the betrayal, the tragedy. She could rewrite her story.

But as the hope began to bloom in her chest, a knock at the door shattered her thoughts.

"Amara!"

The voice was bright and full of energy, and before she could respond, the door burst open.

"Noah?" she said, her voice shaky.

Her younger brother stood in the doorway, a wide grin on his face. He looked just as she remembered him—messy hair, bright eyes, and that mischievous spark that seemed to follow him everywhere.

"Why are you still in bed? You've got to see this!" he exclaimed, rushing into the room.

"See what?" she asked, her heart racing for an entirely different reason now.

"This!" Noah held up an ornate envelope, waving it in her face.

She took it from him, her fingers trembling as she opened it.

The words on the invitation made her blood run cold.

You are cordially invited to the Hargrove Charity Gala.

The elegant script stared back at her, the name "Hargrove" sending a chill down her spine.

"The Hargrove Gala is tonight?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah! Can you believe it? Mom said we were invited because Dad did some work for them last year. Isn't this amazing?" Noah beamed.

Amazing wasn't the word Amara would have used.

This was the night. The night she met Liam Hargrove for the first time.

Her hands tightened around the invitation, her knuckles turning white. She had vowed to stay far away from Liam and his family, but fate seemed determined to throw her back into their orbit.

"Noah, I… I'm not going," she said, setting the invitation down on her desk.

"What? Are you crazy? Everyone at school is talking about how they'd kill to get an invite, and you're just… not going?" Noah looked at her like she'd lost her mind.

"It's not that simple," she muttered, avoiding his gaze.

"What's not simple about it? You're always talking about wanting to see their art collection, and now you have the chance!"

Her heart skipped a beat.

The art collection. That had been her excuse back then. She had gone to the gala, dazzled by the idea of seeing the famed Hargrove collection. She hadn't known it would lead to a whirlwind of lies, danger, and heartbreak.

But this time, she knew better.

"I'll pass," she said firmly.

Noah frowned, but before he could argue, their mother called from downstairs.

"Just think about it!" Noah said before darting out of the room.

Amara

stared at the invitation, her thoughts a storm of emotions.

Could she really avoid Liam forever? Or was her fate already set in stone