The rain poured extremely heavily at midnight. Distant flashes of lightning highlighted an old warehouse on the margins of the city now covered in blood. An obvious stench of death, gunpowder's stinging odor blended with the metallic tang of blood permeated the air.

Standing wounded and bruised in the center of the damaged room Alina Devereaux, the dreaded mafia leader, Her breathing was erratic, her right hand still grasped a gun almost out of bullets, her left hand pressed against her wounded belly.

Marco, the man she had most trusted, stood opposite from her holding a smoking gun. His stare was arrogant, as if he were delighting in the sight of his leader teetering on the verge of death.

You betrayed me? Alina's voice was subdued, yet her eyes blazed with rage.

Marco laughed and approached. Behind him, their troops-now devoted to him-raised their guns ready to fire.

Alina, you have been at the pinnacle for too long. "Now it's my turn." He turned his pistol right at her heart. "I'm done living in your shadow."

Suppressing the intense pain, Alina bit her lip. Her keen eyes found the man she had formerly regarded as a brother.

"I trusted you ..."

"And that was your worst error."

Bang!

One bullet penetrated her chest. Her body stumbled backward before hitting the cold, blood-soaked floor, time appeared to slow down. Leaky ceiling rain splashed onto her wan face. Her body numbed, her voice caught in her throat, and her eyesight blurred.

One pledge blazed in her heart just before her awareness vanished entirely, though:

Should I have a second chance at life, I will never trust anybody once more. And within seconds, darkness engulfed her.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

A heart monitor's monotonous beeping echoed faintly. Sharp and clinical, antiseptics' cold scent filled the air. Alina gasped, then awoke with difficult breaths. Her vision clouded under the strong white overhead lights. Shocked, several persons in white and blue uniforms stared at her.

"The corpse is still alive!"

A terrified voice broke the calm. Others retreated, their faces pale as a nurse let the clipboard fall in her hands.

Frowning, Alina tried to understand the circumstances. She was no longer lying on a blood-soaked, filthy floor. Instead, she was in a immaculate space with bright floors and white walls. Her body was draped with a fresh white blanket, one that felt foreign; an IV was linked to her arm.

Her face still betraying traces of disbelief, a woman in medical scrubs hurried to her side. "Dr. Aileen, you're awake?" Her voice trembled somewhat, yet her eyes shined with relief. "Thank goodness, we thought you weren't going to make it."

Alina stopped cold. "Doctor?

The word felt unfamiliar on her tongue. She wasn't a mafia leader? Why were all the people calling her "doctor"?

As she checked her vitals, the nurse gave a little, shaky grin. "Temporary amnesia after a near-death experience is usual. Dr. Aileen, you need to rest.

Alina was quiet; her thoughts were turbulent. The nurse slowly sat up in bed and gazed at her own hands as she departed. No scars, no bullet wounds. Her skin was immaculate-totally unlike the battle-worn body she recalled.

A little ID card suddenly slid out of her hospital gown's pocket.

She grabbed it with shaking hands and read the name:

Dr. Aileen Monroe

Surgeon, Bungalow International Hospital.

Eyes locking onto the mirror across the room, her head snapped up. That was not her face.

"I am a physician?!

Alina froze staring at the reflection. Her chest thumped, and her breathing grew rapid. The woman in the mirror wasn't her.

She approached unevenly, as if wishing the mirror would alter. It fell, but not. The woman in the mirror was still the same: bright green eyes, perfect complexion, and long, flowing blonde hair.

"No way." Her tone barely whispered, brimming with astonishment.

Her hands trembled when she touched her own face. It felt actual. But this wasn't her face. Where were her battle wounds? Where were the traces of the life she had battled through?

Who is this...? Is this me?

Her brain sped. She recalled everything: the searing agony as the bullet tore across her chest, the warmth of her blood spilling, the chilly floor that had turned into her deathbed.

Marco also ....

She was enraged. Marco, the jerk. That traitor. Now, though, she was alive. In the body of someone else.

Knock! Knock!

A knock on the door jerked her back to reality.

"Dr. Monroe, are you okay?"

Doctor Monroe?

Her thoughts racing, Alina stopped her breath. Dr. Monroe? Was she today?

She took a deep breath and pushed herself to remain cool. Panic would not solve anything if she actually was in another person's body. Turning the doorknob, her hand crept sluggishly toward it. A young nurse stood in the threshold, her brow furrowed with worry.

"You have been inside for quite some time. We were concerned you hadn't totally healed from the incident."