Fiona's POV

"If this goes on, she's gonna die. She's your fiancée, for God's sake!"

I heard the doctor's voice before I could even open my eyes. Desperate. Drenched in sweat, probably.

Then I heard him—still, composed, unmoved.

"Let her die. A woman like that doesn't deserve to be my wife."

That hit me like a blade to the chest.

The pain came next. Sharp, real, everywhere at once.

Wait.

Hold up—wasn't I killed in an ambush during a mission? Betrayed by my own men? That explosion should've blown me to pieces. I was dead. I knew I was dead.

So why could I still feel pain?

I forced my eyes open. Everything blurred in and out—white coats moving around me, the sting of a needle taped to my arm, a thick tube running up to a blood bag hanging by the bed, almost full.

A hospital. I was in a hospital.

Before I could make sense of it, a violent pain split through my skull, and then it hit me—a flood of memories that weren't mine, rushing in all at once, threatening to tear me apart from the inside.

When it finally stopped, everything clicked into place.

I had died. No question about that.

But now I was inside someone else's body—a girl who, strangely enough, was also named Fiona Carter.

And the man standing across the room with that cold, marble expression? That was Ethan Reynolds. My so-called fiancé. Today was supposed to be our wedding day.

Except it hadn't gone that way.

My "best friend" Lydia Collins had shown up mid-ceremony, sobbing that she was carrying his baby, swearing they were in love, begging me to step aside.

Then she'd staged a fall, blamed me for pushing her, and landed herself in a hospital bed.

Turns out Lydia had a rare blood type. And the original Fiona—this body I was now living in—happened to share it.

So what did Ethan do? He dragged me here by force and ordered me to donate blood to the woman he supposedly loved.

The memory settled, and Ethan's voice sliced through the room again, colder than ever.

"She's a cunning liar with no heart. She won't die that easily. Keep going."

What a damn monster.

My hands curled into fists at my sides. There was an ache deep in my chest that I couldn't shake—not mine, not exactly. It belonged to the original Fiona. Her heartbreak, her humiliation, every tear she'd swallowed down.

Not anymore.

I was Fiona now. And every single person who had wronged her was going to answer for it.

"She's fighting it!" a doctor shouted.

"Hold her down!" Ethan barked. He moved toward me himself, ready to pin me to the bed.

I didn't give him the chance.

I wrenched my leg free, kicked the guard off me, ripped the needle out of my arm, grabbed the blood bag off its hook, and flipped myself upright in one clean motion, throwing them all back.

I sat up on the bed and swept my gaze across the room—slow, steady, cold.

Every doctor, every nurse. Frozen. Silent.

Ethan stormed toward me, fury written across every line of his face. "Fiona, what the hell is wrong with you? Lie down—Lydia's still waiting for a transfusion!"

"Lydia is waiting." I smiled. "You want blood? Here."

I hurled the bag into his chest.

It burst. Red splashed across his white shirt, his silk tie, his perfect face. Ethan froze, dripping, mouth open.

"There you go. Now you look like what you are."

"You crazy—" He wiped his face and lunged for my arm. "If you hadn't pushed her, none of this would be happening!"

I let out a slow, contemptuous snort. "Wow. So you did go deaf. I already told you—she staged the whole thing. She fell on purpose and pinned it on me."