Married to My Killer Fiancé's Enemy

There was no denying it—I was dead. The cold bite of steel around my wrists, the fire in my chest, the paralyzing terror—it had all been real. The van, the masked men, the betrayal. And worst of all, him. Mikael Salvatore. The man I'd loved for five years, the man I'd trusted with my life, had signed my death warrant.

And yet… here I was.

The shrill scream of my alarm clock yanked me back to reality. My fingers fumbled, silencing it with a shaky slap. My gaze snapped to the calendar on the nightstand.

A month earlier.

The date glared at me, taunting me. A full month before the night I died. Before I found out Mikael wasn't just screwing my best friend—he'd decided I wasn't worth keeping alive.

I shot upright, my pulse hammering in my throat. The sunlight spilling through the curtains felt wrong. The air was too thick, too warm. This couldn't be real.

"Sofia?" His voice sliced through my thoughts like a blade.

Everything was too alive.

The bedroom door swung open, and Mikael stepped in. Same as always—impeccable in his tailored suit, dark hair flawlessly styled, those sharp eyes locking onto mine. For a heartbeat, I couldn't move. He smiled—that smooth, practiced smile that used to make me feel like nothing could touch me.

"You're awake," he murmured, closing the distance between us. "Good. You were restless all night. Bad dreams?"

He leaned down, pressing his lips to my forehead, and nausea coiled in my gut.

I forced a nod. "Something like that."

His thumb brushed my cheek. "Get some rest. I'll handle things today. I'll be back later."

The door clicked shut behind him, and I finally exhaled, my body trembling. Every word, every touch—it was all a lie. That same man had stood there, watching as they dragged me away to die.

And Sarah… My best friend. She'd been in his bed while I was fighting for my life.

My fists clenched. Rage burned through me, white-hot and vicious. I wasn't just reliving my death—I was getting a second chance. A chance to rewrite everything.

This time, I wouldn't be naive. If Mikael wanted me gone, I'd make sure he went down first.

But I couldn't do it alone.

I needed someone with power. Someone with the means—and the motive—to destroy Mikael. And I knew exactly who that was.

Rafael Salvatore.

Mikael's older brother. His rival for the Jack of Trades throne. Exiled, ruthless, and the one man Mikael truly feared.

The bar was exactly what I'd imagined—dim, hazy with smoke, humming with danger. Not just any bar. His bar. Rafael Salvatore's kingdom, where the only rule was power.

I spotted him instantly.

Lazily sprawled on a leather couch in the back, a drink dangling from his fingers, two women draped over him like ornaments. I sucked in a breath and strode toward him.

His gaze flicked up as I approached, surprise flashing in his eyes before melting into a slow, predatory smirk.

"Well, well," he drawled. "Sofia Garcia. My brother's precious little pet. What brings you to my side of the world?"