Chapter 1 The Blade of Rebirth

# Chapter 1: The Blade of Rebirth

Nina Blackwood's final thought before death was surprisingly mundane. Not a flash of her life, not regret or fear, but simply: "The chandelier needs cleaning."

Then came the sudden, sickening sensation of falling backward, the sharp edge of each marble stair against her spine counting down her final moments. One. Two. Three. Her neck snapped on the fourth.

But death, it seemed, had other plans.

A violent gasp tore through Nina's lungs as consciousness slammed back into her body. Her eyes flew open to find herself standing at the top of the grand staircase in the west wing of the Blackwood estate. The very same staircase she had just fallen down.

She blinked rapidly, her mind struggling to process what was happening. The pain that should have been radiating through her broken body was gone. The darkness that had enveloped her was replaced by the warm afternoon light streaming through the tall windows.

And most importantly, she was alive.

"Darling, are you alright?"

The voice behind her sent ice through her veins. Ernest. Her husband. The man who had just pushed her to her death.

Nina felt his hand hovering just inches from her back—at the exact spot where he had applied the fatal push moments before. Or was it moments before? Nothing made sense.

"You seemed to sway a bit," Ernest continued, his voice dripping with practiced concern. "We wouldn't want any... accidents."

The way he said "accidents" made her skin crawl. She could hear the smile in his voice without having to turn around. The same charming smile that had first attracted her three years ago when he had approached her at the charity gala. The same smile he wore in their wedding photos. The same smile he had likely worn as he watched her tumble down the stairs to her death.

Only now, she wasn't dead.

Nina's mind raced. If this was real—if she had somehow been given a second chance—then she needed to play her cards carefully. Ernest couldn't know that she remembered. That she knew.

She turned slowly, her designer dress swirling around her ankles. Ernest stood before her, impeccable as always in his tailored charcoal suit. His dark hair was styled perfectly, his blue eyes concerned but with that cold calculation behind them that she had become all too familiar with during their marriage.

"I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile. "Just a moment of dizziness."

Then, acting on pure instinct—or perhaps the instinct for survival that had somehow transcended death itself—Nina did something completely unexpected. She stepped forward and embraced him.

Ernest stiffened momentarily, clearly taken aback by her sudden affection. They hadn't shared a genuine embrace in months, not since she had begun to suspect his infidelities, not since she had discovered the discrepancies in the company accounts, not since she had confronted him about the mysterious calls in the middle of the night.

"What's this for?" he asked, his arms cautiously returning her embrace.

"I just realized how lucky I am," Nina whispered against his chest, her voice steady despite the hatred boiling inside her. "To have you."

As she pressed against him, her hand slid into her dress pocket where she knew—from a lifetime that apparently hadn't happened yet—that she kept the emergency sleeping pill she had been carrying for weeks due to insomnia. The pill she had never taken because Ernest had been drugging her tea each night anyway.

With practiced sleight of hand—a skill she had picked up during their second year of marriage when his controlling behavior had forced her to become secretive—she extracted the pill and crushed it between her fingers inside her pocket. The gelatin capsule split, releasing the powdered medication.

Still embracing him, she moved her hand to his chest, slipping it inside his suit jacket as if in an intimate gesture. Her fingers found his breast pocket and deposited the crushed pill and its contents inside. It would dissolve slowly into the expensive fabric, creating a concentrated spot of the drug that would be absorbed through his skin over the next hour.

"You seem different," Ernest said as she pulled away, his eyes searching her face with suspicion.

"Do I?" Nina tilted her head, the picture of innocence. "Perhaps I'm just happy."

Ernest's lips curled into what others might mistake for a smile, but Nina recognized it as the predatory expression it truly was. "Well, happiness suits you. Now, shall we discuss the charity gala for tomorrow? I've invited the Morgans and the Whitehalls."

"Of course," Nina replied, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her. "But first, I need to freshen up."

As she turned away, her eyes caught the ornate grandfather clock at the end of the hallway—an heirloom from Ernest's family that had stood in the same spot for generations. The clock that had witnessed countless Blackwood family secrets.

The time displayed on its antique face made her blood freeze: 6:01 PM.

Nina's mind flashed back to her death—the paramedics pronouncing her dead at 7:00 PM exactly. She remembered because one of them had commented on the timing, saying something about "right on the hour" as they noted the time of death.

She had exactly 59 minutes until the moment she had died in her previous life.

59 minutes to change her fate.

59 minutes to ensure that this time, it would be Ernest who didn't survive the evening.

"Actually," Nina called over her shoulder, her voice honey-sweet, "why don't I fix us some drinks while we talk? I'm thinking martinis."

"Dry, with—"

"Two olives," she finished for him. "I know what you like, darling."

As she descended the stairs—the very stairs that had been the instrument of her death—Nina felt strangely powerful. Death had given her clarity. She now saw the signs she had missed before: the way Ernest had insisted she wear her highest heels today despite knowing they had to navigate the marble staircase; how he had scheduled the household staff to be absent this evening; the mysterious text she had glimpsed on his phone about "insurance payouts."

In the bar room, Nina expertly mixed the martinis, adding an extra splash of vermouth to hers to distinguish it from Ernest's. Her hands were steady as she worked, her mind calculating each step of what was to come.

When she returned to the study where Ernest was reviewing papers—likely the very documents that would transfer her considerable inheritance to him upon her death—she set his drink down with a smile.

"To us," she said, raising her glass.

Ernest clinked his glass against hers, his eyes never leaving her face. "To the future."

"Indeed," Nina replied, taking a sip. "The future will certainly be interesting."

As Ernest drank deeply from his martini, Nina glanced at the grandfather clock visible through the study doorway.

58 minutes remaining.

She settled into the leather chair opposite Ernest, crossing her legs elegantly. "So tell me about the gala tomorrow. Who else is coming?"

As Ernest launched into details about the guest list—a party she knew she had never been meant to attend—Nina began to plot. The poison in his pocket was just the beginning. A contingency plan. She needed something more certain.

She thought about the notebook in the safe upstairs, the one Ernest had been using to forge entries that would suggest she had been depressed for months. The perfect prelude to a suicide that was never meant to be suicide at all.

"I was thinking," she interrupted smoothly, "that I should wear the diamond necklace tomorrow. The one your mother left me."

Ernest's eyes flickered with something—annoyance perhaps, that she would mention his mother's jewelry which had been meant for his sister. The sister who had mysteriously disappeared three years ago, shortly after Nina and Ernest's engagement.

"If you wish," he said, voice tight. "You'll need to get it from the safe."

"Would you mind?" Nina asked, widening her eyes slightly. "You know how I always mix up the combination."

It was a lie. She knew the combination perfectly. But Ernest didn't know that she knew. He believed his secrets were still safe.

"Of course," Ernest sighed, setting down his drink and standing. As he moved past her chair, Nina noticed the slightest unsteadiness in his step. The crushed pill was already beginning to work, absorbed through his skin and enhanced by the alcohol.

She followed him up the stairs, watching as he braced himself once on the banister. At the top landing—the very spot where she had died—Ernest paused, blinking rapidly.

"Are you feeling alright?" Nina asked, concern dripping from her voice like honey.

"Fine," he muttered. "Just a bit lightheaded."

In their bedroom, Ernest moved to the painting that concealed the wall safe. Nina stood just behind him, watching carefully as his fingers worked the dial. Right 22, left 14, right 39. The combination she had discovered months ago but had pretended not to know.

As the safe door swung open, Nina caught sight of its contents: the diamond necklace, yes, but also several folders containing what she knew were falsified documents about her mental health, a loaded revolver, and at the bottom, a document she hadn't seen before.

Ernest reached for the necklace, but Nina was focused on the unknown document. From her angle, she could just make out the words "Prenuptial Agreement" and a signature that wasn't hers.

A fake prenup. Another piece of his plan.

As Ernest turned to hand her the necklace, she saw his eyes struggling to focus. The drug was taking effect faster than she had anticipated.

"Thank you, darling," she said, taking the necklace and letting her fingers brush against his. "It's almost dinner time. Why don't you rest while I prepare something?"

Ernest nodded, moving unsteadily toward the bed. "Maybe just for a few minutes."

Nina smiled as she backed toward the door. "Take your time. I'll call you when dinner's ready."

In the hallway, she glanced once more at the grandfather clock.

50 minutes until her original time of death.

But this time, fate had a different victim in mind. And Nina was just getting started.