Chapter 3

After calming down, flashes of unfamiliar memories zipped through her mind. To Faye’s surprise, she realized she actually had this body’s memories. This body belonged to a girl named Cassandra. She was the heiress of the Taylor Corporation, just two months away from turning eighteen, and had been diagnosed with autism. Her father was the president of the Taylor Group. Her mother had died during childbirth while delivering her younger brother. The elderly man from earlier was her grandfather. Then there was her five-year-old brother, Zion Taylor, and and a bunch of other extended family... The next morning— When Alexander came to the hospital with little Zion, Cassandra instantly told him she wanted to attend Faye’s funeral. She wanted one last look at the body that had been hers for eighteen years. And also, she wanted to send a clear warning to the two who betrayed her. Instead of launching a sudden attack, she preferred a slow burn, letting her enemies die in their own nightmares. When Cassandra arrived at the church wearing a floor-length crimson gown, the head of security was instantly on edge. Thinking she was here to stir trouble, he warned her to leave or he’d call the cops. But she wasn’t panicking—she already had a plan on her way over. She turned to ask the driver for a phone when a sleek silver Spyker C8 suddenly roared up like a phantom. In just a few seconds, it came to a smooth stop right next to her. Her curiosity got the better of her and she glanced over just as the back door opened. A pair of glossy, high-end leather shoes stepped out of the car, followed by a tall man clad in a custom-tailored black suit and a striking mask. In his arms, he held a bouquet of red spider lilies wrapped elegantly. The red spider lily—flower of the underworld, the demon’s grace. Even without seeing his face, she could feel the power and grace rolling off him. He wasn’t your average guy—he carried the presence of someone used to command. The masked man turned toward her, his voice clear and cold. “Miss, you need to leave. If you’re here to cause trouble, I’ll gladly put you six feet under with her.” His baritone voice carried a hint of British refinement, but what really came through was the chill—it was like being dragged into a freezing abyss. The head of security’s tone did a complete 180 after glancing at the card the man handed over. He hurriedly bowed and invited him in. Cassandra knew she didn’t owe him any explanations, but something made her speak up. Her voice trembled, eyes glistening with tears as she said to his retreating back, “Faye loved red more than anything. She hated the lifelessness of black-and-white. I know this dress might look disrespectful to some, but I swear it’s not meant that way. I wasn’t here to crash her funeral. This is her final journey. As her best friend... I just wanted to add a splash of the color she loved most.” The words left her in a rush, and after that, the tears she’d held back finally tumbled down. What could be more ironic than this—she was alive, attending her own funeral, burying her own body. And the people who killed her? They were out there, living it up. The man stopped when he heard her. He turned, staring at her silently. So, Faye—little liar that she was—had a friend like this? After a long pause, his voice, though still cold, broke the silence: “Let her in.”