The Serpent's Kiss: A Wife's Revenge

In my first life, I was the beloved adopted daughter of the Stanton family. My three perfect brothers showered me with affection, and Jackson, my first love, promised me the world.

But it was all a lie. When they set the mansion on fire, they stood on the lawn and watched me burn.

I heard them laughing through the flames.

"She's just an orphan," they said. "Pretending to love her all these years has been exhausting."

The only one who ran into the fire for me was Grayson Stanton-the cold, distant uncle who everyone said hated me.

He held me as the roof collapsed, whispering, "I'm with you." He died for me.

My world was built on their affection, a perfect, horrible lie.

Now, I've woken up again, back in the lawyer's office, one week before the fire.

To inherit the multi-billion dollar fortune, the will says I must marry one of my three brothers-my murderers.

So when the lawyer asked for my choice, I smiled.

"I choose Grayson Stanton."

Chapter 1

They say that when you die, you see your life flash before your eyes.

For me, it was the fire.

The heat, the smoke, the sound of the old mansion groaning as it was eaten alive by the flames.

And the faces of my three adopted brothers, Jackson, Brett, and Andrew, watching from the lawn.

They weren't trying to save me.

They were waiting for me to burn.

I remembered it all, every single detail, as I sat in the sterile, quiet office of my late adoptive father's lawyer.

"Ms. Schultz," the lawyer, Mr. Davison, said, his voice soft. "The will is... very specific."

He adjusted his glasses, looking at the document on the large mahogany desk between us.

"To inherit the Stanton empire, all of its assets, valued in the multi-billions, you must marry."

I said nothing. I already knew this part.

"The marriage must be to a member of the Stanton family," he continued, his eyes full of a gentle pity I no longer deserved.

He thought I was a grieving, confused girl. He had no idea I was a ghost, a vengeful spirit back in my own skin with a second chance.

"Have you given it any thought, Brooklyn? The will specifies one of your three brothers. Jackson, Brett, or Andrew."

My brothers. My handsome, doting, adopted brothers. It was a family joke, how none of them looked a thing like our father, or even each other. A fact everyone chose to ignore.

The ones who smiled at me while they planned my murder.

"I have," I said, my voice steady.

Mr. Davison gave a small, understanding smile.

"I imagine so. The press has already decided for you. You and Jackson Graham have been inseparable since childhood. It seems the logical, and dare I say romantic, conclusion."

I remembered that romance.

I remembered his soft kisses and gentle lies. I remembered saying "I do" in my last life, believing he was my future.

I also remembered him holding another woman' s hand, Keira' s hand, as he told her my death would finally make them rich.

"No," I said, the word sharp and cold in the quiet room.

Mr. Davison' s smile faltered.

"No?"

"I will not be marrying Jackson Graham."

He blinked, surprised. "Ah. Well, then perhaps Brett? He's a steady young man. Or Andrew? He has always been very... attentive to you."

He was trying to be helpful, trying to guide the poor orphan girl to the right choice.

"I will not be marrying Brett Mathews or Andrew Clemons either."

The surprise on his face turned to genuine confusion. He leaned forward, his voice dropping.

"Brooklyn, we must be clear. The will is absolute. If you do not choose one of them, the entire Stanton fortune will be liquidated and donated to various charities. You will be left with nothing."

"I understand the terms," I said, cutting him off calmly.

I looked him straight in the eye.

"I have made my choice."

He waited, his pen hovering over a notepad.

I took a breath. This was the first step. The first move in a war they didn't even know had begun.

"I choose Grayson Stanton."

Mr. Davison' s pen clattered onto the desk. His eyes widened, his professional calm shattering completely.

"Grayson Stanton?" he whispered, as if saying the name was a crime. "But... Brooklyn, he's..."

"My adoptive father's younger half-brother. I'm aware," I finished for him. "My uncle, by marriage and adoption."

The room was silent for a long moment. He stared at me, truly seeing me for the first time, not as a girl, but as something he couldn't comprehend.

"That is my decision," I said, my gaze unwavering. My voice was ice.

He swallowed hard, slowly gathering his papers. He looked shaken.

"I... I will amend the documents to reflect your choice."

He stood up, ready to leave.

"Mr. Davison," I said, stopping him at the door. "This conversation stays between us until the official announcement."

He nodded, still looking dazed. "Of course."

He paused, his hand on the doorknob.

"Brooklyn, if I may be frank... why him? Grayson Stanton was the only one who objected to your adoption. He has never shown you an ounce of warmth."

My fingers tightened on the armrest of the chair. Cold. Yes, he was cold.

Everyone saw Grayson as the stoic, distant uncle who barely tolerated my presence in the family. The powerful, respected businessman who looked at me with disapproval.

But I knew the truth.

Because I am a woman who has already lived and died once.

In my first life, I was Brooklyn Schultz, the beloved adopted daughter of the Stanton family, showered with affection by my three perfect brothers.

They were my world. Jackson was my first love, my everything.

And it was all a lie.

The only one who was real was Grayson. The cold, silent man who never smiled at me, who never gave me a single gift.

The man who, in the end, was the only one who ran into the fire for me.

I still remembered his arms around me, his body shielding mine from the falling, burning debris.

"I'll get you out of here, Brooklyn," he had choked out, his voice raw from the smoke. "I promise."

I had cried in his arms, the first real tears I had shed since the betrayal.

He hadn't been able to keep that promise. The roof collapsed.

But as I took my last breath, he held me tight, whispering, "It's okay. I'm with you."

He died with me. For me.

In this life, I would not let him get hurt.

In this life, they would all pay.

I returned to the Stanton mansion later that day. As I walked through the foyer, the massive crystal chandelier above me flickered, and I heard a faint, groaning sound from the ceiling. The housekeeper had mentioned something about the wiring being ancient. I filed the thought away. The three of them were in the living room, looking for all the world like concerned, loving brothers.

"Brooklyn, you're back," Jackson said, his voice smooth and full of warmth. He stood up, his handsome face arranged in a look of concern. "How did it go with Mr. Davison?"

"Did he explain everything?" Brett asked, ever the practical one.

Andrew just smiled his gentle, artistic smile. "Don't worry, Brook. Whatever happens, we're here for you."

Lies. All of it.

"He explained the terms," I said, my voice empty of emotion.

"So," Jackson said, stepping closer. "Have you decided? It' s okay if you need more time, of course. But you know I' ll take care of you."

He was so confident. So sure that his childhood sweetheart, the girl who had worshipped him for years, would fall right into his arms.

Just like last time.

"I've decided," I said, looking at their expectant faces. "You'll all find out in one week. At my birthday party."

I turned and walked up the stairs, leaving them to their confidence and their schemes.

One week.

One week until I burned their world to the ground.

The doorbell rang two days later.

Andrew, the sensitive artist of the trio, practically leaped off the couch to get it.

"She's here!" he called out, his voice bright with excitement.

I was sitting in an armchair by the window, pretending to read. My eyes, however, were fixed on the doorway, my stomach twisting into a cold, hard knot.

The girl who walked in was exactly as I remembered.

Keira Stone.

She wore a simple, slightly worn dress that was meant to highlight her scholarship-student status. Her hair was pulled back in a modest ponytail, and her face was a perfect mask of sweet, wide-eyed innocence.

She was the picture of a poor, grateful girl who couldn't believe her luck.

She was also the most ruthless, ambitious snake I had ever known.

"Jackson! Brett! Andrew!" she said, her voice a soft, melodic thing.

"Keira! You made it!" Jackson greeted her, his smile wider and more genuine than any he had ever given me.

"I came as soon as I heard!" she said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She held up a small, gleaming object. "I won! The National Tech Incubator competition! My project won first place!"

Her face was a perfect picture of joyful disbelief.

I watched from my chair as my three brothers fell all over her.

I remembered the vows they'd whispered to me over the years.

"I'll always protect you, Brook."

"Your dreams are my dreams."

"No one will ever matter more than you."

Now, those vows were being offered to another.

"That's incredible, Keira!" Brett said, clapping her on the shoulder. "We knew you could do it!"

"Let me see," Andrew said, taking the gold medal from her hand with a reverence he usually reserved for priceless art. "It's beautiful. Just like you."

Keira blushed, a delicate pink staining her cheeks. "I couldn't have done it without your support. The foundation giving me the scholarship, you all encouraging me..."

Her voice broke, and a single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek.

"Hey, don't cry," Jackson said instantly, his voice a low, comforting rumble. He pulled her into a gentle hug. "You earned this. You're brilliant."

The scene was so sickeningly familiar.

All those years of them showering me with praise, it was all just practice. Practice for her.

The love I thought was mine had just been on loan, waiting for its true owner to arrive.

Keira pulled away from Jackson, wiping her eyes, and then she turned to me. Her smile was sweet, but her eyes held a glint of triumph.

"Brooklyn, I wanted you to be the first to know. You've always been so kind to me."

She walked over and held out the medal.

"I wanted to give this to you. As a thank you."

My eyes dropped to the medal in her hand. I saw the engraving.

National Tech Incubator - First Place

I knew the contest well. I had submitted a project to it myself.

My gaze flickered past the medal to the small, folded certificate behind it.

Winning Project: 'AURA' - A Predictive AI for Social Welfare Allocation

Designer: Keira Stone

But the designer wasn't Keira Stone.

The designer was me.

'AURA' was my senior thesis, the project I had poured my heart and soul into for over a year. I had shown the final proposal to Jackson just last month, so proud of my work. He had been so encouraging.

He must have given it to her.

My hand, hidden in the folds of my book, tightened around my phone. My knuckles were white.

"This medal," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "Belongs to me."

My words dropped into the room like a stone.

The medal slipped from Keira's suddenly nerveless fingers. It hit the marble floor with a clatter, a small piece chipping off the side.

Keira stared at the broken medal, her face crumpling.

"Brooklyn... I... I don't understand," she stammered, her voice thick with hurt. "I just wanted to share my happiness with you. If... if you don't like it, you didn't have to..."

"Keira, don't," Jackson said, rushing to her side and pulling her away from the broken prize on the floor. "Don't even try to pick it up. You'll cut yourself."

"It's just a stupid medal," Brett said, glaring at me. "We can buy you a hundred of them, Keira."

Andrew scooped her into his arms. "It's okay. We know how hard you worked. You're the most talented person we know."

He shot a look of pure venom in my direction.

"Brooklyn, what is wrong with you? Keira comes here to share good news, and you throw a tantrum like a child?"

Keira, nestled in Andrew's arms, looked up at them with watery, grateful eyes. A small, triumphant smile played on her lips for a fraction of a second before she buried her face in his shoulder.

I felt like a stranger in my own home.

An intruder in their perfect little love story.

They thought I was just being jealous. They had no idea.

It wasn't Keira who had stolen my project. She wasn't smart enough.

It was them. It had to be Jackson. He was the only one who had the access and the technical knowledge to re-submit it under her name. They had stolen my work, my dream, and handed it to her on a silver platter.

"Apologize to Keira," Jackson said, his voice dropping to that low, threatening tone he used when he was truly angry. "Right now."

He took a step towards me.

"If you don't apologize, Brooklyn, I swear you and I are done."

In my past life, I would have crumbled. I would have sobbed and begged for forgiveness, terrified of losing his love.

I would have apologized for a crime I didn't commit, just to keep the peace.

I remembered that girl. I remembered her weakness.

She was dead.

"No," I said, meeting his furious gaze without flinching.

The brothers all stared at me, their shock palpable. I had never, not once in my life, defied Jackson.

Keira peeked out from Andrew's shoulder, her act slipping for a moment. She looked genuinely surprised.

Then she quickly recovered, her voice trembling again.

"It's my fault," she whispered, pulling at their sleeves. "I shouldn't have come. I'm just a poor girl on a scholarship. I'm not... I'm not one of you. I'm not worthy of your kindness."

It was a masterful performance.

"Don't say that!" Brett said immediately.

"You're worth more than anyone, Keira," Andrew added, holding her tighter.

Jackson's eyes softened as he looked at her, then hardened again as he turned back to me.

The pain in my chest was a dull, familiar ache.

I remembered my eighteenth birthday. I' d won my first major design award. They had thrown a massive party for me.

"You're a genius, Brook," Jackson had said, kissing me under the fireworks. "Our genius."

Now their genius was someone else.

Did they even remember?

Did any of those promises mean anything at all?

I turned to leave. I couldn't stand to be in the same room with them, with their suffocating, false affection for her.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Jackson' s hand clamped down on my arm, his fingers digging into my skin.

"I told you to apologize."

His eyes were cold, filled with a sharp, cutting anger I had only seen directed at business rivals.

Never at me. Not until now.

A wave of nausea washed over me.

I remembered another time he had grabbed my arm like this. It was after I had accidentally spilled coffee on one of Keira' s textbooks. She had cried, and he had forced me to my knees to apologize, to beg for her forgiveness in front of the entire household staff.

The memory, the humiliation, burned in my gut.

I was tired of it. So tired of being their pawn.

"Let them have each other," a cold voice whispered in my head. "Let them have everything."

With a strength I didn't know I possessed, I ripped my arm from his grasp.

"I said no."

Jackson's hand was left hanging in the air. His face was a mask of disbelief.

I had never pulled away from him before. I had always melted into his touch, craved his attention.

His expression darkened.

"Have we been too easy on you, Brooklyn?" he said, his voice dangerously low. "Is that the problem?"

I let out a short, humorless laugh.

"Too easy on me? No, Jackson. I think I've been too easy on all of you."

Ever since Keira had arrived, it was like a switch had been flipped.

The little attentions, the casual affections, the inside jokes-they all flowed to her now.

I was left with the scraps.

In my first life, I had tried so desperately to win them back. I had swallowed every insult, ignored every slight, endured every humiliation.

I had fought for a love that was never really mine.

And it got me killed. Burned alive in a fire they set themselves.

The memory of the searing pain, of my skin melting, flashed through my mind.

"You're just a spoiled brat," Jackson snarled, his face twisting with rage. "You're our adopted sister. We gave you everything. A home, a life you could never have dreamed of."

He took another step, cornering me against the wall.

"You have no right to anything. You should be grateful we even consider you. The will says you have to marry one of us. You should be down on your knees, begging me to choose you."

He was practically spitting the words at me.

"No," I said again, my voice shaking but firm. "I won't."

Keira chose that moment to play her part. She tugged on Brett's sleeve, her eyes wide with fake distress.

"Maybe... maybe I should just go," she whispered.

"No, you're not going anywhere!" the three of them said in near unison, turning to comfort her.

It was a well-rehearsed play.

"We love you, Keira," Brett said softly, stroking her hair. The words were meant for her, but they were a knife in my heart.

They tried to explain. They tried to tell me that their feelings for Keira were different, that she was just a friend they were helping.

Lies.

A coldness spread through me, so profound it was almost peaceful. I was finally, truly done.

Suddenly, there was a loud groaning sound from above. My head snapped up, the memory of the flickering light and the housekeeper's warning flashing in my mind. The massive crystal chandelier in the foyer was swaying violently. A thick cloud of dust fell from the ceiling fixture.

"KEIRA!" all three brothers screamed at once.

They lunged for her, creating a human wall between her and the danger, blocking my path to safety.

I was trapped.

The last thing I saw was the chandelier breaking free, plummeting towards me.

Then, a universe of pain. A sharp, cracking sensation in my side.

My vision blurred. I struggled to look up, my head lolling to the side.

Through a haze of agony, I saw them.

They were huddled around Keira, who was perfectly fine, not a scratch on her.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Jackson was asking, his hands frantically checking her over.

Keira shook her head, her eyes wide. Then her gaze flickered over to me, lying broken on the floor.

It was only then that they seemed to remember I existed.

They rushed over, their faces a confusing mix of alarm and annoyance.

"Brooklyn? God, we're sorry," Brett said, kneeling beside me. "We thought it was... we got you mixed up."

They had gotten me mixed up.

I was just collateral damage in their obsession with her.

I, who had been their sun, their moon, their stars.

I started to laugh, a wet, gurgling sound that sent a fresh wave of agony through my chest. My ribs felt like they were on fire.

Tears of pain and rage pricked my eyes. I couldn't get up. I couldn't even breathe properly.

The world started to go dark at the edges.

I blacked out.

The last thing I saw was Jackson' s face, his brow furrowed, a strange, unreadable expression in his eyes.

The last thing I heard was his voice, calling my name in a panic that sounded almost real.

"Brooklyn!"