The Mafia CEO's Reborn Heiress

Riley

Your wedding day should be the happiest day of your life, so why do I feel like I'm being walked to my execution?

White roses line the aisle; guests all watching me with expectant eyes, and I look beautiful in a dress he chose for me. All that is good and well, but I'm about to marry a man who couldn't care less about me.

Callum stands at the altar, his expression the same as it's been since I walked into his life—detached, cold, uncaring. His black tux fits him perfectly, of course, and he looks every bit the powerful billionaire the world knows him to be.

But there's no warmth in his eyes, no excitement, just … obligation. Duty.

I swallow the knot in my throat, and my fingers twitch around the bouquet of lilies and roses. I shouldn't be surprised. I always knew what this was: an arrangement, a merger between our families. My father secured his last big business deal in the form of a wish for me, and I'm the collateral.

But now, standing here in front of him, in front of everyone, I can't help but feel the sharp sting of disappointment. I wanted more. Maybe not love, but something. A connection, a flicker of anything to show that he might care. 

Instead, I get that cold, unreadable face, like he's already thinking about his next board meeting.

The officiant clears his throat, signaling it's time, and I take a step forward, my gown rustling against the marble floor of the grand cathedral. I catch a glimpse of Bianca, Callum's ex-fiancée, sitting in the front row, her dark eyes gleaming as she watches me. There's a small, twisted smile on her lips, and something about it sends a chill down my spine.

I shouldn't have agreed to this. I know that now. But it's too late.

"Riley," the officiant begins, his voice echoing through the room, "do you take Callum to be your—"

My vision blurs suddenly, and for a split second, I think it's nerves, but then a sharp pain blossoms in my chest, white-hot and searing. My breath catches, and I gasp, but nothing comes out. 

"Riley?" someone says, but it sounds distant, like it's underwater.

I blink, my hands clutching at my chest, but when I look down, all I see is red. Bright, blooming red spreading across the bodice of my wedding gown, staining the white lace.

What...?

The world tilts as I sway on my feet. I hear gasps from the crowd, murmurs of confusion. Someone yells for help, but the sound is distant, muffled like I'm hearing it from underwater. My knees hit the floor hard, and my bouquet tumbles from my hands, petals scattering across the marble.

"Riley!"

The voice again—maybe the officiant, maybe someone else—but I don't care anymore. My hands are slick with blood, shaking as I try to press against the wound, but it's too late. It's already too late.

I lift my head, fighting to keep my eyes open, and that's when I see them.

He's standing there, right where he was before, but his expression isn't one of shock or horror. No, he just looks … annoyed. Like I've inconvenienced him. His lips press into a thin line, and he glances around at the guests, clearly more worried about what they think than the fact that I'm bleeding out in front of him.

Behind him, Bianca rushes to him, her face twisted into a mask of horror, but it's all for show. I know that look too well—she's not upset. She's not even surprised. There's a glint in her eyes, a spark of something cruel, something triumphant, as she rushes to Callum's side.

"Oh my God!" she exclaims, loud enough for everyone to hear. "This is terrible! You must be in shock! You shouldn't have to see this!"

She's consoling him. Him.

Callum's jaw tightens, and then, without a word, he turns away, letting Bianca guide him, her arms wrapping around him like she's the one who's been wounded.

"No…" I choke out, or at least I think I do. My voice sounds wrong, garbled. I want to scream, to tell him to stop, but I can't. The words die in my throat, just like I'm dying here on the cold, unforgiving floor.

I cough as the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. My vision is blurring now, but I can still make out the shape of Callum's annoyed face, the way he leans into Bianca's touch like she's the one offering him comfort.

"You should've known better," Bianca whispers, but it's loud enough for me to hear. Her voice is sickeningly sweet. "Poor Riley… such a tragic accident."

I want to scream, to tell her I know it wasn't an accident. I know she's behind this. But my throat is closing up, and the world is going dark at the edges.

I can barely see now, but I hear Callum speak. His voice is calm, detached, like he's discussing a minor inconvenience.

"Get someone to clean this up," he says, not to me, but to one of the nearby guests. "Make sure it doesn't cause a scene."

I choke on my own breath, pain shooting through my chest as I try to force the air into my lungs. He's walking away. He's leaving me here, in a pool of my own blood, while Bianca clings to his arm like some tragic heroine.

"Callum…" My voice comes out as a whisper, barely audible.

He doesn't even look back.

My fingers twitch, uselessly trying to push myself up, but there's no strength left in me. The pain is fading now, replaced by a cold numbness that spreads from my fingertips to my toes.

The guests are panicking. I hear their voices blending together, a cacophony of noise that makes no sense. Someone screams for a doctor, but I know it's too late.

My head tilts to the side, my cheek pressing against the cold marble. From this angle, I can just make out Callum's retreating form. Bianca is still by his side, clutching his arm, her head resting on his shoulder like they're already a couple.

"Call... um…" I try again, but my voice barely makes it past my lips. He doesn't hear me. Or maybe he does and just doesn't care.

He never wanted me.

I should have known. I should have walked away the moment I realized what this marriage was. But I didn't. And now I'm paying the price.

The last breath I take is shallow, weak, and then …nothing.

I thought death would feel more… final. But all I can think about is the look on Callum's face. That apathy, the annoyance, like I'd ruined his perfectly scheduled day. I was dying, and all he cared about was the inconvenience.

I should have seen it coming.

I don't know how long I drift in that emptiness. There's no pain, no sound, just cold silence. It's over. I'm over. At least, I think so.

But something tugs at me, pulling me back. It's not gentle or kind. It's harsh, ripping me from the void and thrusting me back into…something. My body aches, every nerve screaming as I snap awake, gasping for air like I've been underwater for too long.

I bolt upright, clutching at my chest, expecting to feel the wound, the blood, the pain. But it's gone. There's nothing but smooth skin beneath my fingers, no sign of the violence that ended my life.

My life.

I'm... alive...?

It doesn't make sense.

I should be dead. I remember the pain, the cold, the darkness swallowing me whole. But now… I'm here. In my room. In my bed.

And then it hits me as I look around the room of the penthouse suite I had sold three years ago.

This isn't right. This isn't now.

I scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheets as I rush to the mirror, staring at my reflection. My face is pale, but not from blood loss. My hair is loose, falling in soft waves around my shoulders. There's no wedding dress. No blood. No sign that I had been standing in front of that altar, about to say vows I never meant.

But more than that—this isn't the woman who was about to marry Callum. This is me… hours before my engagement to Callum was made public.

My mind spins as I try to make sense of it, but there's only one conclusion I can come to: I've been given another chance. Some... God took pity on me and must have given me another chance to live my life!

I stumble back from the mirror, my breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. My hands shake as I press them against my chest, feeling the steady thump of my heart beneath my skin. It doesn't feel real. None of this feels real.

But it is.

I'm alive. I'm back.

The memory of Callum's face flashes through my mind—his cold, indifferent expression as I lay dying at his feet. And Bianca, clinging to him like she hadn't just orchestrated my death.

They killed me. They took everything from me.

But not this time.

This time, I'm going to make sure they pay.