Chapter 1

I spent twelve years surviving the apocalypse. I’ve killed more zombies than I’ve seen living people. When I died in that final battle, I thought I’d finally earned some rest. Then I opened my eyes and found myself in a silk nightgown, standing in a marble-floored living room.

A woman with blood-red nails stood before me, her hand raised in the air. Her expression was full of the kind of contempt one has for an insect. “Sianna Sterling, I’m talking to you―your allowance is cut in half this month. You don’t have the right to waste money on trash.”

As her hand swung toward me, I looked down at my own hands. These weren't the hands that had gripped a blade for twelve years. They were white, soft, and decorated with a tacky diamond ring on the ring finger.

But the muscle memory was still there. My arm snapped up before she could even graze me. I caught her wrist in one hand, twisted her halfway around, and pinned her to the floor.

The living room stayed dead silent for five whole seconds.

1

The sky in the apocalypse was always gray. I spent twelve years crawling through ruins. From nineteen to thirty-one, the first thing I did every morning was check if my knife was still there. If the knife was there, I was alive; if not, I was dead.

My final stand was at a decommissioned nuclear plant in the North. It was a Level 4 mutated beast―fifteen feet long with four forelimbs that could regenerate instantly. I managed to sever three of them before my strength gave out.

When its last limb impaled my chest, I heard my teammates shouting my code name through the comms. They called it three times. Then, there was nothing but silence. I wanted to say something, but my mouth was filled with blood.

When I opened my eyes again, the sky was white. It wasn’t the gray of the end times―it was a ceiling. It was flat, pristine, and featured a massive crystal chandelier.

Everything beneath me was soft. It wasn’t a pile of rubble; it was a bed. A huge one with silk sheets. On the nightstand, a scented candle flickered next to a cup of steaming Earl Grey tea.

I looked at my hands. They weren't the hands covered in thick calluses from a decade of fighting. These were different. They were delicate and pale, with a heavy diamond ring on the finger. The rock was so big it looked fake.

I sat up and caught my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror across the room. The woman in the glass was pale, her light brown hair styled in expensive curls. One strap of her silk nightgown had slipped off her shoulder. She looked like a hothouse flower―the kind that would snap in a light breeze.

This wasn't my body.

The door swung open. A woman in a designer silk wrap dress stood there. She looked to be in her fifties, her face caked in heavy foundation and her lips painted a dark, bruised red. She didn't just look at me; she scrutinized me. It was the look of a debt collector coming for what’s owed.

“Sianna, you’re finally awake? Then get up―you’ve spent way too much this month. From now on, your allowance is being slashed.”

Sianna Sterling. That was this body’s name. Fragments of information began to drop into my mind like corrupted files being recovered from a hard drive. This woman was Mrs. Sterling. My mother-in-law.

“Did you hear me?” she snapped, stepping closer. She pointed a finger at my face, her dark red polish catching the light. “I’m talking to you―don’t think marrying into the Sterling family gives you a blank check. You need to remember your place.”

She paused, her lips curling into a sneer I knew all too well. I’d seen it a thousand times in the wasteland―the look a predator gives its prey. But she wasn't a predator. She was just a wealthy socialite who bullied her daughter-in-law for sport.

“You came from a nobody family. Do you have any idea how much the Sterlings have spent on you―”

As her palm came flying toward my face, I looked down at my hands again. They were soft, pampered hands that had never seen a day of work. But these hands had once wielded an alloy blade.

Muscle memory doesn't die with the body. It’s etched into the nerves. My arm moved before I even thought about it. I locked her wrist with my right hand and shoved her shoulder with my left.

I hooked her ankle with my right foot―a standard takedown I’d used on mutated hounds. She spun in mid-air and hit the floor with a sickening thud. The room went still.

The silk dress, the red nails, the scented candles―it all faded into the background. All that mattered was the woman pinned beneath me. She couldn't even scream. Her mouth was open, but she was just gasping for air because the impact had knocked the wind out of her.

“Sianna... you... you’ve lost it... Let go of me! I’m telling Finn!” she wheezed.

I looked down at her. Those red nails that were pointing at me so arrogantly a moment ago were now trembling.

“Are you his mother?” I asked coldly.

“How... how dare you―”

“I asked you a question. Yes or no?”

“Yes! And when my son finds out what you’ve done, he’ll ruin you!”

“What’s his name?”

She froze. She probably couldn't believe that her normally submissive daughter-in-law didn't even remember her husband's name. But I really didn't. The mental files regarding Finn Sterling were a total blank. Maybe the original Sianna had been in so much pain she’d formatted that part of her brain herself.

“Finn... Finn Sterling! How could you not know?”

“Fine,” I said, releasing her wrists. I stood up, my nightgown strap still hanging off my shoulder. I didn't bother fixing it. “Where is he?”

“At the office―”

“Tell him to come home. Now.”

“By what right do you―”

I crouched down until we were eye-to-eye. In my old life, I was nearly six feet tall. This body was shorter, maybe five-foot-five. But the aura was the same.

“By the right that you can’t beat me in a fight.”

Two maids were huddled in the corner of the room. They’d been frozen since the third second of the encounter. I glanced at them as I stood up. Before I could even speak, they both set their trays on the floor and scrambled back a step.

“Ma’am... we didn't see anything...”

“If you saw it, you saw it,” I said, walking toward the hallway. My stride was steady. The sound of my silk slippers on the marble was barely a whisper.

“Tell your boss I’ll be back for dinner.”