The Switched Bride's Rebirth: Rising as the Don's Vengeful Queen

Isabella Harrison POV

The scent of expensive bourbon and sharp winter air suffocated me.

I was trapped in the minimalist, monochromatic expanse of Damien Moretti's penthouse, the glittering skyline of Chicago mocking me through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The Don of the Chicago Outfit pinned me against the massive black leather bed, his grip an iron vice that bruised my wrists.

"Your husband," Damien's voice was a lethal caress, laced with ice and absolute authority, "that hypocrite from the slums who desperately wants to climb the ladder, handed you to my bed with his own hands. All for a chance to take down his political rival."

Tears of pure despair spilled down my cheeks. Barrett Bradshaw, the man I had vowed to love, had used me as collateral.

Damien's dark, hollow eyes traced my face with a ruinous, obsessive hunger. He didn't look at me like a prize he had won, but rather like a stolen possession he was finally reclaiming. When his weight crushed down on me, claiming what he believed was always his, the scream tore from my throat.

I jolted awake, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

My bedroom in the Harrison estate was bathed in the soft morning light, the silk sheets clinging to my sweat-drenched skin. It had been ten days since I woke up in this timeline, yet the phantom touch of the Don still burned on my skin. That nightmare was my daily reminder. I would rather burn this city to the ground than let Barrett Bradshaw drag me back to hell.

A timid knock interrupted my racing thoughts. My assistant stepped in, her hands empty and her face pale.

"Miss Isabella... I went to the vault for the Harrison Sapphire Brooch, but..." She swallowed hard. "Karly's maid snatched the velvet box right out of my hands. Her mother was there, and the Head Butler... he just looked away."

A cold smile touched my lips. I stood up, letting her clasp a simple, inferior string of pearls around my neck instead.

When I stepped out into the upstairs hallway, the thick Persian carpet muffling my steps, Karly was already waiting. The heavy steel door of the family vault loomed behind her. Pinned to the collar of her dress was the heavy, glittering Harrison Sapphire—the undeniable symbol of the eldest legitimate daughter.

"I want more than the brooch, sister," Karly sneered, her eyes flashing with a venomous, knowing light. "Your fiancé, your future... I'm taking it all."

I stared at her, the final puzzle piece clicking into place. The sudden change in her behavior over the last ten days, the orchestrated "accidental" meeting with Barrett at the charity gala. She remembered the past life, too. She thought she was stealing my crown, completely unaware she was stealing my executioner.

"Keep it, Karly," I said softly, walking past her. "Let's see if you can bear the weight of it."

By the time I descended into the formal drawing room, the air was