The Rise Of The Betrayed Wife

Isla's POV:

I woke up with a jolt, gasping for air like I'd been drowning. My eyes flew open, and bright lights burned into my vision, white ceiling, beeping machines, and the sharp smell of disinfectant in the air.

I was in a hospital.

My hands flew to my head, expecting to feel the sticky warmth of blood, and the sharp sting of shattered glass embedded in my skull, but there was nothing. No wounds, and no pain. How was that possible?

I sat up too quickly, and the room spun around me. My heart was beating fast against my ribs so hard I thought it might break through. I looked down at my hands, turning them over slowly. They were clean. No blood, and no scratches from fighting with Sienna.

What was happening?

I threw off the thin hospital blanket and swung my legs over the side of the bed. An IV was attached to my arm, and I ripped it out without thinking, ignoring the sharp sting that followed.

"Mrs. Hartley!" A nurse's voice called from somewhere behind me. "Mrs. Hartley, you need to stay in bed!"

I didn't listen. Well, couldn't. I needed to see, and to know what exactly was going on.

I stumbled toward the small bathroom attached to the room, my legs shaky from fright and. The nurse called after me again, but I ignored her, pushing open the bathroom door and flipping on the light.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror as I got in, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. My face stared back at me. It was whole, and unmarked, with no bruises and no cuts. My dark hair fell around my shoulders, clean and neat, not matted with blood. I turned my head slowly, checking the back of my skull with trembling fingers.

Nothing. No wound. No scar. Nothing.

But I died. I knew I died. I felt the glass shatter beneath me. I felt the cold creeping through my body. I felt myself slipping away. So how was I standing here?

"Mrs. Hartley, please!" The nurse appeared in the doorway, her face creased with concern. "You need to get back in bed. You sprained your ankle, and had a concussion. The doctor wants to monitor you."

Sprained my ankle? The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Concussion?

Wait a minute. I ran my fingers through my hair, biting my lower lips, thinking.

I knew those words. I'd heard them before. My mind raced, scrambling to make sense of it. When had I sprained my ankle? When had I been in the hospital for something so minor?

And then it hit me....a year ago.

Over a year ago, I'd fallen down the stairs at home. Margot had left her shopping bags on the steps, and I'd tripped over them in the dark. I'd spent one night in the hospital for observation because I'd hit my head on the railing. That was March. March fifteenth.

No. No, that couldn't be right.

I pushed past the nurse, stumbling back into the hospital room. My eyes scanned frantically until I found what I was looking for—a small calendar on the wall near the door.

March 15th. The year stared back at me, clear and undeniable.

How the hell is today March fifteenth? This should be April 12th. I'm sure of it.

My knees went weak, and I grabbed the edge of the bed to steady myself.

"Mrs. Hartley, what's wrong?" The nurse moved toward me, her hands outstretched. "Please, let me help you back into bed."

I spun around and grabbed her by the sleeve of her scrubs, my fingers clutching the fabric desperately. Her eyes widened in surprise. I signed frantically, my hands shaking. *What date is it? What is today's date?*

She blinked, clearly not understanding sign language.

I shook her slightly, my grip tightening, and signed again, slower this time, more deliberate. *The date. Tell me the date.*

"M-March fifteenth," she stammered, looking confused and a little frightened. "It's March fifteenth. Are you okay? Do you need me to call the doctor?"

*What year* I signed again.

"2025" She responded, looking confused.

2025? No way!. I let go of her and stepped back, shaking my head.

This couldn't be real. This didn't make sense. People didn't just go back in time. That wasn't how the world worked. That wasn't possible. But the calendar didn't lie. The nurse didn't lie. My unmarked face in the mirror didn't lie.

Somehow, impossibly, I was alive, and I was a year in the past.

I sank down onto the edge of the hospital bed, my mind reeling. If this was real—if I really had gone back—then Sienna and Declan hadn't betrayed me yet. Not publicly, anyway. The affair had probably already started, but I hadn't caught them. I hadn't died.

And the baby. My hand moved instinctively to my stomach.

I wasn't pregnant yet. I could prevent it. I could make sure I was never alone with Declan during that family gathering. I could protect myself.

But more than that, I could make them pay.

The memories flooded back, sharp and vivid. Sienna's mocking smile. Declan's cold indifference. The way she'd crumpled the pregnancy results in her fist. The way she'd shoved me. The sound of glass shattering. Her hand petting my hair as I died.

*You could have just let it go.*

My jaw tightened. My hands curled into fists on my lap.

Pain shot through my head, sudden and sharp. I pressed my palm against my temple, wincing. The memories were too much, too heavy, and were crashing over me like waves, each one pulling me under. Declan's voice echoed in my mind. *I've been enduring you for years.* Sienna's laughter. *He's always loved me.* The cold spreading through my body as I bled out on the floor.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain, through the rage building in my chest. They thought I was weak. They thought I was nothing.

They had no idea what was coming.

The door to the hospital room opened. I looked up, my vision still slightly blurred from the headache.

Declan walked in, holding a bouquet of flowers.