A Second Chance With Mr. Blackwood
In the roaring flames of the abandoned warehouse, my skin blistered and peeled.
Through the crackling fire, my sister Elara's malicious voice echoed. She told me my husband, Damien, was dead, and it was all my fault.
For years, I had treated Damien like a monster. I fought him, threw tantrums, and desperately tried to escape our marriage, all because I blindly followed Elara's advice.
"Remember, the harder you fight, the more disgusted he'll get."
She texted me things like that, telling me to smash vases over his head and run away, claiming she was protecting me.
In reality, she was poisoning my mind, stealing my valedictorian spot at university, and plotting to crawl into my billionaire husband's bed.
My foolish rebellion cost me everything, ultimately leading to Damien's tragic death and my own fiery end.
As the massive explosion tore my consciousness to shreds, I finally understood who truly loved me and who the real monster was.
I died suffocating on my own agonizing regret, wishing I could tear Elara apart.
Then, a rush of freezing air punched into my lungs.
I opened my eyes to the crisp scent of cedar and mint. I was back seven years ago, on the very night our marriage was supposed to go to hell.
This time, looking at Damien's flawless, unscarred face, I didn't push him away.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and made a silent vow: I would make every single person who ever hurt him bleed.
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Chapter 1
The heat blistered her skin.
Giovanna felt the skin on her arms peeling back, the raw flesh exposed to the roaring flames of the abandoned warehouse. Thick, black smoke coated her throat. She couldn't breathe. Her lungs screamed, burning from the inside out.
"He's dead, Gio." Elara's voice echoed through the crackling fire, dripping with pure malice. "Damien died because of you."
A massive explosion shattered the air. Giovanna's heart seized. A violent spasm ripped through her chest, tearing her consciousness to shreds.
Then, a rush of freezing air punched into her lungs.
Giovanna's eyes snapped open. She gasped, her chest heaving as she coughed violently. She thrashed her arms out, fighting off the invisible flames, but her hands didn't hit burning wood.
Her fingers tangled in cold, smooth silk.
The suffocating stench of smoke was gone. Instead, the crisp, clean scent of cedar and sharp mint filled her nose. It was a scent permanently etched into her brain. Damien's scent.
Her vision blurred, then slowly focused. Above her wasn't a collapsing, charred ceiling, but a massive, multi-million-dollar crystal chandelier.
A tall, broad shadow eclipsed the moonlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Damien Blackwood stood beside the bed. He looked down at her. His dark eyes were a storm of sick obsession and tightly leashed fury. His jaw was locked so tight the muscle ticked under his skin.
"How long are you going to fake passing out to avoid our wedding night?" His voice was a harsh, gravelly rasp. It held no warmth, only ice.
Giovanna's pupils dilated. The sound of his voice-alive, deep, vibrating in the quiet room-hit her like a physical blow. Tears instantly flooded her eyes, spilling hot and fast down her cheeks.
She ignored the venom in his words. Her eyes locked onto his face. It was flawless. Young. Handsome. There were no burn scars. No blood.
She whipped her head to the side. The vintage digital clock on the nightstand glowed with the date.
Seven years ago.
The night he had forced the consummation of their marriage. The night before everything went to hell.
Damien saw her tears. His chest stopped moving. A flash of raw, unfiltered pain cracked through his cold facade, quickly swallowed by a surge of dark violence. He thought she was crying out of pure disgust for him.
He let out a low, bitter laugh. He took a half-step back, his body turning toward the door. He was going to walk away. Just like he did in her past life.
Panic seized Giovanna's throat. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She threw the silk blanket off and swung her bare feet onto the cold floor.
She tried to stand, but the sheer, overwhelming shock of rebirth and seeing him alive finally crashed down upon her. A violent wave of dizziness washed over her brain, and her legs gave out. She pitched forward, falling straight toward the hardwood floor.
Damien's instincts overrode his anger. He moved faster than thought. His large hands shot out, catching her upper arms in a vice grip before her knees could hit the ground.
Giovanna didn't try to stand up. She used his momentum, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face into his broad, solid chest.
Damien froze. Every single muscle in his body turned to stone. His hands hovered in the empty air behind her back, terrified to touch her.
Giovanna inhaled deeply, greedily sucking in the scent of him. He was warm. He was breathing. Her tears soaked right through the thin fabric of his custom-tailored dress shirt, burning against his skin.
Damien's brain short-circuited. His breathing turned shallow. The extreme paranoia that kept him alive screamed at him. This was a trick. She was faking it. She wanted him to drop his guard so she could run.
He grabbed her forearms, his grip bruising. He tried to peel her off his body, forcing her to look at him.
Giovanna refused to let go. She tightened her hold, rising onto her tiptoes, pressing her body flush against his.
"D," she whispered. Her voice was broken, thick with tears, but incredibly soft. "Don't push me away."
Damien's pupils blew wide. The nickname hit him like a bullet to the chest. She had never called him that. Never.
Giovanna tilted her head back. She closed her eyes, her eyelashes wet and trembling. She pressed her soft, parted lips directly against his hard, thin mouth.
The last thread of Damien's control snapped.
He didn't just accept the kiss; he devoured it. His large hands slammed into her back, crushing her against him. He took over, his mouth slanting over hers with a desperate, punishing heat.
As his tongue swept into her mouth, stealing her breath, Giovanna made a silent vow. She would make every single person who ever hurt him bleed.
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7.2
Five years ago, I, Claire Parker, ran away for love with Daniel Carter, the broke boy everyone looked down on. But on the very day we were supposed to leave together, he abandoned me.
Overnight, I became the laughingstock of the entire city and was forced into a marriage alliance with a terminally ill man, Ryan Cooper.
Five years later, my husband died, the marriage arrangement fell apart, and the Cooper family threw me out without a shred of mercy.
Meanwhile, Daniel, the man everyone once sneered at, returned home in glory and became the hottest rising name in the business world.
And somehow, he ended up becoming my boss.
I wanted nothing to do with him, yet he kept closing in on me, cornering me with sarcasm sharp enough to draw blood.
Then one day, Daniel caught me on a date with another man.
His eyes reddened instantly as he pinned me against the wall. "Claire... are you abandoning me again?"
7.8
Andrea was trapped in a suffocating marriage with billionaire Gregory Morse, forced to live as the pathetic substitute for his dead fiancée.
When armed intruders broke into their estate in the dead of night, she called her husband in pure terror.
"Stop playing these cheap, attention-seeking games," Gregory sneered with disgust, and hung up the phone.
She barely escaped with her life, but the cruelty only escalated. At the family mansion, his dead fiancée's sister deliberately scalded Andrea's hand with boiling tea. Instead of defending his wife, Gregory publicly humiliated her, ordering her to clean up the mess while calling her a stray dog.
That night, hiding in the dark wine cellar, Andrea overheard a chilling confession.
Gregory admitted to his brother that he knew Andrea was completely innocent of the car crash that killed his fiancée. He knew she had been framed.
Why did he marry her? Just to use her as a psychological punching bag to vent his twisted grief. He watched her suffer every single day, treating her like disposable trash, while violently threatening anyone who showed her an ounce of kindness.
He thought she was just a useless, helpless shadow who would quietly endure his torment forever.
He had no idea that behind her submissive facade, she was secretly Madame Lan, the apex predator of the global fashion world. And now, she was ready to burn his empire to the ground.
8.2
Justine abandoned her career as a top trauma surgeon to marry Congressman Carl McConnell. She did it to fulfill her dying sister's last wish: to protect her son, Leo, from this ruthless political family.
But the seven-year-old boy she swore to protect shoved her into a freezing koi pond, then cried to his father that Justine tried to drown him.
Carl didn't even check the security cameras. He hugged his precious heir and looked at his freezing wife with pure disgust.
"Are you out of your mind? Trying to hurt the heir to the McConnell family!"
He locked Justine in a 55-degree wine cellar while she was burning with a 102-degree fever. When she finally told him the truth, Carl flew into a rage and hurled a heavy brass-cornered book at her face, slicing her cheekbone wide open.
His mother even ordered the staff to starve her for seven days to reflect on her sins.
Justine stood in the dark, blood dripping down her face, her heart completely dead. She had sacrificed her brilliant future and her pride for this family, only to be tortured and discarded like garbage. How could they be so utterly devoid of humanity?
She pulled out her old medical kit and stitched up her own face.
Then, she signed the legal documents to permanently relinquish her stepparent rights, threw them at the housekeeper, and calmly looked at her abusive husband.
"I am divorcing you, Carl."
7.8
On the day she married, Alina unknowingly took the place of the Hayes family's daughter and became Kellan's wife, the richest man in town who was rumored to be disfigured.
Everyone mocked their doomed marriage, expecting misery and disgrace.
Instead, Alina revealed brilliance no one expected-a renowned jewelry master, financial genius, and medical prodigy.
The woman the Hayes family ignored was actually the heiress they should have treasured.
As regret consumed them and her ex begged for another chance, Kellan stood beside her, now devastatingly handsome.
"Alina and I are perfect together. Stay away from my wife."
8.0
After years of a freezing, loveless marriage, my billionaire husband Israel finally threw me out to make room for his new lover, Ayla.
Before I even packed my bags, he ordered a crew to shred the Dogwood tree in our backyard and pour thick concrete into the crater, claiming it was a symbol of my infidelity.
He didn't know that buried beneath those roots was the urn containing the ashes of our unborn baby.
Stripped of everything, I tried to rebuild my shattered life by securing a supporting role in an indie film.
But Israel bought the entire production studio just to cast Ayla as the lead, demanding I act as her pathetic stepping stone.
When I refused, he cornered me on set with a sickening audio recording.
"We want one million dollars. This will ruin Karen forever."
It was my own parents. They had forged my medical records, planning to sell a story to the tabloids that I was a violent, delusional schizophrenic.
Israel smiled coldly, threatening to lock me in a padded room on an involuntary psychiatric hold unless I signed an unpaid contract to serve Ayla unconditionally.
My own flesh and blood had sold me out to a ruthless monster for cash.
Staring at the extortion contract, the last shred of desperation and love in my chest burned away into cold, gray ash.
To survive a monster, you have to become one.
I picked up his pen, violently signed my name, and prepared to rip his precious Ayla to shreds on camera.
8.0
Claire spent every waking moment protecting the transplanted heart beating inside her billionaire husband, Cooper. Though his grandfather forced their marriage, she loved him enough to endure his endless coldness.
When she received a frantic text saying Cooper was in a fatal car wreck, she ran through a freezing storm to save him. But she pushed open the VIP club doors only to find no doctors. Instead, Cooper was making out with his mistress, Kendall, while his wealthy friends erupted into malicious laughter at Claire's soaked, panicked state. It was all a cruel prank.
To force a divorce, Cooper treated her like garbage. He threw the custom meals she secretly cooked for his failing liver into the trash, giving Kendall the credit. When Claire begged him to stop drinking hard liquor for the sake of his fragile heart, he made a sickening demand.
"Go kiss that waiter on the mouth right now, and I won't touch another drop."
To keep him alive, Claire swallowed her pride and kissed the terrified boy while cameras flashed.
But her total degradation didn't earn his mercy. Cooper called her a sickening gold digger and walked out with his mistress, leaving Claire to the wolves. His best friend poured a sticky martini over her head, tore the strap of her dress, and raised a massive fist to smash her face. She had sacrificed her soul to keep his heart beating, only to be destroyed by it.
Just as the fist swung down, the heavy oak door was kicked off its hinges. Cooper stood in the doorway, his eyes burning with a terrifying, primal fury. He had only returned for a forgotten phone, but seeing another man's hands on his legal wife ignited a possessive rage that was about to burn the entire room down.