The sound of the car engine rolling and crashing into the depths of the ravine, the pungent stench of fresh blood, and the excruciating wave of pain shattering every bone in her body—it all still felt terrifyingly real, as though it had happened just a second ago.

Aileen bolted upright from her sleep. She woke up sitting straight in a king-sized bed draped in soft white silk sheets. Her breathing came in rapid gasps, her chest heaving irregularly while beads of cold sweat soaked her temples and neck. Her eyes darted wildly, scanning the luxurious bedroom that felt intimately familiar yet had long vanished from her memory.

"I... am I still alive?" Aileen whispered in a raspy, violently trembling voice.

She raised both hands, staring at her slender, shaking fingers. There were no bloodstains. No jagged wounds tore at her skin. In a panic, Aileen frantically felt her chest, arms, and face. Everything was intact. There was no agonizing pain.

Instantly, the horrific memories of that damned night along the northern mountain route flashed violently in her head. She remembered vividly how her brakes had failed, how that hired death-truck had smashed into the side of her vehicle, and how Rehan's cold, mocking laughter had echoed at the cliff's edge as he celebrated her death.

"Rehan... Damn you, Rehan!" Aileen screamed hysterically into the silence of the bedroom.

Tears of immense relief and searing rage poured down her cheeks simultaneously, completely beyond her control. Her weeping was no longer the helpless grief of a naive victim, but the raw, furious roar of someone who had just crawled back from hell. Aileen gripped her own hair, releasing the emotions she had kept tightly suppressed for so long. She wasn't dead. Fate had granted her a second chance—an absolute impossibility that had dragged her back in time, precisely three years before that fatal tragedy stole her life.

Aileen quickly scrambled out of bed. Her bare feet shuffled unsteadily toward the large vanity mirror in the corner of the room. She gripped the edges of the marble table tightly, then lifted her gaze to stare at her own reflection in the grand, gold-carved mirror.

In the glass, she beheld her past self: a young woman of breathtaking beauty, with eyes that once overflowed with absolute innocence and blind, devoted love.

Aileen stared fixedly into her own reflection. Her fingers reached out, brushing against the cold glass surface as though trying to embrace her own shattered soul. Her sobs gradually subsided, replaced by an eerie, suffocating stillness. Her ragged breathing slowly leveled out and grew steady.

Within that mirror, Aileen’s eyes—once weary and fragile—gradually transformed. Her irises narrowed, radiating a cold, razor-sharp flash of profound calculation. Her lips tightened into a hard line, curving upward into a subtle smile laden with a deep, smoldering vengeance.

"Enough, Aileen. Enough of your foolishness," Aileen whispered to her own reflection, her voice sounding eerily cold, like a murmur from another realm. "In my first life, I was a fool who surrendered everything to you for the sake of a fake love. But in this second life... I swear the hell you prepared for me will turn around and swallow you both whole."

She grabbed the smartphone resting on the vanity and lit up the screen. The digital numbers in the corner glowed brightly, displaying the exact day she was still living within that deceitful marriage:

Thursday, October 17, 2024.

Three full years before the accident would take place. Three precious years of time she would use to systematically dismantle Rehan's social, financial, and mental existence until absolutely nothing remained.

Before Aileen could piece together her plans any further, a gentle knock rapped against her bedroom door.

Toc... toc... toc.

"Aileen? Honey, are you awake?" a soft, intensely solicitous baritone drifted from behind the door. A voice that used to make Aileen’s heart flutter warmly with affection now sounded utterly sickening and repulsive to her ears.

Rehan. The man had arrived right on cue to begin his rotten play-acting.

Aileen froze momentarily in front of the vanity. Her heart pounded furiously—not from love or longing, but from a surging fury desperate to explode. She had to restrain herself. She couldn't act rashly now. The game had only just begun, and she needed to be the finest actress on this deceptive stage.

"Just a minute, Rehan. I just woke up," Aileen replied in a tone deliberately softened, perfectly mimicking the spoiled, sweet cadence she used to employ in the past.

From behind the door, Rehan spoke again, "Hurry and get dressed, darling. Your favorite black coffee is already waiting on the dining table. I have an important meeting at the branch office today, but I promise we can spend some quality time together tonight."

Aileen clenched both fists tightly by her sides, her nails digging so deep into her palms that the sharp pain flared up her arms. She drew a deep breath, swallowing down every ounce of hatred burning in her chest, and forced a smile onto her lips—a sweet facade concealing the razor-sharp fangs of a predator ready to pounce on its prey.

"Alright, my beloved husband. Just give me a moment," Aileen called back in a cheerful lilt.

She turned away from the mirror, walking with firm strides toward the bedroom door. The door swung open slowly, revealing Rehan's fake smile as he stood before her clad in a sharp suit. The catalyst of rage had thoroughly ignited within her chest, marking the official commencement of her true, blood-drenched vengeance.