Claiming My Crown: The Reborn Architect's Revenge

Chapter 1

The sterile, chemical scent of the ICU was still burning the back of Clara Vance’s throat.

*Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeep.*

The sound of her own heart monitor flatlining echoed in her skull, a deafening siren that heralded the end of a pathetic, wasted life. In those final, agonizing moments, her lungs had refused to draw air, her vision tunneling into darkness. But even over the rushing sound of her own death, she had heard him.

Julian Thorne. The man she had loved, the man she had bled for, standing over her hospital bed with a clipboard in his hand and a callous smile on his lips.

*"Don't worry about the press conference, darling,"* his voice had slithered through the cold room. *"I'll make sure everyone knows Serena designed the Skyline. You were just the draftswoman. You’d want her to be happy, wouldn't you?"*

Clara gasped, her eyes snapping open as she violently inhaled a lungful of air.

There was no hospital bed. There were no IV tubes piercing the bruised skin of her arms. The suffocating scent of antiseptic was gone, replaced by the rich aroma of freshly brewed espresso and the expensive, sandalwood cologne that always made her stomach flutter.

Or, rather, the cologne that *used* to make her stomach flutter. Now, it just made her want to vomit.

"Clara! Are you even listening to me? For God's sake, stop staring at the wall like an idiot."

Clara blinked against the harsh, morning sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her private architectural studio at Thorne Enterprises. She looked down at her hands. They were unblemished, free of the dark, purple needle marks of her final days. She flexed her fingers, feeling the familiar calluses from years of gripping drafting pens.

Her gaze darted to the digital calendar glowing on her sleek desk monitor.

*May 14th.*

Three months before the wedding. Three months before the aneurysm that would rupture in her brain after working ninety straight hours to finalize the Skyline project. Three months before Julian would watch her die and hand her life’s masterpiece to his mistress.

She wasn't dead. She was reborn.

"Clara!" Julian Thorne snapped his fingers an inch from her nose, his handsome face twisted into an ugly sneer of impatience. He was dressed impeccably in a bespoke navy suit, his dark hair perfectly styled. To the rest of the city, he was the charming, billionaire heir to Thorne Enterprises. To Clara, in this moment of pure, crystalline clarity, he was nothing but a parasite.

"I asked you a question," Julian demanded, leaning over her drafting table and carelessly planting his hand on a stack of preliminary sketches. "Where is the master drive for the Skyline blueprints? I told Serena she could pick them up before noon so she has time to review them before the board meeting."

Clara slowly sat back in her ergonomic chair. The sheer audacity of the demand, exactly as it had happened in her past life, washed over her.