My Deceptive Heart

The cold prickle of the lethal injection syringe was my last sensation.

Then, I gasped, choking on air, my lungs burning as I shot upright in my own bed.

It was the morning of the day my life ended the first time.

Framed for a brutal hit-and-run, I' d watched my family crumble and my fiancée, Chloe, look on with pity-filled eyes.

Now, the date on my phone confirmed it. I was back.

A soft knock, and Chloe stood in the doorway, smiling.

Her presence, once comforting, now sent a jolt of pure fear through me.

I remembered the courtroom, her sorrowful gaze-it felt like a prelude to my personal hell.

"Leo, you awake? I made breakfast."

Her voice dripped with concern, a perfect performance.

My instinct screamed: change everything.

I told her I wasn' t feeling well, cancelling the fateful drive.

Her smile flickered, a micro-expression of annoyance I' d missed before.

Hours later, I heard her hushed voice from the living room, tight with frustration.

"No, he didn' t go," she hissed. "The point is to ruin him, whether he' s on the coast road or sitting on his damn couch. Find another way."

My world tilted. The woman I was to marry was plotting my destruction.

The cold dread of betrayal numbed me, then a white-hot rage ignited.

I bolted, my mind a blur. I had to run, to put distance, to survive.

But she was standing there, a fresh smile on her face.