Chapter 1

The marble was cold under my fingers. Ethan's name was carved deep into it. Ethan Cole. My husband. Dead.

It was my fault. All of it.

A memory, sharp and unwelcome, cut through the fog of my grief. The charity gala. Years ago, but it felt like yesterday.

Ethan, his face pale, sweat on his forehead. He'd been drugged. Someone thought it was a funny prank.

I hadn't helped.

"Go find an escort, Ethan," I'd sneered, my voice dripping with the contempt I felt for our arranged marriage. "Plenty around tonight."

He hadn't said a word. Just turned and walked away, his shoulders tight. Later, I heard he'd locked himself in a cold, unused bathroom in our Hamptons place, fighting off whatever poison was in his system. He'd damaged his lungs that night, a weakness that plagued him until the end.

I didn't know then. I didn't care.

I only understood after he was gone. After I found the drive.

"Liv," the folders were labeled. Hundreds of them. Photos of me I didn't even remember. Voice notes. A journal.

His love, raw and desperate, filled every file. How he'd managed my reckless spending. Taken the blame for my social blunders. Nursed me through that awful flu. Bought that small vineyard in Napa I'd idly mentioned wanting once, a drunken wish he'd made real.

He knew I was planning to leave him for Liam. He wrote about letting me go, hoping I'd find happiness.

His sacrifice for Miller Industries, for my father, while his own health crumbled. He died alone in a New York hospital.

The weight of it all, the love I'd thrown away, crushed me. I got in my car, tears blinding me. The screech of tires. Then, blackness.

A chandelier blazed above me, dripping crystals like frozen tears. Music swelled, a familiar classical piece. The scent of expensive perfume and champagne.

I knew this place. This night.

My heart hammered against my ribs. No. It couldn't be.

I looked down. The emerald green dress. The one I wore to the annual Miller Industries charity gala. The night Ethan was drugged.

My hand flew to my mouth. I was back.

Panic, cold and sharp, seized me. Ethan. He was here. He was about to suffer. Because of me.

Not this time.

My eyes scanned the crowded ballroom, a sea of tuxedos and glittering gowns. Where was he?

I pushed through clusters of laughing socialites, my apologies mechanical. I had to find him.

There. Near the terrace doors, talking to Mr. Henderson, one of my father's smarmy business rivals. Ethan looked... fine. For now.

But Henderson was holding two champagne flutes.

"Ethan!" My voice was too loud, too urgent.

He turned, surprise flickering in his eyes. Henderson offered him a glass.

"Don't drink that!" I almost shouted, rushing forward.

I stumbled, grabbing his arm, my fingers digging into his sleeve. "Ethan, come with me. Now."

He looked down at my hand, then at my face, his expression unreadable. Confusion. Annoyance?

"Olivia? What's wrong?"

"Just come with me," I pleaded, pulling him away from a startled Henderson. I didn't care about the scene I was making.

I practically dragged him through a side door, into a quiet corridor leading to the private suites.

"Olivia, what is the meaning of this?" he started, his voice low and strained. He looked pale. Too pale.

Oh God, was he already feeling it? Had Henderson already given him something?

"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice trembling. I reached out, touched his cheek. It was cool, clammy.

His eyes, usually so guarded around me, widened slightly. He stared at me as if he'd never seen me before.

"I... I don't feel well," he mumbled, swaying slightly.

"I know," I whispered. "I'll take care of you."

This time, I would.

I led him into the nearest unlocked suite, a lavishly decorated room. He sank onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

"My head is spinning," he said, his voice thick.

I knelt before him, taking his hands. "Ethan, look at me."

He lifted his head. His pupils were dilated. Fear, raw and new, mixed with the old regret inside me.

"I'm here," I said, my voice softer than I'd ever used with him.

Impulsively, driven by a desperate need to erase the past, to show him, somehow, that this time was different, I leaned in and kissed him.

It was hesitant at first, then deeper. A silent apology. A promise.

Ethan went rigid. I felt the shock run through him.

He probably thought I'd lost my mind. The Olivia he knew, the one who flinched from his touch, who met his gaze with ice, wouldn't do this.

But then, a shudder went through him. A small sound, a sigh or a groan, escaped his lips.

His hands, which had been limp in mine, tightened. He kissed me back.

It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, hungry, as if he'd been starving for something he never thought he'd have.

The drug, whatever it was, was clearly taking its toll, but there was something else too. A raw need that mirrored my own sudden, overwhelming urge to connect with him, to undo the years of coldness.

He pulled me closer, his arms going around my waist, and I went willingly, my body molding against his.

This was new. Terrifying. And yet, undeniably right.

We stayed like that for a long time, lost in a haze of sensation and unspoken emotions.

His lips were soft, then demanding. His hands explored my back, my hair, with a tenderness that made my heart ache.

I looked into his eyes, really looked, for the first time.

And I saw it.

The unwavering affection I'd read about in his journal. The love he'd hidden so well behind a mask of cool professionalism.

It was there, in the depths of his gaze, vulnerable and exposed.

How could I have been so blind? So cruel?

The memories of my first life, our first life together, washed over me.

The unwanted marriage, orchestrated by my father to salvage some scandal I'd been too reckless to avoid, or perhaps it was just a strategic business alliance. I'd felt trapped, resentful.

I'd treated Ethan with disdain, a convenient target for my unhappiness.

Then Liam Walker. Charming, wealthy Liam, my childhood friend. The easy escape I'd craved. I'd demanded a divorce from Ethan and left with Liam, flitting across Europe, chasing a freedom that now felt hollow.

While I was gone, Miller Industries faced disaster. A hostile takeover by Harrison Corp. Fraud.

Ethan, his health already compromised from that night at the gala, poured everything he had into saving my family's company.

He succeeded. And then he collapsed. Died alone.

The secure cloud drive. His lawyer had given it to me after the funeral, along with a notice of a substantial inheritance he'd secretly set aside for me.

The folders. "Liv."

Every detail of his hidden love. How he'd quietly managed my finances, shielding me from my own impulsiveness. How he'd taken the fall for my social missteps, smoothing things over with his quiet diplomacy.

He'd nursed me through a severe flu, staying by my side for days, even though I'd barely acknowledged him.

He'd bought that vineyard in Napa, the one I'd drunkenly confessed to dreaming about, a place I'd forgotten I even mentioned.

His journal detailed his quiet suffering, the true extent of his sacrifices, his unwavering love, even knowing I planned to leave him. He'd chosen to let me go, hoping I'd find happiness.

The weight of it, the sheer, selfless devotion of the man I'd rejected, had been unbearable.

Now, holding him, feeling the warmth of his body, the reality of this second chance settled in.

This time, Ethan, I won't fail you. I'll cherish you. I'll protect you.

I swear it.