Bound to the Enemy: The Mafia's Obsession

Her body convulsed as her dantian finally collapsed, the unfathomable amount of qi surging in her golden core and shattering it with her organs. A final surge of power ripped through her frame, tearing her apart from within.

A huge resonance came as the powerful surge of qi shattered her form with a final tragic cry that escaped her lips.

And then-silence.

From her ruined body, only a single tear fell. A lone drop of grief, of love, of betrayal. It slipped down her bloodied cheek as her form dissolved into nothingness.

That lone teardrop crystallized midair, shimmering with an otherworldly glow, as though heaven itself mourned her and her deep love, and the sorrow and pain that followed.

It landed in the outstretched palm of the immortal god like man, delicate and translucent-her last gift, her last curse.

The only remaining part of her.

The immortal like man stood upon the cliff, gazing at the jewel of sorrow resting in his hand. The crystallized teardrop pulsed faintly with her essence, fragile yet eternal.

As the storm calmed down, the assassins all moved away with a wave of the man's hand.

He stood alone, his long hair billowing, the strands searching for their counterpart yet failing to find it. He suddenly spurted out a mouthful of blood staining his robes scarlet. His blood staining the crystallized teardrop which pulsed faintly in his palms.

Unable to hold back the cry in his throat anymore, the tall and mighty man collapsed on his knees as his first tears since he was ever born spilled from his forever frozen eyes.

Her life was gone. Her love was broken. And yet, a piece of Cassandra remained-forever trapped in his grasp. A piece of her sorrow and hatred which was borne from love.

Rowan Empire

In the sprawling luxurious estate of House Bolton.

A splitting headache tore Cassandra Feng from the abyss of dreams, one of hers in a loop of escaping and the pain of her body exploding as her golden core shattered, the other a strange one filled with strangers.

Dreams that weren't hers-faces she had never seen, voices that weren't her own, places she had never walked, an entirely strange world she was unfamiliar with. She gasped awake with a cry, body soaked with sweats and heart pounding as though it still remembered being torn apart.

Her vision sharpened, and she froze as she sensed the presence of others around her.

Four women stood around her bed like silent sentinels, clad in black suits, their presence radiating cold intimidation. Their stillness was unnatural, their gazes sharp enough to cut. The kind of pressure that would crush any ordinary girl into obedience.

Cassandra's throat tightened. Where was she? Who were they?

One of them stepped forward, her voice like a blade of ice.

"Young Miss, First Madame ordered that you are to remain confined to your quarters until the Eldest Young Master returns."

Without another word, the four women turned in mechanical unison and left, the door slamming shut with a finality that reverberated through Cassandra's chest. A heavy bolt scraped into place, locking her away.

She was a prisoner.

She sat up abruptly, her body trembling-not from fear, but from the sudden, searing flood of memories not her own. Images, names, sensations-foreign and invasive-crashed into her skull, the searing pain nearly tearing away her consciousness.

She clutched her head, rolling onto the bed as a strangled cry tore from her lips.

When the storm receded, she lay gasping, pale and clammy, her chest heaving as though she'd clawed her way back from death. Slowly, she turned her head.

The mirror placed beside the bed reflected everything.

Her reflection stared back at her-an exquisite young girl with delicate features, her long black hair spilling like silk over a fragile frame that was not Cassandra's.

Her stomach dropped.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhh!"

The scream ripped through her throat, piercing and raw. But outside the door, the guards didn't even flinch. To them, this was routine. Their "Youngest Miss" often wailed whenever locked inside by the First Madame.

But this wasn't routine for Cassandra.

She stumbled from the bed and lunged toward the mirror, gripping its sides with bloodless knuckles. Wide, disbelieving eyes stared back at her from a stranger's face. Her breath came ragged, too fast, too shallow.

What the hell happened?!

Her memories clawed their way forward-blood, assassins, betrayal. Her Master's hand striking her dantian, the explosion of qi, her body ripping apart from within.

She had died!

She remembered dying.

So why... why was she alive, trapped in the body of a girl she had never known, in a family she had never belonged to?

Waking up and finding herself trapped inside the body of a seventeen-year-old girl-Cassandra Bolton, the youngest daughter of the infamous Bolton Family, and inheriting the memories of original Cassandra Bolton.

What in the world is happening?

Is this her brain concocting hallucinations before her last breath out of sheer will to survive?