The Billionaire's Dead Wife

Prologue

Five Years Ago

The first thing I learned about death was that people cry for the wrong reasons.

They cried because they thought I was gone.

They cried because my husband stood beside an empty coffin with tears running down his face.

They cried because the woman they knew as Amara Blackwood had supposedly taken her last breath.

But nobody cried for the truth.

Because nobody knew it.

I stood behind the tinted window of a black car across the street, watching my own funeral.

My hands were shaking.

Not because I was afraid.

Because I wanted to go back.

I wanted to open that church door.

I wanted to scream that I was alive.

I wanted to run into Damian's arms and tell him everything.

But I couldn't.

Not yet.

"Don't look at him," the man beside me warned.

I ignored him.

My eyes remained fixed on the man standing beside my coffin.

Damian.

My husband.

The man I had loved more than my own life.

He looked broken.

His black suit was perfectly pressed, his face emotionless for everyone watching, but I knew him.

I knew the way his jaw tightened when he was trying not to cry.

I knew the way his fingers curled into fists when he was angry.

And I knew that look in his eyes.

He wasn't mourning me.

He was hunting someone.

I swallowed hard.

"Does he know?" I whispered.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

The man beside me turned toward me.

"If Damian knew you were alive, half the city would be dead by morning."

I looked back at the church.

He was right.

Damian Blackwood didn't forgive betrayal.

And I had betrayed him.

Or at least, that was what he believed.

A tear slipped down my cheek.

"I never wanted to hurt him."

"You don't have a choice anymore."

I slowly looked at him.

"What happens now?"

He reached into his coat and handed me a small envelope.

My name was written across it.

AMARA.

My heart stopped.

"What's this?"

"Your new life."

I stared at the envelope.