Betrayal on a Dark Night

The rain poured heavily in the dead of night. Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating an old warehouse on the outskirts of the city, now drenched in pools of blood. The air was thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder, mingling with the metallic tang of blood—an unmistakable stench of death.

In the middle of the wrecked room, Alina Devereaux, the feared mafia leader, stood battered and wounded. Her breath was ragged, her left hand pressed against her bleeding abdomen, while her right hand still clutched a gun, nearly out of bullets.

Across from her, Marco—the man she had trusted the most—stood with a smoking gun in his hand. His gaze was filled with arrogance, as if savoring the sight of his leader teetering on the brink of death.

"You... betrayed me?" Alina's voice was weak, yet her eyes still burned with fury.

Marco chuckled, stepping closer. Behind him, their subordinates—now loyal to him—stood with their weapons raised, ready to fire.

"You've been at the top for too long, Alina. Now it's my turn." He aimed his gun directly at her heart. "I'm done living in your shadow."

Alina bit her lip, suppressing the searing pain. Her sharp eyes locked onto the man she once considered a brother.

"I trusted you..."

"And that was your biggest mistake."

Bang!

A single bullet pierced her chest. Time seemed to slow as her body staggered backward before crashing onto the cold, blood-soaked floor. Rain dripped through the leaky ceiling, splashing onto her pale face. Her vision blurred, her voice caught in her throat, and her body grew numb.

But just before her consciousness slipped away completely, one promise burned in her heart:

If I get a second chance at life… I will never trust anyone again.

And within seconds, darkness consumed her.

---

Beep... beep... beep...

The monotonous beeping of a heart monitor echoed faintly. The sterile scent of antiseptics filled the air, sharp and clinical.

Alina gasped, jerking awake with labored breaths. Her vision blurred from the harsh white light of the overhead lamps. Around her, several people in white and blue uniforms stared at her, wide-eyed in shock.

"The corpse is alive!"

A panicked voice shattered the silence. A nurse dropped the clipboard in her hands, while others backed away, their faces pale.

Alina frowned, struggling to grasp the situation. She was no longer lying on a dirty, blood-soaked floor. Instead, she was in a pristine room with white walls and gleaming floors. An IV was attached to her arm, and a crisp white blanket covered her body—one that felt foreign.

A woman in medical scrubs hurried to her side, her face still carrying traces of disbelief. "Dr. Aileen, you're awake?" Her voice trembled slightly, but her eyes shone with relief. "Thank goodness, we thought you weren't going to make it."

Alina froze. "Doctor?"

The word felt foreign on her tongue. Wasn't she a mafia boss? Why was everyone calling her 'doctor'?

The nurse offered a small, hesitant smile while checking her vitals. "Temporary amnesia after a near-death experience is normal. You should rest, Dr. Aileen."

Alina remained silent, her mind in turmoil. As the nurse left, she slowly sat up in bed and stared at her own hands. No bullet wounds, no scars. Her skin was flawless—completely different from the battle-worn body she remembered.

Suddenly, something slipped from the pocket of her hospital gown—a small ID card.

With trembling fingers, she picked it up and read the name:

Dr. Aileen Monroe

Surgeon, Bungalow International Hospital

Her head snapped up, eyes locking onto the mirror across the room.

That wasn't her face.

"I'm a doctor?!"

Alina froze, staring at the reflection. Her heart pounded, her breathing quickened. The woman in the mirror... wasn't her.

Unsteadily, she approached, as if hoping the reflection would change. But it didn't. The woman in the mirror remained the same—bright green eyes, flawless skin, and long, flowing blonde hair.

"No way..." Her voice was barely a whisper, filled with disbelief.

Her hands trembled as she touched her own face. It felt real. But this wasn't her face. Where were her battle scars? Where were the marks of the life she had fought through?

"Who is this...? Is this me?"

Her mind raced. She remembered everything—the searing pain as the bullet tore through her chest, the warmth of her blood spilling, the cold floor that had become her deathbed.

And Marco…

A fiery rage ignited within her. Marco, that bastard. That traitor.

But now?

She was alive. In someone else's body.

Knock! Knock!

A knock on the door jolted her back to reality.

"Dr. Monroe? Are you okay?"

Dr. Monroe?

Alina held her breath, her mind racing. Dr. Monroe? Was that who she was now?

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to stay calm. If she truly was in someone else's body, panicking wouldn't help.

Her hand slowly reached for the doorknob, turning it. A young nurse stood in the doorway, her face filled with concern.

"You've been inside for quite a while. We were worried you hadn't fully recovered from the accident."