The first thing she registered was the scent of rain—clean, sharp, and chillingly familiar. Cold droplets soaked through the thin fabric of her white blouse, plastering it to her skin, each drop a tiny, icy pinprick against the warmth of her body. Tô Vãn Tình stood motionless under the relentless downpour, her gaze fixed on the grand, ornate doors of the university library. The water streamed from her dark, heavy hair, tracing paths down her neck, over the delicate line of her collarbone, and soaking the front of her clothes until the white cotton turned translucent, hinting at the shape of her breasts and the dark shadow of her bra beneath. She didn’t shiver; the cold was a calculated part of the stage she had set. Her heart, however, hammered a frantic, living rhythm against her ribs, a stark contrast to the stillness she forced upon her limbs. This was the moment. The hands of the clock tower, barely visible through the gray curtain of rain, were inching toward five. He would be emerging soon.

Her mind was a fractured landscape, a brutal montage of fire and betrayal. The ghost of searing heat licked at her skin, a phantom pain from a life extinguished too soon. She could still see it: the flickering candle, the trail of fire racing up the hem of her wedding gown—a gown identical to the one Tống Nhã Đình wore as she led Lục Hàn Thành, *her* fiancé, down the aisle. The smell of burning silk, the sound of her own screams swallowed by the roar of the flames, the triumphant, vicious gleam in Nhã Đình’s eyes as she watched her die. That memory was a brand on her soul, a cold, hard purpose that had traveled back through death with her. She had awoken in this body, eighteen again, the sheets of her childhood bed tangled around her legs, the innocence of her former self a hollow echo. The knowledge was her weapon: Cố Dĩ Thần, kind, loyal, painfully faithful Dĩ Thần, was being played for a fool by the very woman he trusted. And Vãn Tình would take him. Not for the naive love she might have once felt, but as the ultimate prize in her revenge. This carefully orchestrated encounter in the rain was the first move in a deadly game.

The heavy library doors swung open, and students began to spill out, a wave of chatter and colorful umbrellas bursting into the gray afternoon. And then she saw him. Cố Dĩ Thần emerged alone, a stack of books tucked under his arm, his brow slightly furrowed in thought. He was exactly as she remembered from before the bitterness: tall and lean, with a quiet intensity in his dark eyes that spoke of a deep, thoughtful nature. He paused on the top step, pulling a simple black umbrella from his bag. His gaze swept across the courtyard, and it snagged on her. On the solitary girl standing like a drowned sparrow, drenched and vulnerable. A frown of concern touched his lips. This was the reaction she had meticulously planned for. She allowed her eyes to meet his for a fleeting second—just long enough to convey a flicker of helplessness—before looking down, as if embarrassed by her state.

"Hey, are you alright?" His voice was warm, cutting through the drumming of the rain as he hurried down the steps, his umbrella creating a dry sanctuary around them both. He was close enough now that she could smell the faint, clean scent of soap on his skin and the ink from his books. Water dripped from the ends of her hair onto the pavement. "You'll catch a cold like this. Do you need a ride home?"

Vãn Tình lifted her eyes again, this time letting a shy, grateful smile touch her lips. "I... I missed my bus," she said, her voice soft, a little breathless. It was a lie, of course, but it sounded convincingly pathetic. "I was studying and lost track of time." She subtly shifted her weight, making the wet fabric of her blouse cling even more revealingly to her chest. She saw his eyes drop for an instant, a faint flush creeping up his neck before he quickly looked back at her face. The attraction was there, a spark she had deliberately kindled.

"Let me drive you," he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He held the umbrella over her head, his other hand hovering near her back, not touching, but a clear offer of guidance. As they walked toward the parking lot, she could feel the heat radiating from his body, a tantalizing promise of warmth and strength. She walked slowly, deliberately, letting her arm brush against his. Each accidental contact sent a jolt through her—a confusing mix of calculated triumph and an unexpected, unwelcome thrill. She was the puppeteer, but the strings were tangling around her own heart. Was this just the cold fury of her vengeance, or was the ghost of the naive girl she once was stirring, feeling a genuine pull toward this good, decent man she was so determined to corrupt for her own ends? The rain continued to fall, washing the world clean, but doing nothing to cleanse the dark, conflicted waters rising within her.

Clone of Kiếp Này Tôi Sẽ Giành Lấy Người Đàn Ông Của Cô