It's amusing how some people believe they have the authority to dictate my actions.

The accelerator felt satisfying under my foot as I, Lara Richards, left their pointless attempts at control in the dust.

“Always the uninspiring ideas.”

I’d hung up, my voice dripping with hate, before the stuttering “I’m sorry, ma’am” could come from the other end.

I find such incompetence utterly unbearable. There's no room for such weakness.

I shook my head.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

My sunglasses slipped. I pushed them up with one hand, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror—my box braids were packed neatly, not a hair out of place— as I drove past rows of neatly trimmed trees and stone gates, the low sun casting long shadows across the road.

“Legacy isn’t inherited. It’s earned.”

I smirked, remembering my father’s words.

Sterling Horizons, the empire my father built, was mine to command one day.

It already felt like it. Who else would? My model younger sister or party-loving brother? Absolutely not.

I was the Heiress in every sense of the word—young, successful, and untouchable.

Never!

I shifted in my seat, smoothing the front of my white shirt, the collar sharp against my neck. My brown plaid pants were tailored perfectly.

Tucked in just right. My clothes, like everything in my life, were a reflection of my precision. No room for flaws. And no failure wasn’t an option.

The gates to the mansion loomed ahead, opening automatically as I approached. Home. At last. “Can’t wait to shower.”

I smiled.

Private island, off the coast of nowhere. A playground for the wealthy.

The Sterling Horizons Group was global, an empire across continents, but this mansion, a testament to everything I represented, was my gift from my father.

The mansion was my father giving me a nod that I was more than ready to handle the weight of the family name.

I drove into the driveway. The house was a grand, three-story structure with pool wrapped around one side, expansive glass windows, sharp lines, and bold architecture.

No one could get close unless I allowed it.

The house was silent except for the quiet drip of the courtyard fountain. I locked the car, adoring the peace and quiet.

I had given the staff a weekend off like I always did every other weekend. My smile curved slightly. Not because I was so generous, but because it meant I had the place to myself. I could do whatever I wanted, and no one would be here to report back to my father or spread rumours among themselves. No whispers in the hallways.

I was alone. Well, not entirely.

He was coming over later. And that, that was a secret. I hadn’t even told anyone, not even my family. There was something about it that made me pause, that made me want to keep it hidden.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

I wasn’t ready for people to know. If my family found out about him, then I'd have to go into details of how we met, what he did for a living, and who his family were—which was too much for me.

The air was cool, the scent of lavender faint in the background. I liked it that way. Controlled. Predictable. Everything where it should be.

Except something wasn’t right.

I stopped.

I looked around me.

The chandelier above shone like diamonds against the clean floor. Then I saw the vase. There! The vase.

I groaned; my anger grew. It wasn’t in the centre of the isle, where it was supposed to be. It was slightly off, maybe just a few inches, but it was enough. Enough to drive me mad. I had told the maid over and over again to place it at the center.

Simple instructions.

"Why can’t people follow the simplest instructions?"

I grumbled under my breath, grabbing the vase and shifting it back into place. There. Better. It wasn’t difficult. Just a little attention to detail.

I stepped back as I glared back at my reflection flickering against the vase.

I sighed. But something stopped me.

I felt a chill. The air changed. I froze, listening. There—subtle, almost faint—a sound. Footsteps? No. It couldn't be. The staff were gone. I was alone.

I tried to shake it off, my mind racing for an explanation that made sense. The house was large. Old pipes, maybe. But I knew this place too well. Every creak, every echo. And this—this wasn’t right.

My hand reached for the vase again without thinking as if the act of adjusting it one more time would restore some sense of control. The footsteps—or whatever they were—faded into silence. My chest pounded.

Bang.

A sharp pain exploded at the back of my head.

I staggered forward as the vase slipped off my hands, and my vision danced as I tried to catch my balance. What—? Another blow, harder this time, sent me crashing into the marble isle. My forehead slammed against the cold stone; the pain was so sharp it stole my breath.

I gasped, eyes wide, my vision narrowing as a third strike followed, quick and merciless.

Everything spun, the world tilting violently as I tried to make sense of it. What is happening?

My thoughts dissolved into the throbbing pain in my skull. I grabbed the counter. I just needed to hold onto something solid, something real.

I needed to turn around. To see who—or what—was behind me. But my body wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t move. Fear flared in my chest. I was never out of control.

Never. Why me? I was Lara Richards. I was always in control.

Another crash of lightheadedness hit me, and my knees weakened. My vision became blurry as different colours danced together in my head. My mind was everywhere and it is slipping out of my hands before I could even think of holding onto it.

Footsteps. Blows. Pain. Fear. It was all joined together, all wrong.

Then something else—images flashing before my eyes like a loop of old film—flickering. My life. My success. Boardrooms, signatures, handshakes.

My reflection, perfect and polished, adjusting my sunglasses in the rearview mirror. The white shirt. The brown plaid pants. The vase.

It was slipping away now. Faster. My mother’s laugh was faint and distant, like it was being pulled from somewhere far away. My father’s booming voice, authoritative and commanding. The sound of waves crashing against the shore of that private island. The wooden smell of the office, of success.

Gone. All of it.

My legs gave out completely. My head hit the floor with a dull bang.

Is this... is this it?

I tried to move again, to fight, but my body wasn’t responding.

I’d been attacked. Someone was in my house. That much was clear. But why?

Who? None of it mattered anymore.

The edges of my vision turned black, swallowing everything. No sounds. No more thoughts. Just the darkness, creeping closer, deeper, until there was nothing left.

Final.

Suddenly, a deafening blast split through the void. A loud horn. It echoed in my skull, forcing me awake—or not awake, because that couldn’t be right. Where am I? My head throbbed with the memory of each blow, my skull still tender, but something else pressed in, louder now. The waves crashed against rocks.

I blinked. This wasn't real. No! I looked to the left. The sight hit me. An expanse of sea, stretching out with no end, the horizon swallowed by a haze of fog. Black. White. No color. Just the dull, lifeless like an old film.

What the hell?

My hands moved automatically to my sides, feeling the fabric that hugged my body. Soft, but strange—wrong. I looked down, my breath catching. I wasn’t wearing my clothes. My crisp white shirt and the plaid pants were gone. Now, I was wearing a white uniform and black combat boots. A prisoner's uniform. What kind of nightmare.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Wake up. My head pounded. Maybe I was still unconscious and this was just a nightmare, but it didn’t feel like one.

With the salt on my lips and the coldness eating my skin. I opened my eyes again, half-expecting to see my bedroom ceiling, the soft light from the chandelier, something familiar. But all I saw was that dull sea.

And then I noticed them.

People. Rows upon rows of them. Ahead of me, behind me. Endless. They stretched out into the horizon, each one wearing the same white outfit, most looking around, obviously confused like me. None of them spoke.

I felt my breath hitch in my throat, my heartbeat rising again.

What is this place?

I turned around and prayed to see the familiar walls of my mansion, the sleek lines of my furniture, and the smell of expensive wood polish. But it was gone. Everything was gone.

The vase. The footsteps. The blow to my head. This only meant one thing… I shook my head. No!

The wind tore through me, but I couldn’t stop moving. I needed to see where this line of people ended. Need to understand.

My breaths were shallow. The thought of the footsteps kept coming back to me. I must still be at home, unconscious. In a hospital bed, maybe. This—this cold, colourless world—was just a trick of my mind. Right?

But deep down, something else told me otherwise. A darker truth was fighting its way through the denial.

The thought became clear. I wasn’t in the world I knew anymore, and it just meant the one thing.

“No.” I whispered it under my breath, shaking my head, even though no one could hear me. “No, this isn’t happening. This isn’t real.”

But the rows of people looking confused like me were real—as real as the blows that had scattered my skull.

My stomach turned. One minute I was standing in my mansion, annoyed about a vase, thinking about the man I’d let into my life, then next footstep behind me then…

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

God!

I was supposed to close a deal tomorrow. A deal that would take the Sterling Horizons Group into a greater era. A deal that would make my father respect me more. And now...

“No,” My voice trembled, panic building. There was too much left to do. Too much unfinished. I had plans. Control. I had everything.

My feet kept moving forward, but I couldn’t focus on the endless line of people anymore. Nothing made sense.

"I lost everything," I whispered.