Opehlia had barely stepped out the room, pushing away the fur curtain before Isabella waved dramatically in her direction.
"Throw it all away, darling! And fetch me some fruits! The good ones this time!"
As the girl scurried off, looking like a kicked puppy, Isabella leaned back against the chilly palace wall. Her fingers sank into the soft fur hide beneath her—one of the few luxuries this stone-age lifestyle allowed—and her lips curved into a smirk that was anything but sweet.
Zara wanted her dead?
Oh, please.
This life? This body? These cheekbones? Over her dead body.
Literally.
She still didn't know how she died in her past life—some tragic accident? Betrayal? Poisoned latte? She honestly didn't care anymore. That life was gone.
But this one? This one was just getting good. And she wasn't about to hand it over to some bitter bone headed-bimbo with toxic girl energy.
Suddenly, a chime echoed in her brain like an unwanted ringtone from hell.
