Chapter 3

Jaclyn gasped violently.

Her lungs expanded so fast it hurt. Her eyes snapped open.

She threw her hands out in front of her, bracing for the bone-crushing impact of the stone patio.

Her fingers grabbed fistfuls of soft, cool silk.

She was not falling. She was lying flat on her back.

Her chest heaved. Cold sweat soaked through the thin fabric of her nightgown. She inhaled sharply. The distinct scent of cedarwood and amber filled her nose.

It was Gaines's scent.

Her vision slowly focused. She was staring at the vaulted ceiling of the guest bedroom in the Acevedo Manhattan penthouse.

She sat up so fast her head spun.

There was no blood. There was no shattered spine. Her body felt whole, save for a dull, throbbing pain in her left ankle and a slight sting on her forehead.

She threw off the silk blanket and stumbled out of bed. Her bare feet hit the plush carpet.

She rushed to the full-length mirror leaning against the wall.

The woman staring back at her was pale, but alive. A small white bandage was taped over her left eyebrow.

A memory slammed into her brain like a freight train.

She had just married Gaines a month ago. She had tried to run away, tripped over her own heels, and tumbled down the carpeted stairs of the penthouse duplex.

Jaclyn spun around and lunged for the smart calendar glowing on the nightstand.

The digital numbers burned into her eyes.

The date confirmed it. She was back. Back to the day she fell, one month into her marriage.

The sheer weight of the information crushed her legs. Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the carpet.

She was alive. She had come back.

She clamped both hands over her mouth, biting down on her own palm to stop the hysterical sob from ripping out of her throat. Hot tears flooded her eyes, dropping heavily onto her wrists.

Heavy, measured footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.

They were moving closer.

Jaclyn's heart hammered against her ribs. She knew those footsteps.

Gaines.

The memory of his broken, tear-streaked face from her death flashed in her mind.

She quickly scanned the room. Near the door, a crystal vase lay shattered into a dozen jagged pieces on the floor.

The memory clicked into place. Before she fell down the stairs, she had thrown that vase at his head.

In her past life, when Gaines walked through that door today, she had screamed at him, picked up a shard of glass, and slashed his forearm.

Jaclyn scrambled forward on her hands and knees.

She ignored the sharp sting as a tiny piece of glass sliced into her index finger. She frantically swept the jagged shards into a neat pile against the baseboard.

The footsteps stopped right outside the door.

The heavy brass handle slowly turned. The metal hinges let out a low groan.

Jaclyn stood up. She took a deep breath, forcing her racing heart to slow down. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

The thick oak door swung open.

Gaines Acevedo stood in the doorway. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His broad shoulders filled the frame. His face was a mask of absolute, terrifying coldness.

His dark eyes swept the room like a radar, instantly locking onto her.

His jaw was clenched so tight the muscle ticked. His hands were balled into tight fists at his sides, bracing for her inevitable screaming fit.

Jaclyn stared at him. He looked exactly the same, yet entirely different. This was the man before she had completely broken his soul.

Her eyes immediately welled up with fresh tears.

Gaines noticed the moisture in her eyes. His eyes narrowed. He assumed this was a new tactic.

"If you try to run again," Gaines said, his voice a low, gravelly threat, "I will freeze every single asset connected to the Lester family by midnight."

In her past life, that threat had ignited a screaming match.

Now, the words just sounded like a desperate, clumsy attempt to keep her from leaving.

Jaclyn didn't scream. She didn't throw anything.

She just stood perfectly still. She looked at him with eyes full of overwhelming guilt and water.

The silence stretched.

Gaines's brow furrowed. The rigid line of his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. He stared at her, completely thrown off balance by the lack of flying objects.

Jaclyn took a small step forward.

Her injured left ankle gave out. A sharp pain shot up her leg. She gasped, her body swaying dangerously to the side.

Gaines's body reacted before his brain did. He lunged forward, his hand shooting out to catch her.

But he stopped himself mid-air. He forcefully pulled his arm back, shoving his hand deep into his trouser pocket. His knuckles bulged against the fabric.

Jaclyn saw the aborted movement.

The guilt swallowed her whole. She had trained him to expect violence every time he touched her.

She lowered her gaze to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Jaclyn whispered. Her voice trembled, thick with emotion.

The words hit the room like a physical shockwave.

Gaines's pupils dilated rapidly. He froze completely.

He stared at her face, his eyes searching frantically for the lie, for the trap. The tension in the air was so thick it was hard to breathe.