Back From the Dead, Now He's the One Dying for Me Free Preview

"Who does it belong to?"

The ice in the man's voice, seeping through clenched teeth, felt like it could swallow Isabella Carter whole.

After three years as Xavier Moore's executive assistant and three years of marriage, this was the first time he hadn't simply looked right through her.

Isabella reached out, out of habit, to straighten the collar of his dress shirt.

But her wrist was snatched mid-air. Xavier's grip was vicious, as if he meant to crush the bones.

"You're hurting me," Isabella murmured, frowning. The words came out soft, almost like a plea.

Xavier stared down at her. His eyes, always so cold and impenetrable, were now visibly bloodshot.

"My patience is running thin. Tell me who he is now, and then take care of that b*stard."

"Xavier," Isabella said, a faint smile touching her lips, an odd contrast to the storm in his eyes. "Aren't you even going to ask how I got pregnant when you haven't laid a hand on me?"

"I don't care how twisted or desperate you are deep down," Xavier whispered, his face so close she could feel his breath against her mouth, his expression dripping with contempt.

Isabella's smile widened, but inside, everything had gone cold and still.

Three years ago, Xavier's younger brother, Noah Moore, was dying. He needed a specific, rare blood type. Isabella was a match—a universal donor with a Rh-null phenotype, one of the rarest in the world. She agreed to be the permanent, on-call donor, on one condition—Xavier had to marry her.

He did. And for three years, he'd treated their home like a hotel he never checked into. He never looked at her, not really. Still, she asked about his day.

She managed his chaotic life at Moore Group, becoming his seamless, invisible support system.

Whenever Noah needed blood, Xavier would call. For three years, through snowstorms and fevers, she showed up. She never took so much as an aspirin, afraid it might affect a donation.

But this time, she lost.

A week ago, Isabella had attended a high-stakes charity gala on Xavier's behalf. At the hotel, she saw him from across the ballroom. He was kissing a woman—a long, deep kiss that spoke of history, not haste.

She learned the woman was Linda Allen, the daughter of the Allens, old family friends of the Moores. Linda was Xavier's first love, the one he'd known since they were kids.

Moore Group, the empire he'd built from scratch, was rumored to be for her. He'd stayed single all those years, waiting for her to come back.

Isabella had fled. At the gala, she drank herself into a stupor. Someone—she'd never know who—slipped something into her glass. The last thing she remembered was the world tilting sideways.

She woke up five days later in the ICU, her system ravaged by acute alcohol poisoning. The doctors had tried calling Xavier repeatedly. He never came.

It was only today, her second day conscious, that he had finally stormed into her hospital room. He hadn't asked how she was. He'd just thrown a positive pregnancy test report onto her hospital bed.

No matter how shocked she was, no matter how she tried to explain the blackout, the drugging, he just coldly demanded the name of the other man.

Suddenly, the words left her lips, quiet and final. "Xavier, let's get a divorce."

For a fraction of a second, he seemed to hesitate.

Then, a cold sneer twisted his features. "What game are you playing now?"

"I'm letting you have what you always wanted."

"Letting me have what I want?" Xavier's hand shot out, his fingers digging into the flesh of her jaw. "You're the last person on earth who gets to say that to me."

The pain was sharp, bringing involuntary tears to her eyes.

The next second, he released her. With a sickening thud, his fist connected with the wall behind her head. The plaster cracked; his knuckles split open, blood immediately welling and dripping.

"Get it taken care of. Today."

He delivered the order, cold and absolute, then turned and walked out of the room without a backward glance.

A long time later, Isabella, drained of all strength, slowly picked up her phone. Her fingers trembled as she finally dialed a number she knew by heart. "It's over," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Please, make the name 'Isabella Moore' disappear from this city. From everywhere."

There was a stunned pause on the other end. Then, a relieved sigh. "Ms. Carter... you've finally come to your senses. Come home. Your family misses you too."

Hanging up, Isabella moved to leave the stark white room. But a delicate, perfumed figure blocked the doorway.

Linda.

"Isabella," Linda said, her tone a perfect blend of pity and disdain. "I never thought you could sink so low. After everything Xavier has done for you... how could you betray him like this?"

"This is between him and me. Get out of my way."

Isabella tried to push past, but Linda suddenly threw her arms around her in a false, desperate embrace, raising her voice to a shrill pitch. "She's trying to run! Someone, stop her! Quick!"

In an instant, Xavier's security team, who had been posted outside, rushed in and surrounded Isabella completely.

"Ms. Carter," the lead bodyguard said, his voice impersonal. "Mr. Moore's orders are clear. You are not permitted to leave until the procedure is completed."

"I am not having any procedure! I'm divorcing him! He has no right to terminate my—"

"Terminate?" Linda cut in with a soft, icy laugh. She leaned closer, her whisper meant for Isabella alone. "Xavier isn't letting you off that easy. It's not a termination. It's a hysterectomy. A cheap whore like you doesn't deserve to be a mother."

*****

In the cold, grey light of early morning, Xavier strode down the sterile hospital corridor. His assistant, Jacob Hall, was waiting for him outside a set of double doors, a somber group of men flanking him.

"Why?"

The single word was low, gravelly, and carried a chill that made the air feel several degrees colder.

A tense silence hung in the air. An hour earlier, Isabella had been pronounced dead on the operating table. Now, faced with Xavier's question, no one dared to utter a word.

After a long moment, Jacob spoke up cautiously. "There were... complications during Mrs. Moore's procedure. A massive hemorrhage. The doctors couldn't..."

"How do you get 'complications' from a standard D&C?" Xavier's voice was dangerously low, his eyes fixed on the morgue door. His expression was dark, stormy, terrifying.

Jacob had no answer. Xavier suddenly shoved the doors open, stepping into the chilled room. But the hand he raised to pull back the sheet... it froze mid-air. He couldn't do it.

Just then, a courier arrived at the hospital administration desk.

"Mr. Moore," Jacob said quietly, intercepting the envelope. "This was sent by Mrs. Moore before... before the procedure."

Before he could finish, Xavier snatched the envelope and tore it open. Inside was a single document. A divorce agreement. And at the bottom, her signature—neat, firm, and already notarized.

*****

Five years later, at the check-in desk of a luxury boutique hotel in the city...

"Please have housekeeping clean the Presidential Suite," a woman said, her voice cool behind oversized sunglasses. She turned and walked toward the exit without waiting for a reply.

She was dressed in understated but impeccable designer wear. Slung over one shoulder was a limited-edition Birkin, and nestled comfortably on her other hip was a boy of about five.

The boy had a face of soft, childlike roundness, but his features were strikingly sharp and clear—eyes a vivid, intelligent blue. He looked like a child actor from a high-end catalog, yet his expression was preternaturally serene, a stark contrast to his stylish, tiny bomber jacket and sneakers.

"Wow, did you see her?" a front desk agent whispered to the other as the elevator doors closed. "Her skin, her posture... everything. Is that what 'mom' looks like now?"

"I know," the other murmured back, eyes wide. "A single night in that suite is probably more than my monthly rent. Half my mortgage, honestly."

Amid their hushed admiration, the woman exited the hotel's revolving doors and slipped into the back seat of a waiting town car.

Her phone buzzed immediately. She answered, and the face of her sister, Hannah Carter, filled the screen. "Bella!"

Isabella's brow furrowed slightly. "Indoor voice, Hannah. I'm in the car."

She angled the phone, and the little boy beside her—her youngest son, Jason—tilted his head to look. He didn't speak, just observed with those quiet, knowing eyes.

Hannah immediately lowered her voice, leaning closer to her camera. "Right, sorry. Listen, are you sure you weren't followed? Everything clean?"

Isabella was the recently acknowledged—and notoriously private—heiress to the Carter family, an international investment dynasty of old money and significant influence.

Even five years after being formally introduced to their world, the global financial press was still ravenous for any scrap of detail about her.

"It's fine," Isabella said, her tone calm and assured. "I've been discreet. The alias is holding. No one will connect Isabella Carter to this trip."

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Before Hannah could respond, two more little faces squeezed into the frame.

One was the absolute mirror image of Jason! But where Jason was a still pond, this boy was a sparkling fountain of energy.

The other child had a mop of riotous, artfully messy rainbow-streaked hair and was wearing what appeared to be three different princess dresses layered together, looking like a fantastical, glittering doll.

Hannah was unceremoniously shoved to the background. With a sigh, she wrapped an arm around each squirming child.

"You've been gone one day," Hannah said, her voice a mix of affection and exhaustion. "One day. And these two have already turned the entire Carter Estate upside down. You're sure you don't want to reconsider taking them with you?"

Isabella pinched the bridge of her nose. "Skyler! Lydia! What did I say about behaving for Aunt Hannah?"

At the sound of their names, both children instantly straightened up and put on their most innocent faces.

Skyler chirped, "Don't worry, Mommy! I totally covered my tracks! I was just testing the state's new cybersecurity firewall. They'll never know it was me!"

Lydia added, batting her eyelashes, "I was very responsible, Mommy. I only maxed out one of the platinum cards yesterday. Just for some skincare, a few dresses, and that pony-shaped handbag."

Listening to their earnest reports, Isabella felt a familiar mix of awe and impending headache. What dominant, chaotic genes had she passed on to create these two forces of nature?

"Anyway, Bella," Hannah said, once she'd managed to shoo the twins away for a moment. "There's something you need to know. That specialized pediatric therapy center we enrolled Jason in?"

"Yes?"

"It's technically under the Moore Group umbrella."

Isabella's breath caught. Jason had stopped speaking shortly after he turned two. Specialists said it was selective mutism, likely trauma-based, and recommended an intensive, top-tier therapy program.

The best one they found was here, in the city she had fled. It was the entire reason she had returned under the guise of a low-key investment tour.

"You're only telling me this now?" Isabella's voice was steady, but her heart gave a hard, painful thump.

Moore Group was now the undisputed titan of the corporate world here. And it was, unmistakably, Xavier's kingdom.

"I'm telling you now because if I'd told you sooner, the family would have never agreed to let you return," Hannah said, knowing Isabella all too well. "You wouldn't pass up any chance for Jason. But if you couldn't bring him back for this, it would have broken your heart."

Five years ago, Isabella had barely made it home alive.

What that man, Xavier, had done to their most cherished daughter... he deserved far worse than any punishment the Carters could devise. But since Isabella wanted nothing more to do with him—wanted to forget he ever existed—the family had reluctantly shelved their plans for retribution.

Isabella fell silent. She looked at Jason, sitting perfectly still beside her in the car seat, and gave his small hand a firm, reassuring squeeze.

It would be fine. She was here only for Jason's treatment. Her cursed history with Xavier was a closed book, a chapter ended long ago.

An hour later, Isabella found herself standing in a slow-moving line at the school administration office, Jason's hand securely in hers.

Suddenly, Jason tugged gently on her coat sleeve. He pressed his lips, his large, expressive eyes locked onto the box of apple juice a boy ahead of them was drinking.

"Are you thirsty, sweetie?" Isabella understood immediately, but glanced back at the long line snaking behind them. "It's a bit tricky right now. Can you wait a little while?"

At her words, Jason's little head drooped. He didn't make a sound, but the wave of disappointment that washed over his face was unmistakable.

Isabella's heart softened. She spotted a vending machine in an alcove directly across the wide hallway. Bending down to his level, she said softly, "You stand right here and don't move, okay? Mommy will run and get it. I'll be back before you know it."

Jason's eyes brightened instantly, and he nodded vigorously.

Seeing that hopeful look, she gave his hand one more squeeze and hurried off toward the vending machine.

At that precise moment, a sleek black Maybach glided to a halt at the school's main entrance.

Jacob exited the front passenger seat swiftly and opened the rear door. A man of imposing height and an aura of sharp, contained coldness stepped out, instantly accompanied by a small, efficient retinue. His presence alone seemed to draw and then silence the ambient noise of the busy drop-off zone.

"Whoa... look at him," a parent whispered.

"Hush, don't stare—look at the car. That's from Moore Group..."

The murmurs faded into an uneasy quiet. The aides flanking the man began discreetly scanning the area, smartphones in hand, as if searching for a specific signal or face.

Xavier stood slightly apart, his gaze sweeping over the crowded foyer. His eyes landed on the lengthy queue at the admin office, and a flicker of impatience crossed his features. He shot a cool glance at Jacob.

Jacob immediately stepped closer. "My apologies, Mr. Moore. It's the first day of school. It's always chaotic. I'll have the principal clear the area."

According to the latest intel from their consultant, the elusive specialist "Aletta", whom Xavier had been seeking for three years, was last traced to this very children's therapy center, which operated under the Moore Group's charitable network.

Xavier was about to respond when he felt a sudden, slight weight against his leg. He looked down.

A small boy in a stylish leather jacket had latched onto him, small arms wrapped tightly around his calf.

"Hey, kiddo!" Jacob started, moving to gently detach the child, but Xavier raised a hand, stopping him.

"Let go," Xavier said, his voice cooler than he intended as he looked down at the little boy clinging to him.

The child merely looked up, blinking those enormous blue eyes. His lips were pressed into a tight, silent line, and his expression was so utterly forlorn it was on the verge of tears.

"Why are you holding onto me?" Xavier's tone softened marginally.

He crouched down to the boy's level. With a long-fingered hand, he gently brushed the child's soft cheek. There was something... a certain familiarity in the shape of his eyes, the set of his brows. It was a faint, nagging sensation he couldn't place.

"Where are your parents?"

Instead of answering, the boy simply buried his face against Xavier's tailored suit jacket, trembling slightly like a frightened kitten.

An unexpected, foreign pang of protectiveness shot through Xavier. Almost instinctively, his hand came up to pat the boy's small back.

Seeing this uncharacteristic display, Jacob interjected nervously, "He must be separated from his parents. Probably too scared to speak. Let me handle this—I'll alert the school staff to find his parents."

After a moment's hesitation, Xavier carefully pried the little boy's arms loose and lifted him, passing the surprisingly light bundle to Jacob.

Just as Jacob turned away, Xavier's peripheral vision caught a frantic movement from the direction of the admin line. A figure was pushing through the crowd, her head whipping from side to side.

"Jason—!" The panic in the woman's voice cut through the hallway murmur as she emerged from the throng. She was still clutching a small carton of apple juice.

In the few moments she'd been gone, her son had vanished from his spot in the line.

"Screech—"

The sudden, sharp sound of rubber on polished floor made her jump. A school security cart had halted abruptly right in front of her path. Before she could register more, a powerful hand shot out, clamping around her forearm and yanking her sideways.

She stumbled, colliding with a solid, unyielding chest. A scent, a presence, a voice she had spent five years trying to erase from her memory assaulted her senses, each word dropping like ice into her soul.

"Isabella," the voice grated, low and lethal against her ear. "You liar."

Looming before her, Xavier's shirt collar was slightly open, revealing the tense line of his neck. His eyes were as dangerously captivating as she remembered from five years ago. Now, however, the bloodshot threads marring the whites made his gaze even more intimidating.

Isabella was stunned, her mind reeling. It took her a few seconds to find her voice. "Sir, you're mistaken. I don't know you."

"I recognize you even if you're in ashes."

Isabella tried to wrench her arm free, but Xavier's grip only tightened, hauling her impossibly closer.

Their faces were now mere inches apart. A chill seemed to emanate from his thin, pressed lips. After delivering his statement, he began dragging her forcefully toward a side exit.

"Let go of me! What do you think you're doing?!"

In her panic, Isabella did the only thing she could think of. She sank her teeth hard into the back of his hand.

Xavier hissed in pain and released her. Seizing the split-second advantage, Isabella didn't hesitate. Her hand flew up and connected with his cheek in a sharp, stinging slap.

Xavier's head snapped to the side from the force. He touched his lower lip with his tongue, the faint, metallic taste of blood blooming in his mouth.

"I said I don't know you!" the woman spat, her face flushed with anger and a haughty defiance. "Plenty of men try to hit on me. Back off, or I'm calling the cops."

The woman standing before him, from her expensive, razor-sharp attire to her imperious demeanor, was a complete stranger to the Isabella he had known. For a fleeting moment, genuine doubt crept into his mind.

Having delivered her rebuke, Isabella swiftly repositioned her sunglasses, turned on her heel, and walked away with a feigned composure she desperately hoped was convincing.

Just then, Jacob hurried over with a team of aides. "Mr. Moore... Quill's signal just went dark. The last confirmed location for Aletta was this immediate area, but the trace... It's vanished."

"Useless," Xavier bit out, his voice low and venomous.

His eyes remained fixed on the retreating figure of the woman until she disappeared around a corner. His expression was thunderous.

A moment later, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He let it ring twice before answering, his voice reverting to its customary ice. "Understood. I'll be there tonight."

*****

Heart still pounding, Isabella rushed back to the administrative office, ready to demand they use the public address system to find Jason. To her immense relief, she saw a school counselor leading a solemn-faced Jason toward her.

"Jason! Where did you go? I told you to stay right there!" The rush of fear made her voice sharper than she intended. She was torn between anger and the overwhelming need to crush him in a hug.

The little boy's face crumpled, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, instantly dissolving her frustration.

The counselor offered a sympathetic smile. "It's very common for children to wander when they're in a new, overwhelming environment."

Swallowing her remaining anxiety, Isabella finalized the enrollment paperwork and quickly ushered Jason back to the waiting car and their hotel.

During the ride, she called Hannah, recounting the scare with Jason. He had always been so cautious overseas, never straying an inch despite his silence. This incident shook her. Perhaps coming back hadn't been the right decision after all.

And then running into him on the very first day...

She didn't dare mention Xavier to Hannah. Instead, she asked her sister to expedite finding a permanent house for them. Staying in a hotel with Jason suddenly felt far too exposed and transient.

*****

That night, after Jason's bath, Isabella found him sitting at the small hotel desk, deeply focused on a drawing.

Since he didn't speak, drawing had become his primary language from a very young age—and he was prodigiously talented, his skill level rivaling that of a trained adolescent.

"What are you drawing, sweetie? Is that a new superhero you like?" Isabella asked softly, leaning over to look.

Her breath caught. The sketch showed the strong, clean-lined profile of a man. It was undeniably, unsettlingly similar to Xavier. The image of his intense, furious gaze from earlier that day flashed before her eyes.

She gently put the paper down.

But Jason grew animated. He picked up a colored pencil and, with deliberate pressure, scrawled the word "DAD" in block letters next to the portrait.

Isabella's heart clenched. She immediately gathered him into a tight embrace. "You have Mommy," she whispered fiercely into his soft hair. "And even though it's just us, I promise I will work every single day to make you the happiest boy in the world."

Jason seemed to absorb her words. A flicker of sadness passed over his face before it settled into a small, understanding smile.

He wriggled out of her arms, took the drawing, and deliberately placed it at the very bottom of his sketchbook. Then he pulled out another drawing—a detailed, loving portrait of Isabella—placed it on top, and carefully wrote "NO. 1" beside it with a flourish.

Tears pricked Isabella's eyes. She hugged him again, covering his face in kisses until he finally squirmed and giggled silently.

*****

Late that night, Xavier entered the private hospital suite, his personal physician, Harry Ashford, following quietly.

His younger brother, Noah, lay motionless in the bed, his complexion waxy and pale, his stillness so profound it bordered on the absolute.

"His condition has been deteriorating more rapidly these past weeks," Harry said, choosing his words with care under the weight of Xavier's darkening silence. "The blood bank has sufficient reserves of his type, but constant transfusions are a stopgap, not a solution. His body is weakening."

"How long does he have?"

Xavier moved to the bedside, his gaze falling on Noah's hand resting atop the sheets. It was a landscape of faded bruises and countless tiny puncture scars from years of intravenous lines.

Harry took a steadying breath. "At the current rate... six months. At most."

Xavier didn't speak. He stood by his brother's bedside for several long minutes before turning silently and leaving the room.

Harry followed him back to his private office.

"I heard you're looking for that specialist... Aletta," Harry ventured.

"Yes." The reply was terse.

Over the past five years, a medical virtuoso operating under the alias Aletta had gained a near-mythical reputation for secretly treating and allegedly curing hundreds of patients with rare, terminal hematological disorders.

The international medical community was abuzz, yet her true identity remained a ghost. Even top research institutions hoping to collaborate or understand her methods had hit dead ends.

While Harry was skeptical of such folklore, he was also running out of conventional options.

He sighed. "It's baffling. Five years ago, Noah's readings had stabilized significantly. He was on the verge of entering full remission. How his condition regressed this drastically in the intervening years is..."

Five years ago.

That was when Isabella had been Noah's regular, living blood donor at the hospital.

Xavier's eyes darkened, the image of the woman from the school hallway sharp in his mind.

"Do you believe two people can look exactly the same?" he asked abruptly, his voice low.

Harry was taken aback. "Identical twins, perhaps. But even then, there are usually subtle differences."

Xavier's gaze turned to ice. Exactly. That face—the one had haunted him for five more—was etched into his memory. There was no mistake.

"Thud!"

Xavier's fist came down hard on Harry's polished mahogany desk. The sudden violence made Harry jolt back in his chair.

The tense silence was shattered by the vibration of Xavier's phone on the desktop. He didn't even glance at the screen. He simply picked it up and pressed the side button to silence it. When it lit up again a moment later, he powered it off completely.

Harry had seen the caller ID flash—Linda.

The gossip mills never stopped: they were childhood sweethearts, the perfect match. If not for Isabella's intervention, Xavier would have married Linda years ago. What puzzled Harry, though, was Xavier's profound, consistent indifference toward Linda.

Over the years, the Allen family had leveraged their daughter's connection relentlessly to curry favor with Moore Group. Even Xavier's own grandfather had intervened multiple times, pressing for a marriage to solidify the alliance. It had never happened.

The next morning, Isabella was pulled from sleep by the insistent ring of her phone. Hannah's name flashed on the screen.

"Bella, we have a problem." Hannah's voice was tense. "You... you can't purchase the house."

Isabella was instantly awake. "What? Why?"

"The real estate attorney ran a preliminary check. Your records here show you as legally married and already listed as a property owner. With the local regulations restricting multiple property ownership for non-residents under certain visas... it flags the transaction."

"That's impossible! I'm not married!" The words came out in a rush of frustration.

She distinctly remembered having the divorce papers delivered to Xavier after her "death" five years ago. How could she still be legally tied to him? And her entire identity here was supposed to have been meticulously scrubbed from the records!

"I thought it must be an error too. You need to go down to the County Clerk's office and get a copy of your vital records. See what's on file."

After hanging up, Isabella hurriedly got Jason ready and dropped him at the therapy center. Then she drove straight to the government offices.

When the clerk handed her the certified document, her composure shattered. There it was, in stark official print. "Marital Status: MARRIED. Spouse: Xavier Moore."

She then checked her social security records. As she feared, her death had never been registered. Her identity here was still fully, frustratingly active.

Unbelievable.

She had been "dead" for five years, and he couldn't even be bothered to file the paperwork properly? Not even a death certificate for the woman he'd supposedly hated?

The memory of Xavier's arrogant, furious face from yesterday slammed into her. A fresh wave of anger, hot and bitter, surged up, making her chest feel tight.

Out of some misguided sense of closure, she had buried all her resentment and heartbreak the day she "died". She had wanted to leave it all behind.

Turned out, while she was trying to move on, he couldn't even manage the paperwork to finalize their end. All she wanted was to quietly return, get Jason the help he needed, and live in peace.

Xavier, you've gone too far.

Without another moment's hesitation, Isabella pulled out her phone and made a call.

*****

Two hours later, the door to the executive office suite of Moore Group's headquarters swung open, revealing a strikingly beautiful figure.

The small group of senior shareholders gathered around Xavier's desk stared in open astonishment at the unfamiliar woman.

Xavier, however, didn't look up. He remained bent over a financial report, his focus absolute, just as intensely work-absorbed as he had been five years ago.

"Who are you?" one of the board members finally managed, his tone a mix of shock and indignation. Since when could strangers just walk into the inner sanctum of Moore Group?

"Allow me to introduce myself," Isabella said, her voice cool and clear. "I am a shareholder of Moore Group. I'm here to see Mr. Moore."

She had applied a bold shade of crimson lipstick, which transformed her usually gentle features into a mask of cool, unapproachable authority.

A ripple of disbelief went through the room.

This finally made Xavier look up. His eyes locked onto hers, and a faint, sharp light flickered in the depths of his typically impassive gaze.

Isabella reached into her bag and produced a set of documents. The papers, verified and stamped by a top-tier legal firm, proved she held a five percent stake in Moore Group.

The men in the room looked at the documents, then at each other, certain there had been some mistake. Acquiring a direct stake in Moore Group was notoriously difficult, a feat of immense capital and connections. Even Stanley Carter, a legendary investor, wouldn't hold much more than that. Who was this woman?