Reclaiming the Throne

Dust clung to everything at the construction site, the air thick with the roar of machinery. It was just another ordinary day as I walked across the east wing, checking the foundation markers and reviewing the blueprints. Then, it happened.

A metallic click beneath my boot.

I froze mid-step. My breath hitched as I glanced down. A faint glint of metal peeked through the dirt and gravel. A surge of panic shot through me.

"STOP! EVERYONE, STOP!" I shouted, my voice slicing through the noise.

The workers halted, their confused faces turning toward me. My heartbeat thundered in my chest. This wasn't part of the construction.

It had to be a bomb.

I remained still, each second stretching into eternity. My instincts screamed for me to run, but my body refused to obey. Even breathing felt like it could trigger the explosive.

"Somebody call the police!" a voice rang out.

Chaos erupted. Workers scrambled, shouting orders, making everything worse. My legs shook, but I tried to keep my balance.

Then, before anyone could reach me, the explosion happened.

A deafening roar swallowed everything. My body was hurled through the air as unbearable heat and pain engulfed me. Darkness consumed my world.

I remembered nothing from that day—only the feeling of someone helping me.

Weeks later, I woke up in a sterile, unfamiliar space. The sharp scent of antiseptic burned my nose, and the rhythmic beeping of machines filled my ears. My entire body ached, as if I had been torn apart and stitched back together.

I forced my heavy eyelids open. White walls. A hospital.

With effort, I rasped, "What… happened?"

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor made me try to turn my head, but even the slightest movement sent a searing pain through my skull.

"You're awake."

A woman stepped into view. She was tall, her features sharp, her dark hair tied back in a precise knot. A white coat marked her as a doctor.

"I'm Dr. Chelsea," she said. "You're at my clinic."

The explosion. The memory surged back like a nightmare. "The… the blast…"

"You barely survived," she said, her tone clinical. "It's a miracle you're alive."

My fingers twitched. Something felt wrong. "M-My face…"

A hesitation. "Your injuries were extensive. Your face was… completely destroyed. I had to reconstruct it."

Her words landed like another explosion. My breath caught in my throat.

She watched me carefully. "I used a donor."

A chill crawled up my spine. "Whose face am I wearing?"

Her piercing gaze locked onto mine. "My daughter’s."

The room spun. "Your… daughter?"

She nodded, her composed expression cracking ever so slightly. "Kristie. My only child."

Dread settled in my stomach. "What happened to her?"

Her jaw tightened. "She was murdered. By her ex-fiancé. Gabriel Carson."

My entire body stiffened.

Gabriel. A name from my past. A name I once trusted.

A name that belonged to my ex-husband.

Damn. I never imagined he could do something like this.

Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. I stared at Dr. Chelsea, struggling to process the horror of it all.

I had the face of a murdered woman.

"Why would you…?" My voice trembled, but she cut me off.

"I couldn't save Kristie," she said, her voice cold yet fragile with emotion. "But I could save you. Her face gave you another chance at life."

I swallowed hard, the weight of her actions pressing down on me.

"You're alive because of her," she continued, her gaze drilling into mine. "But survival isn’t enough."

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Gabriel is free. He walks the world unpunished while Kristie is gone."

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

"You owe her," she said, unwavering. "You owe me. I didn't save you for nothing."

My hands trembled as I raised them to my bandaged face. Beneath the gauze, I felt the contours of someone else's skin—Kristie’s skin.

"What are you asking me to do?" My voice wavered.

Her expression darkened. "You have her face now. In a way, you are her. And I need you to finish what she couldn't. I need you to make him pay."

A jolt of fear surged through me. She wasn’t asking for justice.

She was demanding revenge.

I struggled to breathe as her words sank in. I didn’t just owe my life to her daughter—I was now bound to her past, to her pain.

Dr. Chelsea glanced down at a paper she held. "Your name is Kelsey Walton," she said. "But now, you’re also Kristie. Gabriel Carson is a multimillionaire with secrets rotting beneath his empire. Together, we’ll bring him down."

I stared at her, my heart pounding. I didn't know what terrified me more—the idea of confronting Gabriel… or the woman standing in front of me, who had saved my life at such a devastating cost.

But how could I tell her that Kristie’s murderer—her ex-fiancé—was the same man who had once shattered my life?

Gabriel Carson was my ex-husband. The man who had cheated on me.