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."
I'd said it at the church. Over and over. Begged him to believe me.
He never listened.
"Cut the crap! I saw it with my own eyes! You pushed her!" he spat, glaring at me like I was something filthy.
"Guess those eyes of yours are completely useless," I said flatly, not even bothering to hide the scorn in my voice.
"You said what?!"
He stared at me like I'd just grown a second head. I could see it—the confusion flickering behind the rage. The original Fiona had always been obedient. Quiet. She nodded along to everything he said. Whoever was looking back at him right now clearly wasn't her.
I pushed myself slowly off the bed and stood. My legs wobbled slightly—blood loss, still catching up with me—but I steadied myself and held my ground.
Ethan's jaw tightened. His patience was gone. "I'll say it one more time. Lie back down and behave, or I will personally walk you into a police station. You'll pay for what you did."
I took a step toward him. My face was pale, I knew that. But my voice didn't waver.
"You want to call the police? Go ahead. Maybe they'll want to know why you're forcing someone to donate blood against her will."
"Fiona, don't test me!"
"Or what?"
He grabbed for my arm.
My fist drove straight into his stomach before he could finish.
"Ugh—"
Ethan buckled, dropping to one knee with a strangled groan. His face went red. A vein pulsed at his temple.
That actually hurt him. Good.
By the time he lifted his head, I was already walking out the door.
I found Lydia's VIP room, pushed the door open, stepped inside, and locked it behind me.
"Bang, bang, bang—" Ethan's fists hit the door almost immediately. His voice came through the observation window, raw with fury.
"Fiona! Open this door! Don't you dare touch her—I swear to God, if you hurt Lydia, I will make you wish you'd never been born!"
I didn't even flinch.
I turned and walked toward the bed, toward Lydia, taking my time.
Her face had gone ghost-white. Not a trace of color in her lips.
I tilted my head and gave her a slow once-over.
"Not bad, Lydia," I said, walking closer. "Your makeup deserves a C. You almost look sick."
Her face twitched.
I'd spent years mastering disguises and spotting lies. A little fake crying wasn't going to fool me.
"Fiona..." She reached for my hand, her voice trembling. "Please don't hurt the baby. Let me have my baby first. After that, you can do whatever you want to me. Just don't hurt my child."
Tears streamed down her face. Outside, Ethan kept pounding on the door, shouting her name like he was about to break it down.
I almost laughed.
I caught her wrist. Her pulse was steady. Too steady for a woman supposedly bleeding out.
No tremor. No cold sweat. No real signs of shock.
And pregnancy? Please. Nothing about her body matched the act.
Then I let go.
"So you're faking the pregnancy, too."
Her eyes widened before she quickly looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about. Fiona, I'm dying. Please, if you don't care about me, at least save my baby."
Still going. Wow.
I leaned over her. "Wanna bet? Five minutes. That's all I need to expose you. Every last lie."
Before she could open her mouth, my hand came down, hard, across her face.
