Beep. Beep. Beep.

The rhythmic sound was the first thing I noticed followed by the antiseptic scent and the blinding white light above me.

Hospital.

I blinked, disoriented, then looked down at myself. Hospital gown. IV drip. Cold toes sticking out from thin blankets.

Wait.

Was I…?

I shot upright.

“Am I back?” I whispered. “Did I… go home?”

I stared at my hands like they were going to turn into teenage versions of themselves. “No way.”

I touched my face, then my chest. I was alive. Breathing. Human. Which meant…

“Yes!” I whispered. “I’m Ashley again!”

My heart soared. I could almost hear the dorm room fridge humming in the background. No more weird family dinners. No more fake husband. No more psychotic sister.

And also… no more walk-in closet.

Wait.

My eyes widened.

“No more Hermes bag. No more Louboutins. No more iced champagne served in bathtubs or chauffeurs calling me madam.”

I groaned. “I’m broke again.”

“Ugh, goodbye luxury. Hello ramen noodles and dorm Wi-Fi.”

I laid back into the pillows with a sigh just as the door slammed open.

And in walked the devil himself.

Damian Salvatore.

“God no,” I groaned. “It’s you.”

He arched a brow. “Disappointed?”

“I thought I was out. Back home. Free.” I sighed and rubbed my temple. “Why am I still here?”

“You’re talking nonsense again,” he muttered. “You don’t remember?” he said stepping closer.

“Should I fetch Mr. Voss instead?”

“Who?” I blinked.

He stepped forward, arms crossed. “Caden Voss. Amber eyes. The enemy. He saved your life?”

Memory hit me like a slow-motion replay. I saw flashes, blaring headlights, cold air, arms wrapping around me and yanking me back. A face. Golden eyes.

So that’s his name, Caden. The amber eyed stranger. My crush.

“I owe him a fruit basket,” I muttered.

Damian crossed his arms. “I’ll let him know. What exactly is your relationship with him?”

I smirked. “You sound jealous.”

“I sound concerned.”

“Sure,” I said, stretching out my sore legs. “Not dying was kind of a bummer, huh?”

“Don’t push it.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re growing fond of me.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared with that same unreadable intensity that made me boil with rage.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked, voice lower.

I blinked. “Are you… asking because you care, or because you’re scared I’ll come back and haunt you if I die?”

He muttered something I didn’t quite catch and turned to leave. Typical Damian.

By afternoon, I was discharged, no broken bones, just a sore shoulder and some minor ache.

Back at the Salvatore estate, I lay on the bed, staring at nothing in particular.

“That wasn’t an accident,” I murmured. “Someone spiked my drink. I barely took a sip. That was deliberate.”

I grabbed my phone and called the hospital.

“Yes, hi, this is Arianna Salvatore. Could you run a tox screen from this morning? I want to know if anything unusual shows up in my blood.”

They said they’d get back to me.

“And be discreet about it,” I added.

I hung up and exhaled.

So, on top of being stuck in a billionaire soap opera, I was now possibly the target of an attempted murder. I thought I was in a love story not a thriller book.

Excellent.

The phone buzzed again.

I picked up without looking. “Hello?”

“Come home for dinner. Six sharp.”

I blinked. “Uh, who is this?”

“You don’t recognize your mother’s voice anymore?”

I snorted. “Nice try, lady. I’m an orphan. You really need to work on your scam game.”

“You ungrateful little brat after everything I’ve done for you?”

I pulled the phone away to check the caller ID.

Mom.

Oh. Crap.

I completely forgot I was Arianna for a moment.

“Oh Mother!” I chirped, heart racing. “Silly me, I just bumped my head. Amnesia, you know?”

There was silence on the other end for a minute.

“Be here by six,” she snapped.

Click.

The call ended.

I stared at the screen, then muttered, “Rude.”

Then I groaned. “I really need to be more careful. This isn’t my life anymore.”

This was Arianna’s.

And her story was just getting messier.

At The Sinclair Estate…

I barely made it past the front step before it happened.

SLAP.

My head jerked sideways.

“Oh hell no,” I hissed, hand flying to my cheek. The pain was instant.

I turned slowly.

It was her.

Arianna’s mother. Furious. Blonde. Dressed in pearls and parental disappointment.

She raised her hand again.

Big mistake. I was prepared this time.

I caught her wrist mid-air, calm but firm.

Across the room, Vivian was curled against her father’s side, fake tears streaming down her plastic-perfect face like some broken Barbie doll from a cheap store.

“You ungrateful brat!” the woman spat. “Is it not enough you tricked your way into the Salvatore family? Now you’re hurting your sister too?”

I blinked slowly. “Sister?”

“You hit her,” she snapped. “You humiliated her in front of Damian with that disgusting video. How could you bring disgrace to our family. You’ll stoop to anything to keep a man who clearly doesn’t want you. How shameless can you be?”

I inhaled. Exhaled. Pinched the bridge of my nose.

And genuinely wondered how Arianna hadn’t set this house on fire yet. How she coped with the hatred.

Then I looked her mother dead in the eye. “You know… I may be the adopted one, but you used to love me. You used to smile when you looked at me.”

Her expression flickered. Guilt? Just for a second.

Then cold again.

“I clothed you. Raised you. And this is how you repay me? By turning against your own sister?”

Sister.

I glanced at Vivian.

Who was watching me like a cat about to pounce on her prey. The smirk on her lips didn’t go unnoticed.

“She’s not my sister,” I said quietly. “She’s the devil you let in, who’s out to destroy me.”

Something changed in the air. Her mother’s mouth pressed into a line. Her father, silent all this time, finally shifted his expression furrowed brows, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

“I won’t inconvenience this happy family,” I added.

That’s when father stepped forward.

“Let’s go in for dinner. Stop causing a scene for the servants to gossip about.”

“Let them gossip. They’re probably the only ones in this house with any taste,” I bit back.

“Don’t make me regret adopting you,” mother chirped in.

Wow. Just wow. Arianna we do share something in common after-all. We are both orphans. But you were adopted, that’s the difference.

I hissed then went in.

The table was a celebrity style crystal goblets, golden cutlery, enough food to feed an army. Such luxury.

I sat across from Vivian, who looked like she’d just lost the Miss Manipulative USA pageant.

Their mother shot me side-eye every time I reached for salt.

“Why didn’t you bring Damian along?” she asked.

Vivian snorts. “Damian wouldn’t even glance at her twice. That’s why she’s pulling all this trick.”

“Am I the one pulling tricks or it’s you?” I asked bored.

Vivian hmphs.

“Can we have this dinner in peace,” father snapped.

I was zoning out, considering whether I could chew through my wrist and escape, when a dish was placed in front of me. My nose twitched.

Was that…

"Wait a second," I leaned forward, fork in hand.

"Is this pecan-glazed chicken."

It shimmered. Golden. Crispy. Moist. A damn siren song on a plate.

"This was my favorite dish back when I had a life without drama.” I muttered, lifting a bite. "Finally, something exciting at this funeral of a dinner."

I was about to devour it like a starved kitten.

When someone lashed out.

"How can you even try to eat that?"

Vivian's voice sliced through the room like a slap. “You're allergic.”

My fork froze mid-air.

Oh, crap.

The room fell deathly silent. I looked around. Everyone was staring.

“You went into anaphylactic shock the last time you had that,” Vivian said, standing now. “You almost died.”

I swallowed my saliva.

“Maybe.. I…” I stuttered for the right word to say.

"Do you want to say you got cured or something?" Vivian's eyes narrowed. "You carry an EpiPen. You literally wrote in your will to be cremated if pecan ever touched your lips.”

How can she be so meticulous.

The room stilled.

All eyes turned to me.

“You’re not Arianna,” she added softly.

And that’s when the front door clicked open.

Damian.

Of course. The worst timing.

His sharp gaze flicked from the pecan-glazed chicken to Vivian, then finally to me.

“What’s going on?” he asked, voice unreadable.

Vivian turned toward him, triumph dripping from her voice. Her voice dropped with fake concern. “She tried to eat pecans. You know Arianna is allergic. Isn’t that strange?”

Damian stepped forward, brows drawn together.

"Who are you?" he asked quietly.

“You’re not Arianna.” He didn’t ask. He said it.

The room froze. So did I.

And just like that, the game was over.