MY CHOICE OF JEWEL

MOLLY'S POV

The night was louder than any storm I'd ever known.

The sharp crack of gunfire ripped through the air, mingling with the roar of flames devouring everything I had ever called home.

My family's empire, the Henry's, rulers of the underworld for generations, was collapsing in one night. Betrayal. That was the only explanation. Someone close had slit our throats from within.

I moved swiftly through the corridors of our fortress, my boots slipping on shattered marble floors. My laptop was clutched tightly against my chest, its weight strangely comforting. It held pieces of me, my codes, my programs, my keys to every door in the digital world. I was Jane, the hacker that even governments whispered about. And yet... tonight, I was powerless.

My father's voice still rang in my ears from moments earlier, "Run, Molly!"

But I hadn't. I had fought. And now I was bleeding.

A sharp sting tore at my side. My fingers came away red. Warmth spread quickly, draining me with every step. I staggered, forcing myself onward, my pride refusing to collapse so easily.

The hallway shook as an explosion ripped through the eastern wing. The ground trembled beneath me. My vision swam, blurring the line between light and darkness. I could hear them, our enemies, closing in.

"Is this it?" I whispered to no one. My lips curled into a bitter smile. "So this is how the princess of the underworld dies..."

Not with a crown. Not with vengeance. But with betrayal, fire, and silence.

The world tilted. My knees buckled. My laptop slipped from my grasp, clattering to the ground, its screen cracked. My chest heaved once, twice, and then... nothing.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

I thought death would be eternal silence. Instead, I woke to blinding light.

My lungs drew in air so sweet and cloying it almost hurt. My eyes darted open, staring at a ceiling painted in soft pastel colors. My body felt wrong, too light, too delicate. The sterile smell of disinfectant mixed with the faint scent of expensive perfume.

I sat up abruptly, panic clawing at my throat. My hand flew to my chest, but the wound was gone. Smooth skin met my touch. No blood. No scar. Nothing.

A gasp pulled my attention. "Miss Molly Henry! You, you're awake!"

A woman in a nurse's uniform rushed toward me, her eyes wide with relief. "You've been in a coma for a year. Everyone thought you might never open your eyes again."

A coma? My mind reeled. That didn't make sense. I died. I felt the life drain out of me, felt the fire licking at my skin. And yet... here I was. Breathing. Whole.

I staggered off the bed and nearly collapsed from the weakness in my limbs. The nurse tried to steady me, but I shoved her hand away and stumbled toward the window. My reflection in the glass froze me where I stood.

It wasn't me.

The face staring back was young, delicate,