The flood came.

People in Lecheng had already gotten the evacuation notice the day before. Everyone packed up in a rush, evacuating through the night.

The city, smothered under dark clouds, turned into a ghost town in no time.

Thunder cracked overhead, lightning lit up the night sky, and the rain poured like the sky had cracked open.

Inside a villa, the water was almost reaching the second floor, but faint, mournful violin music drifted out.

Up on the second-floor balcony stood Isabella Fairfax, long hair loose, a white dress swaying lightly with the wind. She was playing her violin like mad, like she was playing its final note for the world—or maybe for herself.

Truth was, she really didn’t want to live anymore.

At just twenty-three, Isabella was deep in the grips of depression. No way out. No cure.

The music faded.

The flood surged in.

She shut her eyes, ready for the end.

Then—her hand was yanked back, hard.

The next second, someone pulled her inside. The current missed them. They weren’t swept away.

Still standing. Still breathing.

The man’s arms were both burning hot and icy cold.

Her lashes were wet, eyes heavy, and in front of her was Alexander Prescott—covered in mud, soaked to the bone, but still heartbreakingly handsome. The storm’s flashes only made his features look sharper, a bit too unreal.

A soul that had been fading finally had something to grab onto again.

Her voice trembled, soaked with pain. “Alex, why did you come?”

She’d stayed away from him for so long, but in the end, he still found her. She had told him straight up that she didn’t like him. She’d said she’d never marry him. So why couldn’t he just let go?

Alexander leaned against the wall, still holding her tight. “Isabella, even if you're going to hell, I’m going with you.”

His voice was low and dark, twisted with obsession.

He hated the way she didn’t love him back. He wanted to rip her heart out, the part that didn’t belong to him, and smash it. Make her scared. Break her. Keep her so close she wouldn’t even think of running again.

But the truth? When she cried, he broke too. When she wanted to die, he only wanted to go with her.

“What is it about me that makes you like me?” Her peach blossom eyes were red, like a scared little bunny.

“Everything,” he said. “Every inch of you. Even your damn hair.”

She honestly kind of hated how stubborn he was. But right then, she couldn’t deny it—he was the only light in the darkness.

The only sweetness in all her bitter days came from him.

Isabella did like him. She just met him at the worst point of her life. Messed up, broken. And ended up pushing him away again and again.

The water climbed higher, almost to their shoulders now.

Alex’s voice turned soft. “Next life… don’t be sick again, okay?”

Her eyes welled up as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Okay.”

“And don’t fall for someone else. Wait for me.”

“What if you don’t come?”

“Then you come find me.” His breath brushed past her ear. “I swear I’ll fall for you at first sight all over again.”

“Deal.” She knew promises like that didn’t mean anything. But still, she made it with him.

With a thunderous boom, lightning split the sky.

Darkness swallowed everything.

The villa was gone. The flood took it all.

Alex... if there really is another life, I want to make tea with you on a snowy night, grow old in quiet days, come home together at sunset with warm lights waiting.

...

Winter rain, light but icy.

Water splashed steadily in the bathroom.The woman in the mirror looked stunning—clean and beautiful. Her face was shaped like an almond, with silky black hair cascading down her shoulders. Her lashes curled slightly, and her long, slanted eyes held a soft, alluring charm. Her gaze was so calm, so distant, almost as if nothing in the world could leave a mark on her, like she didn’t belong to this chaotic world full of emotions and daily struggles.

There was a red handprint on her cheek, but oddly enough, it didn’t ruin her looks—instead, it only made her look more delicate, a beauty too easy to pity.

As Isabella Fairfax stepped out of the bathroom, her eyes swept over the soft-toned bed, the old dressing table her mom had left her, her simple desk, and the guitar leaning quietly in the corner.

She paused for a second, stunned. It all seemed unreal.

Then she reached out and pinched herself. Hard.

Ouch. Yeah, not a dream.

She’d really gone back in time. Three years back. Right now, she was gaining popularity through a singing competition show.

Maybe it was the words Alexander Prescott said to her before she died, or maybe dying once honestly woke something deep inside her. That suffocating pain? No way she wanted to feel that again. For the first time, life actually felt... good to live.

And Alexander... he was alive too.

A faint smile touched her lips. She remembered their promise from the last life. At this point in time, they were complete strangers. But now? Now she wanted to find him.

Just then, her sister Mia’s voice chimed in from outside the door. “Sis, seriously, don’t be so petty. You don’t even like Ethan Sinclair. Why not just let Sophia have him?”

“She’s got it rough, you know? Heart problems, and she already ended up in the hospital thanks to you. Who knows how much time she’s even got left?”

Ethan Sinclair—the fiancé she’d never really cared about.

Sophia was her dad Thomas Fairfax’s daughter with his old flame. She only came into their lives after her mom passed away.

When Isabella found out Ethan had something shady going on with Sophia despite their engagement, she went back to confront her family. Before a word was even fully out, Sophia fainted out of nowhere.

And the joke? Thomas didn’t even try to understand. He slapped her across the face, accused her of bullying Sophia, and told her if anything happened to Sophia, she could get out of their house.

Mia didn’t defend her either. No, she stood right by Sophia’s side.

She used to care too much about family, constantly trying to win back Thomas and Mia. But she wasn’t someone who played mind games—so, in the end, all she got was pain, and later, depression.

Then came the betrayal from her friend, and a whole storm of public backlash. That was the final blow, the thing that kicked her out of the entertainment world and ruined her.

Truth is, real feelings only mean something if the person’s worth it.

Last time, she thought she was being smart but only tricked herself. That thought made her expression turn hard.

This time? She wasn’t going to give anyone who hurt her another chance. Ever again.

She opened the door.

“I don’t care about Ethan Sinclair, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna feel bad for Sophia just because she came between us.”

“Come on, calling her the other woman is harsh, don’t you think?” Mia frowned, clearly defending Sophia.

Not surprising. In her past life, Mia had never stood up for her either. And Isabella had given so much—shared her food, clothes, even took the blame whenever Mia messed up growing up.

“Mia, don’t call me sis anymore.” Isabella looked straight at her. “You don’t deserve it.”

Mia froze, completely shocked. She couldn’t even find words as Isabella brushed past her.

Her chest felt tight and weird as she watched her sister walk away.

Once Isabella disappeared from sight, Mia finally bit down on her lip and thought, Whatever. I never wanted to be your sister anyway.“Come on, when have you ever not been the first to make up after a fight? Just wait—when you come back to coax me, we'll see if I care.”

What she didn’t know was—this time, Isabella Fairfax never looked back.

…

It was late. The sky wore a bluish-black hue and snowflakes drifted lazily down.

Isabella drove away from the Fairfax estate.

The bar, Encounter, was a well-known hotspot in Jingcheng, popular among the city’s rich kids.

Outside, sports cars lined up in front. One stood out the most—jet black, sleek design, classy and imposing. There was only one like it in the entire city.

Every woman in Jingcheng dreamed of being the one to ride in that car.

Too bad none ever caught Mr. Prescott's eye.

Everybody knew Alexander Prescott was bad news—ruthless, moody, and impossible to please.

"Mr. Prescott’s here! Move, move!"

"Let's go! Quick!"

"Line up!"

The staff quickly formed two neat lines under the supervisor’s yell.

A tall, lean man walked through the falling snow with a black umbrella.

He came against the light, features shadowed yet unearthly handsome—half-angel, half-devil.

One word: dangerous.

Two words: heartbreak material.

“Mr. Prescott,” they all greeted in unison.

Alexander tossed his ridiculously pricey umbrella straight at the manager and strolled in.

The manager caught it and hurried after him. “Mr. Prescott, what would you like to drink tonight?”

Alexander headed straight to the best VIP booth, peering down at the chaos of people on the dance floor.

His eyes were unreadable, chilling.

“Clear out the place.”

“Uh, what?”

The manager froze—what kind of stunt was this now?

Alexander slowly repeated, “Are you deaf?”

The stare he gave was enough to suck the air out of the room. The manager broke into cold sweat. “Right away.”

“You’ve got ten minutes.”

“Uh, ten might not be enough...”

“Then you’re fired.”

About to cry, the manager scrambled to get the DJ.

Two minutes later, the blasting music was cut.

Everyone looked around, confused, as the manager grabbed the mic and shouted, “Sorry, folks! We’re closing early tonight—Mr. Prescott reserved the whole bar. You’re welcome to party somewhere else! If you’ve already spent money here, just show your transaction tomorrow and we’ll refund it.”

Luckily, it wasn’t too late, not a huge crowd yet. In under ten minutes, the place was mostly cleared.

Just as the manager was about to report back, he spotted a woman walking in—the kind you couldn’t miss.

She wore a soft peach-knitted dress under a chic designer coat. Red lips, lush black hair, that slender waist—she was unreal.

Normally, someone like her would instantly steal all the attention here.

The moment the manager saw her, he rushed over. “Miss, sorry—this place’s reserved tonight. Maybe try another bar?”

Mr. Prescott was unpredictable—they couldn’t afford to question him.

Isabella scanned the room, spotted her target almost at once. “I’m here to see someone.”

Her voice—like honey wrapped in windchimes.

The manager frowned. “Who?”

“Alexander Prescott.”

The manager nearly choked. Seriously? Just 'cause you’re pretty doesn’t mean the guy will give you the time of day.

He’d watched a woman throw herself at Alexander once, only to get dragged out terrified after nearly getting throttled.

“Miss, word of advice—don’t waste your time. He’s not the type you wanna mess with.”

But Isabella didn’t even acknowledge him. She walked confidently in Alexander’s direction.

“Stop her!” the manager panicked.

Hearing the commotion, Alexander looked up. A woman, graceful and striking, was being blocked by staff.

Then he saw her face.

His chest tightened. An inexplicable jolt ran through him.