Prisoner No More, Queen Of The Game

"Aimee Bennett, your sentence is complete. Someone's come to get you."

The prison guard's frosty voice rolled through the visiting room, cutting through the stale air like a blade. Aimee's pen faltered, and a fat drop of ink bled across the discharge certificate, spreading into a dark, uneven bloom.

Lifting her gaze, she caught sight of the man waiting beyond cold steel bars - Laurence Bennett, her older brother and the Bennett family's second son.

"Mom and Dad sent me to bring you back," he said, his tone calm but distant.

Laurence stood poised in a tailored suit, his polished shoes catching the light, the designer watch on his wrist flashing with an almost clinical chill. "You've had it hard these past three years," he added smoothly. "But the family intends to make it right."

Make it right?

A dry laugh almost slipped from Aimee's throat.

Those empty promises were painfully familiar.

In her last life, the Bennetts had lured her home with the same gentle words, only to shove her - the real daughter - into prison to shield Rylie Bennett, the fraud who'd stolen her place.

When she walked free years later, no one from the family had even bothered to show up. Instead, Rylie's hired thugs had been waiting to drag her into a nightmare that ended with her death.

And when she was gone, the Bennetts had erased every trace of her existence, refusing to even collect her ashes.

Bitterness had burned in her chest for so long that it had become part of her soul.

Her vengeful spirit had drifted through the world for years before uncovering the cruel truth - there had never been a mistake at birth.

Her parents had deliberately exchanged her for Rylie after a fortune teller claimed that Rylie would bring prosperity, while Aimee herself was labeled a curse. They'd cast her aside like unwanted baggage, sending her off to survive alone in a distant village after she was born.

That bottomless resentment had fueled her rebirth, pulling her back to the third year of her prison sentence.

Armed with every memory of her past life, she quietly forged an alliance with Andreas Reid, a calculating business magnate, and secured her early release.

"Three years back, when you dragged me home to the Bennett family, you swore you'd make things right,"

Aimee said as she set the pen down with unsettling composure, her voice low and steady. "And what did I get in return?

I served time for Rylie's crimes, and do you know how my prison life was? Someone even put shards of glass in my prison food."

A sharp crease formed between Laurence's brows, impatience glinting in his eyes. "Things weren't simple then. Rylie wasn't well enough to survive prison.

As a Bennett, you should-"

"Should take the blame for that venomous snake?"

Aimee let out a cutting laugh, the sound laced with ice. She tilted her head, meeting his furious stare without blinking. "Laurence, tell me - has the entire Bennett family lost its damn mind?

You'd cast aside your own flesh and blood just to protect some outsider?"

"Watch your mouth!" Laurence slammed his palm against the table, the sharp crack echoing through the room. He shot to his feet, veins tightening along his temple. "Aimee, have you completely forgotten your manners?

Who gave you the right to talk about Rylie like that?"

Manners?

Aimee's lips curved into a bitter smile as a dry, humorless chuckle escaped her throat.

How could a child cast aside by her own parents and raised on scraps of kindness in some forgotten village possibly understand so-called "manners"?

She didn't waste another breath. Scooping up her few possessions - a frayed canvas bag with seams barely holding together - she strode for the door.

"Stop right there!" Laurence's voice cracked like a whip behind her. "If you walk away from the Bennett family, where will you even go?"

Without so much as a glance over her shoulder, Aimee answered, "Somewhere I actually belong."

As the heavy gates swung open, the early summer sun spilled across her face, making her squint against its brightness.

Stepping back into freedom after such a long time, she felt like a stranger in a place she used to know.

Just then, a sleek black Maybach glided to a stop in front of her, its polished surface gleaming beneath the sun. The tinted window slid down to reveal an unfamiliar man with a calm, professional expression.

"Miss Bennett, Mr. Reid sent me to pick you up," he said.

Stepping out with practiced precision, the driver moved around to open the door with a courteous bow.

Aimee gave a small nod and slid into the plush leather seat without a flicker of hesitation.

Through the rearview mirror, she caught sight of Laurence bursting out of the prison gates.

His face froze in disbelief as the luxury car purred away, leaving him standing in its wake.

The luxurious black car rolled through the gates of the exclusive Serenity Estates and eased to a stop before an opulent mansion spanning nearly a thousand square meters.

In the manicured garden, a man in a perfectly cut black suit stood with his hands in his pockets, back to Aimee, quietly taking in the blaze of red maple leaves around him.

"Mr. Reid, Miss Bennett is here,"

the driver said in a low, respectful voice.

Andreas turned at an unhurried pace.

Sunlight spilled across his broad shoulders, edging his silhouette with a soft gold glow.

At last, Aimee got a clear look at the man who dominated the business world like a storm - early thirties, a chiseled jawline, and piercing hawk-like eyes that radiated quiet command. His mere presence carried the weight of authority, as if power itself bent toward him.

"Aimee Bennett."

His voice rolled through the room, low and velvety, as if plucked from the strings of a cello. "You're not quite what I pictured."

In Andreas' mind, the woman who had managed to predict three major stock market crashes from behind bars - earning him billions - had been someone he expected to look formidable. Instead, she appeared heartbreakingly delicate, her frame slender to the point of fragility, her skin pale as bleached parchment. Yet her eyes burned with a piercing brightness that shattered every preconception.

"And what did you think I'd be like, Mr. Reid?"

Aimee lifted her chin, her gaze steady and unflinching.

A slow, unexpected smile curved across Andreas' lips.

Those eyes - he'd seen them a hundred times before, glowing from the cold screen of video conferences.

No matter how bleak things became, the spark in those eyes never faltered.

"What do you think of this place?"

he asked smoothly, steering the conversation away as he motioned toward the opulent house behind him.

Aimee's gaze swept across the elegant facade. "Serenity Estates is the most exclusive neighborhood in the city. The garden was designed by a famous landscape artist, and the interior-"

"You like it?"

Andreas cut in with a quiet smile. "Then it's yours.

Consider it my first gift to seal our partnership."

Even with a second chance at life, Aimee hadn't expected a gesture this extravagant.

A single mansion in Serenity Estates carried a market value of no less than three hundred million.

"Mr. Reid, that's quite the offer," she said after a steadying breath, the corners of her lips tightening.

"Aren't you even the slightest bit afraid I'll cash out and vanish without a trace?"

Andreas closed the gap between them with unhurried, deliberate steps, the warm scent of his cologne threading through the air.

"The fortune you earned for me from behind bars could buy ten of these," he said, voice low and husky as his eyes swept over her. A small, knowing pause followed. "And besides... our endgame is the same."

She didn't need him to spell it out. Both of them had their sights set on the Bennett Group's downfall.

In her previous life, long after she'd taken her final breath, Andreas had plunged into a ruthless corporate war with the Bennett Group - a clash that bled both empires dry.

"To our alliance,"

she said softly, lifting her hand with composed grace.

His fingers wrapped around hers, the contrast of his warmth against her cool skin sparking a brief, silent current between them. "Your room's upstairs, second floor," Andreas murmured, his voice low and unhurried.

"The walk-in closet's stocked. Take a moment to breathe."

Far across the city, the Bennett family mansion simmered with fury, the air thick with the sound of raised voices and hurried footsteps.

"What?"

The voice of Henrik Bennett, Aimee's father, thundered through the living room as he slammed his palm against the armrest, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

"She refused to come home and actually got into someone else's car? Does she even give a damn about this family anymore?"

Sonya Bennett, Aimee's mother, pressed a trembling tissue to the corners of her reddened eyes. "She must still be holding a grudge... because we let her take Rylie's blame," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"But Rylie's been sheltered her whole life. She wouldn't have survived a single day in prison..."

"Mom, don't cry."

Rylie stepped out of the kitchen, a tray of warm cookies balanced carefully in her hands. Her lashes were damp, her eyes red. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't messed up back then, Aimee wouldn't have suffered. I'll bring her home myself."

"Don't be absurd!" Jackson Bennett - Henrik and Sonya's oldest son - stepped in to block her. "You're in no condition to be running around like this.

What's the deal with that car, Laurence?"

Laurence's brows pinched together, a shadow darkening his face. "The license plate looked... familiar," he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he tried to recall. A sudden spark of recognition flickered in his eyes. "Wait. I've seen it before. That's Andreas Reid's car. I spotted it at the financial summit last month."

"Andreas?"

Jackson's voice cracked, his expression draining to a chalky white. "Why would Aimee have any connection to someone from the Reid Group?"

A dense silence closed in around the living room. No one dared to breathe too loudly.

The feud between the Reid and Bennett groups had been a cold war for years, and if Aimee truly had ties to their sworn enemy...

"No way."

Rylie's saccharine tone cut through the silence. "Aimee grew up in some forgotten village and then rotted in prison for three years. How could someone like her possibly cross paths with anyone from the Reid family?

It's clearly just a coincidence."

Tilting her head slightly, she dipped her chin to mask the venom flashing in her eyes.

In her mind, Aimee would always be too lowly to brush shoulders with Andreas - it

had to be some absurd coincidence.

Soon, Rylie calmed down. After all, she still held more than enough tricks up her sleeve to shove Aimee right back behind those iron bars.

And this time, Aimee wouldn't see daylight again.

Aimee descended the staircase with measured steps, her mind already turning over what needed to be done next.

At the foot of the stairs, Andreas lifted his hand and gave two crisp claps. Instantly, the quiet was filled with the rhythmic tread of polished shoes against the floor.

More than thirty impeccably trained servants filed out from the inner hall, assembling into three straight lines with military precision.

At their head stood a woman in her forties, her posture refined, her calm composure reflecting years of discipline. She offered a graceful bow before speaking in a warm yet deferential tone. "Good day, Miss Bennett. I'm the household manager, Vicki Saunders."

The chorus of servants behind her rang out in perfect unison. "Hello, Miss Bennett!"

Aimee arched a brow, her gaze sliding toward Andreas, silently demanding an explanation.

"Mr. Reid, what exactly is all this for?"

Andreas' lips lifted in a measured curve, his voice steady but carrying the weight of authority. "If the Bennett family refuses to recognize your worth, I'll make sure the rest of the world does."

A quiet tremor ran through her chest at his words.

She had only just stepped out of prison, severing every last tie with her family. It wouldn't take long before whispers spread through the upper circles that she'd been abandoned.

Once that happened, every vulture in their world would see her as easy prey.

But Andreas' move wasn't merely generosity. It was a statement - a bold, deliberate claim that she stood under his protection.

"Thank you, Mr. Reid," she murmured softly, lowering her gaze as a ripple of unease flickered beneath her composed expression. She wasn't naïve enough to believe that his kindness came without strings.

The respect he gave her was calculated - rooted in what she was worth to him.

Still, the arrangement didn't bother her.

Compared to the vipers in her own family, Andreas, at least, was a wolf she could see clearly.

"And Vicki has been with me for many years," Andreas remarked, his tone cold and final as he adjusted his cufflinks. "You can trust her with anything."

With that, he pivoted smoothly on his heel, already walking toward the door.

Aimee quickened her pace to catch up with him. "Mr. Reid, regarding our collaboration..."

Andreas didn't bother turning around. His low, steady voice brushed against her ear. "No rush. I look forward to seeing what you can do."

A deep rumble rolled from the luxury Maybach's engine as the door shut behind him. Within moments, the car swept out of the mansion,

leaving Aimee standing at the entrance.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, already piecing together the steps she'd need to take next.

"Miss Bennett," Vicki said softly, stepping forward with a slight bow. "This was personally prepared by Mr. Reid."

Vicki extended a sleek black card toward her. "There's no credit limit. Spend it however you like."

Aimee accepted it with a light flicker of amusement curving her lips.

Andreas really didn't hold back when he decided to be generous.

"You've just gotten out of prison," Vicki added softly, her tone warm and steady. "The bath's drawn and the water's hot.

Once you've freshened up, I'll give you a proper tour."

With a small nod, Aimee trailed after the waiting servant, her steps echoing lightly against the polished staircase.

Steam rose in gentle ribbons from the tub, the floral warmth of rose oil mingling with the soft, sweet scent of aromatherapy that wrapped around her like a quiet embrace.

Resting her back against the smooth edge, Aimee let her eyes drift shut, letting the heat seep into her skin as her mind wandered to the plans she'd pieced together over the past month.

The moment she was reborn, she had reached out to Andreas.

In her previous life - after her death - her spirit had lingered like a shadow, watching Andreas wage brutal business wars against the Bennett family.

He'd been merciless to his enemies, but he'd always treated his own with unwavering loyalty.

So, she'd placed her bet on him.

By reading the market's rhythms, she'd nailed three major shifts and had shown Andreas exactly which positions to take to avoid the worst of the volatility.

As payment, he had pulled strings to secure her early release and had placed substantial funds at her disposal.

She had promised a tenfold return within ninety days.

"Andreas, trust me - this one will more than pay off."

Her voice slipped out as a low murmur, a sly smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.

Her aim had been twofold: to make the Bennett family pay, and to force them to watch as she climbed to heights they would never reach.

After her bath, Aimee slipped into the designer dress Vicki had laid out for her. The fabric hugged her figure just right, and the soft curls framing her face gave her an effortlessly elegant air. Her makeup was flawless - subtle yet refined - transforming her entire presence into something polished and commanding.

Vicki's gaze flickered with open admiration. "Miss Bennett, this look suits you perfectly."

A faint smile curved Aimee's lips. "Thanks, Vicki. And I need you to do something for me - look into a person named Nicola Gibson."

Starting over meant building a new network from the ground up. If she wanted power, she'd need people first.

An hour later, she arrived at Vogue Plaza,

the glittering heart of high-end fashion. Crystal lights spilled across marble floors as she stepped through the glass doors of the "LUMOS" flagship store. A well-trained sales associate approached with a practiced smile.

"Welcome, Miss. What kind of style are you interested in?"

Before Aimee could get a word out, a honeyed voice drifted from behind her.

"Laurence, this dress is gorgeous!"

Her steps faltered, and she slowly pivoted to look.

Rylie clung to Laurence's arm, batting her lashes as she gestured toward a dress with a price tag of half a million.

Laurence's mouth curved into an indulgent smile. He brushed his fingers through her hair in a practiced, affectionate motion. "Go ahead and try it on," he said lightly. "If you love it, we'll take it."

The sales associate shifted nervously, caught between the rules and the customer. "I'm sorry," she said carefully. "This is a limited-edition piece. It can't be tried on."

Laurence's expression clouded over, his voice dropping a shade colder. "And what's that supposed to mean? That we can't afford it?"

The sales associate rushed to clarify, hands fluttering in front of her. "No, of course not - it's just the store policy."

Before the tension could stretch any further,

a cold, clear female voice cut through the air. "I'll take it."