His Mafia Princess

PAIN – a white-hot spear. It gushed through my body, pinning me, grinding me into the mattress. Why can’t I move? My lungs burned, air ragged and thin. I forced my eyelids open, expecting the cold, sterile ceiling of the morgue, or perhaps the eternal void. Instead, a grotesque landscape of saccharine pink bloomed above me. A Hello Kitty mural. Staring down. Its saccharine smile was a fresh wound. Wasn’t I dead? Didn't HE kill me? The memory was a shard of ice: the glint of the blade, the shocking cold that spread through my chest, his face contorted in a sneer. That wasn't a dream. That was the end. Suddenly, a bubblegum-pop beat vibrated through the room. A Barbie song. Aggressively bright. I craned my neck, every muscle screaming protest, and saw it – a phone, its casing an obnoxious, glittering fuchsia. My phone. The one Kayden had smashed the day he’d dragged me into his toxic orbit. But how? Why was it here? Why was I here? Panic clawed at my throat. My breathing hitched, each inhale a raw, desperate gasp. Cold sweat broke out across my skin, my body shaking uncontrollably as I forced myself upright on the overly soft, marshmallow-like mattress. I ripped the covers away, frantically searching the room. A chaotic explosion of pink, glitter, and plushies. A teenager’s room. This isn't real. My feet, aching with a phantom soreness that cut through the haze of terror, instinctively carried me to the bathroom. The sight that greeted me was just as jarring, just as painfully, aggressively cheerful. Barbie pink tiles. A rose gold faucet. Disgust, a bitter taste, coated my tongue. I ignored the childish nightmare, my gaze snapping to the mirror. And then, I was speechless. "Young…" My fingers, unblemished, traced the smooth, porcelain curve of my cheek. Not a single fine line, no dark circles under my eyes. My skin glowed with a soft, pinkish flush. A face I hadn’t seen in years. A beautiful face. Two words no one had spoken to me, nor had I dared to speak to myself, in what felt like a lifetime. A faint buzz echoed from the bedroom. My phone. I ignored it, staring at my reflection. It was the face of Ayla before. Before the compromises, before the slow rot of betrayal, before the life was choked out of me. Before the end. My eyes snagged on the digital clock next to the vanity mirror. 3:00 PM. Not just the time. The date. March 13, 2018. HOW? A cold wave washed over me, replacing the panic with a chilling certainty. Time travel. It had to be. But if this was 2018… that meant he was alive. Kayden. And Olivia. And everything hadn't happened yet. But it would happen. My stomach dropped, a cold dread settling deep in my gut. This wasn't a dream. This was a second chance. A cursed, terrifying second chance. Suddenly, a soft knock echoed from the door. “Baby, come down for lunch!” That voice. Sweet, saccharine, laced with a false affection that now made my heart plummet to my belly, turning it to ice. Reality, it seemed, wasn't just a broken mirror. It was a replay of a nightmare. Kayden. No. History can NOT repeat itself. Not again. “Coming… baby,” I choked out, forcing a sweetness I didn't feel. The words came out dry, cold, a rasp against my raw throat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Control. I walked out, but froze, my gaze locking onto the man at the foot of the stairs. Kayden. The face I’d once adored, now a ticking time bomb of betrayal. He smiled, that charming, empty smile. "Hey, sleepyhead. Ready for lunch?" "Um… Where’s Olivia?" I asked, the name burning on my tongue. My voice was clipped, a stark contrast to the sugary lie I’d just uttered. Damn it, Ayla. Too soon. He didn't know I knew. Not yet. Kayden’s smile faltered. His eyes, usually so easy to read, shifted. He coughed. “What do you mean? Why would she be here?” "Kayden, she’s my best friend," I pushed, feigning innocence. "I thought she was coming with you? Is anything wrong?" His jaw tightened. A flash of defensiveness, quickly masked. "Why would I… I don't know where she is. She’s probably busy." He offered a strained, dismissive wave of his hand. My gaze drifted to his phone, clutched almost possessively in his hand. A notification. A text. My eyes, sharper now, caught a glimpse of the sender ID: 'Livy ❤️'. A cold, satisfied spark ignited in my chest. He was cheating. Right now. Just as he had been back then. Good. Let the games begin. He cleared his throat. “Actually, I just got an important call from work. Gotta go. Finish up lunch, baby. I’ll be back soon.” He leaned in, planting a quick, feigned kiss on my forehead, already pulling away, his hand already reaching for the doorknob. "Of course," I said, my voice sweet, a knife sheathed in silk. "Don't work too hard, baby." He was gone. His hurried footsteps echoing down the driveway. I knew. I knew it was Olivia. I knew he didn't have a job, not a real one. I knew it was all a lie, a house of cards that would come crashing down on our wedding day. The so-called happiest day of my life, the day that became my greatest curse. "Okay, Ayla," I whispered to the empty air, clenching my fists. "If you want revenge, you have to calm down." This time, things would be different. I wasn't the lovesick girl who gave verything – my family's mafia empire, my very identity – to that nouveau riche heir. I was Ayla, the mafia princess. And this time, he wouldn't just take. He would pay