Phoenix Rising: My Doomed Supreme General Husband

A scream clawed its way up Arden Monroe's throat, but it came out as a choked gasp. The smell of gasoline and burning flesh filled her nostrils. An unbearable heat seared her skin, and she could almost hear the crackle of her own bones turning to ash. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of pure terror.

She shot upright, her breath catching in ragged sobs.

The fire was gone. The suffocating smoke was replaced by cool, sterile air.

Her eyes, wide with panic, struggled to focus. This wasn't the abandoned warehouse. This wasn't the inferno her fiancé, Brenden, and her own family had left her in. This was a pristine white room, the walls bare except for a single, calming abstract painting. The sheets beneath her were high—thread—count Egyptian cotton, impossibly soft and clean.

This was her room at the Serenity Peaks Wellness Center.

A wave of dizziness washed over her. She looked down at her hands. The skin was smooth, pale, unmarred. She touched her face, her arms. No burns. No scars. Just the faint chill of sweat drying on her skin. It didn't make sense. The memory was so real, the pain so absolute.

She threw back the covers, her bare feet hitting the cold marble floor. She stumbled into the adjoining bathroom, her reflection a pale ghost in the large, gilt—edged mirror. The woman staring back was her—Arden Monroe—but younger. The fine lines of stress around her eyes were gone. Her hair, which she remembered being singed and matted with blood, was long and lustrous, falling over her shoulders in soft waves. She was whole.

She twisted the cold tap, the chrome biting into her trembling fingers. She splashed icy water onto her face again and again, the shock of it a desperate anchor to reality.

It wasn't a dream. It was a memory. A memory of the future.

The images flooded her mind, sharp and brutal. Her brother, Delmar, his face a mask of cold pity as he signed the committal papers. Her father, Claus, turning his back on her pleas. Her fiancé, Brenden Singleton, whispering promises of love to her half—sister, Kallie, while they plotted to steal her inheritance.

They had taken everything. Her freedom, her reputation, her trust fund. And when she refused to break, they had orchestrated an "accident."

But the sharpest pain, the one that made her stomach clench into a tight, acid—filled knot, was the memory of Jennie. Her loyal, fiercely protective assistant, Jennie Cooper. They had framed her, thrown her in prison to silence her, to keep her from exposing their lies. Arden never knew what happened to her. The thought of Jennie, alone and terrified in a concrete cell, was a torment worse than the fire.

"Jennie," Arden whispered, her voice cracking. The name was a prayer and a curse.

The door to her room opened with a soft click. A young woman in a simple, professional dress walked in, carrying a glass of water. She had kind eyes and a familiar, worried frown.

It was Jennie. Younger, healthier, without the haunted look she'd worn in Arden's last memories of her.

"Miss Monroe," Jennie said, her voice soft with concern. "Did you have another nightmare?"

Arden stared, her throat closing up. She couldn't speak. It was her. Alive. Here. The sense of loss that had been a hollow ache in her chest for what felt like an eternity was suddenly replaced by a surge of overwhelming relief that felt almost painful. Tears pricked at her eyes, hot and sharp.

She forced them back, swallowing hard. She couldn't afford to break down. Not now. She took the glass from Jennie, her hand shaking so badly that water sloshed over the rim. The cool liquid felt strange in her tight throat.

"What's the date today, Jennie?" Arden asked, her voice raspy but steady.

Jennie looked at her, a flicker of confusion in her eyes, but answered immediately. "It's October 14th."

October 14th. One week after they had first locked her in here. One full year before the fire.

It was real. She was back.

A chilling calm settled over Arden, pushing aside the panic. She had a second chance. A chance to save Jennie. A chance to make them all pay.

Jennie's brow furrowed with worry. "Miss, your brother, Mr. Delmar Monroe, called. He said he will be visiting this afternoon to discuss your engagement with Mr. Singleton."

Brenden. Delmar. The names landed like stones in the pit of her stomach. She remembered this day. This was the day Delmar had come with his ultimatum. Agree to let Brenden marry Kallie, or rot in this place forever. This was the beginning of the end.

Or this time, the end of the beginning.

Arden set the glass down on the bedside table with a decisive click. The trembling in her hands had stopped. Her gaze, when she lifted it to meet Jennie's, was clear and cold as ice.

"Tell him to come," she said, her voice devoid of any emotion. "I want to see him. Now."