Tilda's heart skipped a beat. Her blood type wasn't just rare—it was almost mythical. Doctors called it "Golden Blood," officially the Omega type. It was so uncommon it could be given to anyone, but she could only receive blood from someone with the exact same type. Anything else, and her body would reject it on the spot. No one could explain how she'd ended up with it. Russell and Blair both had normal blood types. The doctors had shrugged and called it a genetic mutation. That "mutation" was what got her adopted out of the orphanage by her mentor—a brilliant, enigmatic figure who'd taught her everything she knew. He once told her her uncanny instincts and the way she learned like lightning might all be connected to her blood. Years ago, when she was critically injured, the hospital hadn't had a single unit of Omega blood in the entire country. Desperate, she'd called Andy. He'd scoured the dark web and, after spending a fortune, finally found one matching donor. That incident had been a wake-up call. Ever since, she'd kept a personal supply of her own blood in storage—and asked Andy to quietly search for anyone else with the same type, just in case. Because when you lived in her world, you learned early: you always needed backup plans. But in her previous life, when she'd cut ties with Andy and walked away from the dark web, those safety nets had vanished. She'd been terrified that keeping any connection to that world would bring trouble to the Jensons. "What did he say, exactly?" she asked. Andy hesitated. "You're gonna think I'm nuts, but… he wants to sign a contract with you." Tilda frowned. "A contract?" "To sleep beside him." She blinked. "Come again?" “Yeah. Says because of the side effects from his blood type, he hasn't been able to sleep for years—it's only gotten worse. But apparently, the scent of someone with the same blood helps him fall asleep. He's offering serious money, Queen." "…Got it." When the call ended, Tilda stepped out onto the tiny motel balcony. Her phone buzzed—a transfer notification. Payment received. More than enough to keep her afloat for a while. "Omega blood side effects, huh?" she muttered, rubbing her temples. Truth was, she had them too. Not insomnia. Nightmares. When she was little, they came once or twice a week. As she got older, they came almost every night—darker, heavier, more suffocating. By the time she'd died in her last life, she'd been haunted six nights out of seven. They always showed her what she feared most. Back then, that fear had a name: family. The accusations. The betrayal. The way they'd cut her off like she was nothing. In her dreams, Kyla laughed, wrapped in warm family hugs, while Tilda was trapped behind glass—banging, screaming, unheard. Sand would start to fall, filling the glass bubble, burying her alive as Kyla smiled in the light. "I wonder if I'll get another nightmare tonight," she said with a dry little laugh. If the Jensons tried to hurt her again, she doubted she'd even feel it. Sometimes, unspoken pain weighed more than despair itself. ... The Next Morning Tilda groaned and rubbed her forehead. Another nightmare. Not about the Jensons this time—but just as bad. The fire again. The heat. The choking smoke. The agony that made her want to claw her way out of her own skin. At this point, nightmares were practically routine. All she wanted was one decent night's sleep. Just one night of peace. Was it because of her blood type? Could sleeping beside someone like her really help?She reached for her phone. Sixteen missed calls. Not one from the Jensons. Every single one from her best friend—Una Colon. In her past life, she'd nearly broken under the weight of it all—the desperate need for love, the constant fear of being abandoned, the relentless nightmares. If it hadn't been for Una, she might've ended her life long before the Jensons had the chance to destroy it. Everyone has a weakness. Even Tilda. And back then, hers had been her hunger for family. She'd given up everything for them—her pride, her dignity, even her life. But in this life? That weakness was gone. She hit "call back." Three seconds later, Una picked up. "Oh my God, Tilda! Are you okay? I saw the news last night!" "Sorry, Una," Tilda said softly. "I moved out of my family's place and passed out right after. Didn't mean to make you worry." "You moved out?!” Tilda told her everything. "That's awful. You must be so upset." They'd met freshman year at Orica University—two computer science majors who'd instantly clicked. At first, Tilda had seemed distant, hard to read. But Una had quickly realized she wasn't cold—just lonely. Tilda had grown up in an orphanage and had seen more of the world's cruelty than most adults. Her mentor had been the first person to ever show her real kindness. Strict, yes—but kind. Then, sophomore year, an accident took him away. After that, Tilda had locked her heart up tight. All she'd wanted was to find her family. That was why she'd endured everything the Jensons had thrown at her—the lies, the punishments, the humiliation. Because losing them felt like dying all over again. "I'm okay now, Una," she said quietly. "I've finally figured it out. Maybe I lost a family, but I still have plenty to hold on to. I've got you—my best friend." This time, she wouldn't chase after love that hurt her. She'd live for the people who truly cared. "That's right!" Una said, voice fierce. "From now on, I'm your sister. My home is your home. You've met my parents—they adore you. Call them Mom and Dad if you want." Warmth spread through Tilda's chest. "Thanks, Una. By the way, I've already taken a few days off. Told my advisor I've got personal stuff to handle." "Tilda, do you even have a place to stay? You gave up your dorm when you moved in with the Jensons. Why don't you just crash at my place?" "I'm fine. I've got somewhere lined up. But when I need a shoulder, I'll come knocking." "You'd better," Una said. "We might not be rich like the Jensons, but our door's always open to you." Tilda hung up, took a deep breath. Yes—she still had people worth holding on to. Andy. Una. In her past life, she'd been such a fool. But now? Things were different. She slipped on a mask and sunglasses and stepped out, leaving her luggage at the front desk. First stop: Porsche dealership. She dropped $150,000 cash on a brand-new Cayenne. No loans. No waiting list. Just something she could drive off the lot tomorrow. The staff treated her with polite smiles—they were used to girls like her. Young. Mysterious. Loaded. Next stop: a real estate office. She wired three million for a fully furnished apartment in the city center. Perfect size, move-in ready. She signed the contract, transferred the funds, and walked out with the keys in hand. By the time she was done, the sky had turned dark. Tilda wheeled her suitcase into her new place. Floor-to-ceiling windows. The city skyline glowing below.This was her fresh start. Her phone buzzed—it was Una. Tilda smiled as she answered. "Hey, Una. What's up?" "Am I catching you at a bad time?" "Not at all. I'm all done for the day." "Then meet me at Nightingale Bar. I figured we could grab a drink." Una had been wracking her brain for ways to cheer her up without reopening wounds. A quiet bar by the river seemed like the safest bet. Nightingale wasn't the wild, club-scene kind of place—it was mellow and elegant, where you could sip something smooth, feel the breeze, and watch city lights shimmer on the water. Tilda knew exactly what Una was doing—and the thought warmed her heart. "Sure," she said softly. "See you there." ... At Nightingale Bar Wade sat alone at the counter, slowly swirling the amber liquid in his glass, his gaze fixed somewhere distant. "Wade," a voice drawled beside him, "never thought I'd see you like this. What's going on? Drowning your sorrows?"