The Three Little Guardian Angels by Ginger Bud

Smoke. Thick, black, suffocating smoke.

Antoinette Rasmussen gasped, her lungs burning as she dragged in a violent breath. Her eyes snapped open. There was no fire. There was no collapsing roof. Instead, the blinding, harsh sunlight of a Pennsylvania summer afternoon stabbed at her retinas.

She was standing on the manicured lawn outside the community church. The funeral service for her parents had just ended.

Her chest heaved. Cold sweat instantly soaked through the back of her heavy black mourning dress, making the fabric stick to her skin like a wet garbage bag.

"Antoinette? Honey, breathe."

The voice was soft, laced with a sickeningly fake concern.

A hand reached out, attempting to wrap around her trembling shoulder.

Antoinette smelled it before she fully processed the face. The sharp, overpowering scent of Fabian Cash's cloying cologne. The exact same cologne he wore the night he locked her in that burning house in her previous life. The memories hit her like a physical blow to the stomach.

A wave of pure, somatic nausea surged up her throat.

She didn't think. She just reacted.

Antoinette shoved him. Hard.

Fabian, completely caught off guard, stumbled backward. His expensive dress shoes slipped on the grass, and he barely caught his balance. A flash of genuine shock crossed his handsome face.

He quickly rearranged his features, pulling up that mask of deep, sorrowful devotion. He took a step forward, reaching for her again. "Antoinette, the grief is making you confused. Let me-"

"Don't touch me." Her voice was a raw, guttural scrape.

The sharp click of high heels sounded on the concrete path. Eleanor Vance, Fabian's mother, marched over. Her face was pinched into a tight scowl, ready to deploy her usual guilt trip.

"Antoinette Rasmussen, what is wrong with you?" Eleanor's voice was loud, designed to draw an audience. "My son has been nothing but a rock for you today. You are acting completely ungrateful."

Antoinette stared at the mother and son. The two people who had conspired to steal her family's estate and end her life. The rage inside her didn't feel like an emotion. It felt like battery acid pumping through her veins, burning away every ounce of rational thought.

She didn't hesitate.

She raised her right hand, twisted her waist, and swung with every bit of strength she possessed.

Smack.

The sharp, explosive sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed across the quiet church lawn.