Awakened For Sin

Monday 5pm

I should have known the quiet was just too quiet. That stillness before something bad always carries its own stench, one your body can't help but recognize even if your brain refuses to admit it. You know the feeling-the one like how animals go quiet because they've already scurried away before a disaster hits. How their survival instinct kicks in to save the furry little buggers.

I'm feeling that right now, but instead of it sending me into a dark corner to hide until the feeling goes away, I settle back in the bath I'd run, letting the hot water lap around me, seeping into my pores and temporarily washing away my worries. And trust me, I have a few.

This was my one true vice. I loved a hot bath as often as possible. I'd added lavender oil to help with the headache that had been threatening all day. But nothing helped the sense of dread that had been creeping up my spine since arriving home.

My husband, Richard, had been unusually polite this afternoon; he was never polite anymore. And Gemma... Gemma hovered just outside my bedroom like a cat circling a mouse. She grinned, sharp teeth glinting, like she'd been waiting her whole life for me to enter my room.

How had I become this pathetic, weak creature that let my husband move his mistress into the master bedroom and me into the guest quarters? And treat me like shit. If we didn't have staff, I'm sure they would have had me serving them like a housekeeper. I tried to keep out of their way as much as possible.

I closed my eyes, pretending not to notice how uneasy I was feeling. In that moment, I made two huge mistakes: one was arguing with the feeling of unease, and two was closing my eyes. I had just signed my own death warrant.

The first sign that I wasn't alone anymore was the sound of movement at my back. The presence was dark, cold, and uncaring, and it jolted me upright. My eyes shot open and I snapped my head around to find Richard there, sleeves rolled, his tie gone. What worried me most was the sickly smile plastered on his face.

Gemma leaned over the edge of the tub on my left, her hands grabbing my arms and pinning them together with a force that surprised me. She was willowy thin but tall.

"Fawn, honey... relax. You've had such a stressful day," Richard cooed, his voice laced with danger.

It was then I knew I was going to die.

He placed his hands on my shoulders before pushing me down, shoving my head under the water. I had no time to collect lifesaving air into my lungs.

So this was what my marriage had come to.

We had no prenup, and Richard wouldn't divorce me because he was worried I would take half of everything he owned. I could see that murdering me was the easy solution in his eyes.

Relax. Was he joking? I was supposed to relax while he and Gemma tried to kill me.

My legs flailed, hitting water and bubbles and their firm grips, none of it stopping them. I was short, soft, curvy... cute, maybe, but weak. Weak was exactly what they wanted. Weak was exactly what I was.

I should have left. I should have packed my things and moved out the day Richard moved Gemma in. My lovely parents would have welcomed me with open arms. Now it was too late for regrets.

I swallowed water. My lungs burned. Panic clawed up my throat. And somewhere in the fray, rage flared. It was sharp and hot. A wildfire I had never known I could feel.

For the first time in my miserable life, I didn't want to please. I didn't want to cry. I wanted... everything they had taken from me. My life. I wanted to live. I wanted to make him pay.

Richard leaned closer as I struggled to bring my face out of the water to take gulps of much-needed air. As I broke the surface, I was surprised by how calm his face was, like killing me was easy.

I thought he loved me in the beginning, but it was all lies. The only person Richard loved was himself. Did Gemma know she was just an accessory? She made him look good, but he didn't love her.

"Struggle all you want. It won't help. It's time for you to drown in your bath."

I felt Gemma press harder against my arms, pushing them deeper into the water, trying to drag me under. By holding my arms, she was stopping me from grabbing onto anything as Richard again pushed my shoulders down. I thrashed my legs, trying to fight, but I could feel myself slipping and knew I couldn't get out of this.

I was going to die.

My vision blurred. All the pain I had felt over the last six months of my marriage to Richard blurred into betrayal and red-hot rage.

I remembered my life in flashes: the yeses I had said when I really meant no, the career I had given up, the humiliation I had swallowed, the chances I hadn't taken.

I vowed, right there between gurgles and bubbles, that if I survived this, I would never be weak again.

I will not stay small. I will not stay invisible. I will stop living a pathetic, miserable life. I will not stay dead.

I thrashed, kicking my legs, trying to break Gemma's hold so I could claw for the side of the tub. I fought against Richard and Gemma, but it did nothing. Water sloshed over the edge, soaking the floor. My arms shook. My chest burned. My lungs screamed.

And yet... somewhere beneath the panic, the terror, and the certainty of death, something else stirred. A spark of something I had never felt before. Anger, yes. Power, yes. A dark, delicious taste of what it might be like to actually fight back.

They think they've won. They're about to learn what it feels like to be watched by someone they think is helpless.

Richard's hand gripped my shoulder tighter. Gemma leaned closer, her bracelet clinking against the side of the tub. Clink, clink, as I fought her hold on me. If only I could free my hands.

I felt their confidence, their certainty that they would drown me. I hated them with every fiber of my being.

And I laughed.

A choked, gurgling laugh that burned as it left my lips.

"Well, isn't this... ironic," I thought, panic and adrenaline mixing like fire in my veins. "I'm drowning, and I have never felt so... well, alive."

I remembered every insult I'd swallowed, every time I'd bent, every humiliation. All of it came back, rolling over me in a nonstop wave.

If not in this life... then in the next. I will make sure they pay.

Richard's voice cut through the water like a knife. "Fawn... it's easier this way. Just... let go. Nobody wants you."

Easier? For who? For them, maybe. But not easier for me. I wanted to live, no matter how horrible it had been. I wanted to see my parents again. Get a chance to make better choices.

I will make them pay for taking it away from me. This is what I live for now. That promise. They will pay. They will regret this for the rest of their lives. It set a fire in my belly and made me fight harder.

Water poured into my mouth, cold, suffocating, burning my throat. My lungs were on fire. My arms went slack. I thought I would black out-that this was it, my short, pathetic life ending with a splash and a laugh I wouldn't hear.

And then... something changed within me.

A weight lifted. A pull. Not from the water, not even from the ceiling. It came from somewhere outside the room. Somewhere behind my eyes, inside my chest-something untethered and invisible hooked into me. Tugged. Gently at first, then firmer. It was not letting up.

I gasped in surprise, even as my lungs screamed for air. Something was pulling me up. Away. I tried to fight it. Tried to kick, thrash, claw myself back into the body I had known for twenty-four years.

But it was too strong. And I wasn't afraid. Not really. Not now. Nothing was as terrifying as being drowned by my husband and his mistress.

What was happening? Am I going to hell? Am I going to heaven?

Was I... good enough to make it to heaven? Had I lived a life that deserved salvation and happiness inside the pearly gates?

Then, all of a sudden, I floated above my body, looking down, horrified. My hair plastered to my skull, brown eyes wide, limbs limp. Gemma's wicked grin. Richard's calm, evil smile. They had done it. They had finally done it. I heard them, their voices distant and muffled.

I tried to scream, but no sound came. I tried to move, but my body didn't answer. I was untethered, a soul in the void, hovering over my own death.

And then I remembered: my vow.

If they think this is the end, they are wrong. I will come back. I will make them pay. Or I will haunt them forever.

"Now let's clean up the water. We need to make this look like an accident." Richard's voice sounded distant, almost like there was a wall between the real world and my soul. I saw Gemma grab for some towels.

But I got distracted when I felt the tug strengthen, pulling me further from the room, from where my body lay unmoving in the bath. Darkness closed in from every direction. I saw everything clearly one last time, taking in the scene, then everything started to fade away.

I will make them pay. Every last one of them. If it's the last thing I do.

A weightless pull became a forceful yank, as if the universe itself had decided I belonged somewhere else. I resisted. I clawed at the nothingness. I willed myself to stay tethered, to stay alive. I needed to see, watch over my body.

But the darkness wasn't patient. And it didn't care about my needs or desires; it was insistent.

I whispered one last promise to the void... I will not be weak next time. I will not be forgotten. I will not stay small. Not for them. Not ever. I will make them pay. I will make them suffer. I will burn their lives to the ground and laugh while I do it.

And then finally... I let go.

One last thought flickered through me: where the hell is my frigging white light or tunnel everyone talks about? Maybe I was going to hell after all.

The world collapsed into a swirl of shadows and silence, then I was nothing. Yet I was everything. I was neither here nor there. And yet, the fire inside me burned brighter than it ever had in life.

I didn't know if I would wake again. I didn't know if I would see the sun, or water, or breathe in fresh air again. But one thing I knew: they had awakened something in me. Something fierce. Something immortal. Something that refused to be forgotten. Something that refused to die.

And somewhere, beyond the darkness, beyond the tug, beyond the silence... I felt the first spark of the life I would take back. The life I would claim, and the vengeance I would have.

I was alive.

And I would make them pay.

Then everything went black.

Blake's POV

Tuesday 9:24 AM

The machine near the bed beeped too loudly for a room that was supposed to be quiet. Because she was so still and quiet.

I sat in the hard plastic chair by the bed, elbows on my knees, my suit jacket off and folded over the back of the chair. I had only planned to stay long enough to sign the paperwork and leave. That had been my plan, but I still hadn't signed the paperwork.

It was like most days that I visited her. I hated having to come, but then I couldn't make myself leave. But today was different... today was the last day. I would never have to come here again and sit by her bed in this room while she lay motionless.

I could hear the hum of the air-conditioning. Monitors blinked and beeped. But Cassie lay in the bed like a wax version of herself, all sharp cheekbones and glossy black hair that didn't match the emptiness behind her closed eyes. I paid for someone to come in and clean her hair, give her a facial, and do her nails every week. Knowing she would hate letting it go or leaving it to the nurses. Hospital care wasn't the same as being pampered, and Cassie had loved the pampering that only a beauty professional could give.

She didn't make a sound and hadn't since the car accident six months ago. I will never get the image of her crashing her car into that tree out of my head as long as I live. The sound of crashing metal and the birds scattering out of the tree in shock. It played over and over again in my mind. She had healed during the last six months-the bruises and broken bones had healed-just not her brain. That hadn't changed. So here we were, my gorgeous wife looking her best even while in a coma.

She'd always liked being looked at. Worshipped and adored. Now the only ones looking at her were doctors assessing brain function and nurses. The current nurse in the room kept glancing at the clock, probably wondering when I was going to sign the damn papers so she could move on to her next patient. But I needed to be sure.

I turned away and stared at the clipboard in my hands. It was heavily stapled, heavily worded paperwork. But with all the wording, it all boiled down to one simple instruction: turn off the machines. Let my wife die. Cassie would be gone forever.

"And you're sure there's no... chance? No hope?" I asked, for the fourth time in twenty minutes. No, it was a lot more times than that, but it was four times since I had been here today.

The older doctor, grey hair and a face carved out of fatigue, shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Huntington has shown no neurological improvement. The scans confirm everything we expected. She's been clinically brain-dead for six months, since the day of the accident. The only thing keeping her alive is the ventilator and supportive care. Without them, she would pass away. She can't breathe on her own."

Alive.

I almost laughed. Cassie would've hated the idea of being called "supportive care." She liked being essential. Center of gravity and unavoidable. Everyone had strong feelings about Cassie; they either loved her or hated her. I thought I had loved her once. I knew now she had represented a challenge. She had been the woman every guy had wanted. I had been the one to win her over. Cassie wasn't honest with anyone.

My jaw clenched. I'd spent the year before that fateful night gearing up to divorce her. I'd told her three weeks before. She had refused to sign the divorce paperwork. The car accident had done that part for me but also trapped me in this limbo. But that limbo was about to come to an end. All I had to do was sign. It should be easy. There was no love between us; she had told me she hated me just before the accident. If I was honest, I hated her too-had then and still did.

Cassie had been hell to live with. She'd lied, cheated, manipulated, stolen, and could be mean and nasty to everyone around her... and somehow it still felt wrong that I was the one to end it. Like I was finishing what fate had started, and that made me complicit. This was so Cassie. It was like she was having the last laugh. She was stopping me from moving on with my life while she still clung to hers.

The younger doctor shifted, clearly uncomfortable. The nurse kept her gaze politely fixed near the foot of the bed now.

"If you're not ready-" the younger doctor began.

"I didn't say that." I cut in. My voice sounded flat, even to my own ears. "I just... want to be clear."

Clear that I did everything right. Clear that I didn't kill her. Clear that when I walk out of here, this doesn't follow me into every minute, every hour of every day, and even every fucking night for the rest of my life. There was no one else; only I had the power to do this. As her legal husband, this fell on my shoulders.

I didn't want to dream about this like I did about the crash.

I looked at Cassie. At the once-glossed lips that weren't glossed anymore, just dry. At the long dark lashes that had once fluttered over crocodile tears. At the woman who had done her best to bleed me emotionally dry and almost succeeded. Cassie had been an energy vampire and sucked everyone around her dry and destroyed them. She loved no one, and I wasn't even sure if she liked herself. It was like she had hit the self-destruct button on her life and wanted to create as much chaos as possible along the way. Not caring who got hurt.

"I hated you," I thought, and the honesty of it tasted bitter. "But I didn't want this for you." I would have been happier if she lived-just not in my life.

I looked at the monitor by the bed as it beeped in slow, even intervals. Her chest rose and fell mechanically, the ventilator doing all the work. Once the machine was switched off, Cassie would stop breathing forever.

The older doctor held out a pen. "We can give you more time if you-"

"No." I took it. My hand didn't shake, but my throat felt tight. I lowered my gaze to the line where my name needed to go. "Let's just... do this." The longer I sat here, the harder it was going to be.

The pen hit the paper as I signed my name and dated it in the appointed location. I'd signed mergers, acquisitions, deals worth billions with less weight than this one signature. But this signature scarred my soul. If I was having this much trouble with a woman I didn't love or even like anymore, how did people do it for people they did love?

"There," I said, trying not to hear how rough the word came out. "You have what you need." Handing the paperwork over.

The nurse stepped forward, hands gentle as she removed Cassie's IV. The older doctor nodded to the younger doctor, some silent medical conversation passing between them. I wasn't listening or watching them they were just there. It meant nothing to me now. She wasn't coming back.

I stood. I couldn't watch them disconnect her, but they had already started to remove the tube from her throat. I'd done my part; the rest I didn't need to-

Once the tube was gone, Cassie's body jerked.

I froze in place near the door. My eyes glued on Cassie.

At first, I thought it was nothing. Maybe a reflex. Surely. It must have been nerves firing. Bodies did strange things at the end; I'd seen enough death to know that. I'd lost both my grandparents to cancer. I'd been in the room as they had taken their last breath.

Then her chest heaved-not the machine forcing air, because that machine was no longer working, the tube already gone-but a raw, dragging inhale like someone breaking the surface of deep water.

I knew something was wrong when the nurse yelped, stumbling back. The younger doctor grabbed the rail. The heart monitor screamed to life, the flat, steady rhythm crashing into a chaotic spike as lights flashed.

Cassie sat bolt upright.

Her eyes flew open, not dull and empty as they had been for the last six months, but blazing and wild. The icy blue glare locked onto my face. I felt frozen in place by that look.

"Jesus Christ," the younger doctor breathed.

My heart slammed hard enough to hurt. What had I done?

I had signed papers to have her machines turned off when she wasn't... gone.

Because my dead wife had just come back to life.

And the way she was staring at me...

You'd think I had been the one to put her in this hospital in the first place.

Fawn's POV

Air ripped into my lungs like I'd swallowed knives.

I jerked upright, hands flying to my chest, half-expecting water to gush out of my mouth as I gulped in air. For one panicked, blinding second, I was back in the bath, drowning. No, not drowning... being murdered as I fought to stay alive. But I hadn't fought them off; they had been stronger. I could still smell lavender oil for a second before it was gone. Like a snap.

Now everything smelled like bleach and plastic and something harsh that stung my nose. I wiggled my nose to stop myself from sneezing as I focused my eyes, or tried to.

The light above me was too bright. Everything around me was white, sterile, and clean. Not my bathroom. Not home. Not even anywhere I recognized. There was a plastic rail at my sides. A beeping that was fast and frantic. It was damn annoying.

I became aware my throat hurt, and I needed a drink of water, and I was dizzy.

"Easy-easy!" Someone's hand hovered near my shoulder, not quite touching.

I blinked, vision clearing.

A man stood at the foot of the bed. I had been looking in his direction.

He didn't fit... Not Richard.

No. This man was taller, broader, in a shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a loosened tie. His jaw was sharp and dark with stubble, his mouth a hard line, his eyes a steel gray that made my stomach twist because I knew that face. Which didn't make sense. I blinked once.

Blake Huntington.

My husband's rival. The man Richard ranted about after too many whiskeys. The "arrogant prick," the "smug bastard," the name he spit whenever a deal didn't go his way. Or when Mr. Huntington had won a project he wanted. Both Richard and Blake had businesses in construction, and they often placed bids for the same jobs.

So why the hell was he in my hospital room?

Then it hit me, I was alive. They hadn't killed me after all. I must have passed out, and they thought I was dead. It didn't explain the out-of-body experience. But how had I gotten here? Had they called the police to say I had drowned, but instead of the police finding me dead, I had been very much alive?

The room wobbled a little, then snapped into focus in jerks. Blake wasn't the only one in the room with me. Two men in white coats... I would take a guess they were doctors; both stared at me like I'd just crawled out of my own grave. Maybe I had, after Richard and Gemma tried to kill me. Also, a nurse stood pressed against the wall, one hand over her mouth, eyes huge. I almost felt the urge to check myself and make sure I still had a head, but my eyes were working, so my head had to be on my shoulders, right?

The older doctor recovered first. "Cassandra," he said slowly, like he was testing it. "Can you hear me?"

Cassandra? My ears were working, but that wasn't my name.

I frowned. The effort made my head throb. "That's... not my name," I tried to say, but the words barely made it past my dry lips. Had they mixed up my files with another patient's? Well, that was embarrassing. For them, not me. "I'm... That is... I'm..."

My voice wasn't right; it stopped me from going on because I was so shocked by the sound. It was deeper, huskier, like I'd smoked a pack a day for ten years, and there was this weird... accent? No, not an accent. Just not mine. The voice was a New Yorker's voice, but it was sexy, and my voice wasn't sexy. Was it a side effect from the almost drowning. Well, I hoped it stayed.

Blake Huntington took a step closer to the bed; those grey eyes locked on me as if he could somehow pin me in place with his stare alone.

"Cassie?" he said, and his voice was rough. "You... you weren't supposed to-"

Die? I thought, and a hysterical little laugh bubbled up that I swallowed down. Too soon for that joke yet, I was guessing.

"I... I don't..." My throat still felt like sandpaper. Not surprising when I had swallowed a bath full of water. "Water."

The nurse jolted into action, grabbing a cup, pouring some water into it, then fitting a straw and guiding it to my lips. I sucked greedily, the cool liquid tasting like heaven, not like the bathwater I had swallowed.

As she took it away too fast for my liking, my hands dropped to the sheet, to the hospital gown hanging off my shoulders. The fabric was thin and scratchy. I had hospital tape on the back of my hand where it looked like an IV would go. My fingers looked... different and, well... wrong.

The fingers were longer. The nails were neater, longer. I couldn't keep my nails that long; they chipped and broke all the time. My wrists were different as well...slimmer.

Okay. Weird. I'd lost weight. Or maybe almost dying was a great detox plan.

Had I been in a coma? Was that why I had lost weight? How long had I been here for? I had so many questions.

My gaze darted past Blake, catching a glimpse of myself in the reflective surface of a dark TV screen on the wall.

And my brain just... stopped. Frozen as I stared.

The woman staring back at me was gorgeous in a way I had never been. Not cute. Not "you have a nice smile" pretty. No. This was the kind of gorgeous that made people stop mid-sentence. And what was that saying... stop traffic. Yes, the woman staring at me would definitely stop traffic.

Long black hair spilled over my shoulders in a glossy mass, almost blue in the fluorescent light. My skin was pale, with high cheekbones and a full mouth that could've sold lipstick in a magazine ad. My eyes-I couldn't tell, because the TV screen didn't show that sort of detail well enough.

I stared. She stared back. I blinked. So did she.

"Okay," I thought, grasping for logic while my heart hammered against my ribs. "So either I'm dreaming, or I hit my head without knowing it, or I'm in some kind of post-drowning coma hell where I have to live as a supermodel."

The monitor beside me beeped faster, betraying me. No, my eyes must be playing tricks on me. I would not panic... panicking had been in that bath. I had lived through that.

"This shouldn't be happening; she was... was brain-dead," the younger doctor whispered to the older one. "She... was unresponsive. She shouldn't-"

That snapped me out of whatever shock my brain had gone into.

"I can hear you," I croaked. I hate it when doctors talk over your head, don't you?

All three of them... two doctors, one nurse flinched like I'd slapped them. Well, what did they expect? They had been rude.

Blake didn't move. He just kept staring at me with an expression I couldn't read. Shock, yes. But under that, something else. Wariness. Guilt. Like he'd been about to do something unforgivable, and I'd caught him right in the act. Why would he care? He hadn't... hadn't tried to kill me. That was something I did know.

My last clear memory before waking up in the hospital slammed into me.

My bath. The scent of my lavender oil. Gemma's nails biting into my arms. Richard's hands on my shoulders, pushing but not bruising. The water in my lungs. The burning pain in my chest as my lungs were starved of oxygen. How would they explain Gemma's nail marks as an accident? Richard had been careful not to bruise my skin, but Gemma hadn't. Now I was alive; there was no way I would let them get away with trying to kill me. I would not be silenced.

Then the promise I'd made as the darkness had taken over. The way my soul had peeled away from my body like smoke. I would make them pay... but I would make it hurt and hit them where it hurt.

My stomach churned.

"I... almost drowned," I whispered, more to myself than anyone. "He... my husband tried to kill me with his mistress. They tried to kill me."