The Wife He Killed Returns To Destroy Him

I stood center stage in a wedding dress worth more than a small country, waiting for my final fitting.

For seven years, I had trained to be the perfect mafia wife for Ethan, the future Don.

Then the door slammed open.

Ethan’s underboss walked in, hand on his gun, looking at me with zero respect.

"The wedding is off," he said.

"Ethan had an accident. He lost his memory. He doesn't remember the pact, and he doesn't remember you."

Desperate, I drove to his private villa to help him remember.

But I didn't find a confused patient.

I found Ethan lounging on a sofa with a model on his lap, his hand sliding up her thigh.

When he saw me, his eyes weren't blank; they were cold and annoyed.

He hadn't lost his memory. He just wanted to void the contract without a war.

To get rid of me, he ordered a hit.

My car was rammed off a cliff that night.

As I hung upside down in the wreckage, bleeding and broken, I heard his voice outside.

"Make it look like a drunk driving accident," he told his men.

"I don't want any loose ends."

He walked away, leaving me to die in the rain.

But he made one fatal mistake. He didn't check if my heart had stopped.

They buried an empty coffin, and Ava Miller officially died.

Two weeks later, a woman named Olivia Carter opened an investment firm across the street from his tower.

I remember everything, Ethan.

And I’m going to burn your empire to the ground.

Chapter 1

Ava POV

I stood center stage in the room, a statue wrapped in white, while seamstresses fluttered around me like nervous moths. They were pinning the hem of a wedding dress that cost more than a small country, their hands moving with reverent speed.

Then, the door slammed open, and my life shattered.

Leo, the underboss who was supposed to be my future husband's shadow, didn't look at the staff. He looked at me. His eyes, usually lowered in deference to a future Don's wife, were now devoid of respect. They held a weight-an insolence-that chilled me faster than the draft.

"Get them out," he ordered, his hand resting casually on the gun at his hip.

The seamstresses scrambled, a flurry of apologies and rustling fabric, leaving a trail of silver pins glistening on the Persian rug. I stood frozen, the heavy silk suddenly feeling less like a gown and more like a shroud against my skin.

"The wedding is off, Ava," Leo said. The words didn't just land; they detonated.

He continued, his voice flat. "Ethan had an accident. He doesn't remember the last seven years. He doesn't remember the family pact. And he certainly doesn't remember you."

My heart stopped. The cage I had lived in for twenty-two years had just lost its keeper, and I didn't know if that meant freedom or a death sentence.

Just hours ago, I had woken up in