Chapter 1

The Harrington family had a plan. I was part of it.

For years, I was Eleanor Baker, the brilliant young architect they'd taken under their wing. The one they'd groomed. The one destined to marry James Harrington, the heir, and merge my talent with their empire.

I loved James. I poured my soul into Harrington Holdings, designing skyscrapers that scraped the New York sky, luxury resorts that dotted coastlines. Our buildings became landmarks. I thought we were building a life.

Then, on my sixty-fifth birthday, James dropped the bomb.

Olivia Morningstar, his first love, dead for forty years, was to be honored. Her portrait would hang in the Harrington family's private gallery, in the central spot. My spot.

He'd already changed his will. After his death, I'd get a token sum. The bulk of my shares, my life's work, would be redistributed.

Our three children, even our grandchildren, stood with him. Their silence was a knife.

The betrayal was a physical force. It crushed my chest. I remember gasping, a searing pain, then darkness.

I died.

Then, I opened my eyes.

I was in the grand dining room of the Harrington estate. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows.

Old Mr. Harrington, Alistair, sat at the head of the table, his expression serious. "James, you're not getting any younger. It's time to make a decision. Who will be your Chief Designer, your partner?"

Mrs. Harrington, Catherine, smiled warmly. "I bet my son picks Eleanor. He's always been so fond of her."

Everyone knew I was the chosen one. My designs, my dedication, far outshone any competitor.

But this time, James Harrington looked at me.

His eyes.

They were cold. Filled with a deep, biting disgust. A hatred I wouldn't see for another four decades in my previous life.

He remembered. He was reborn too.

My heart, which had just restarted, felt a familiar ache.

So, he still yearned for Olivia. Fine. I would grant him his wish.

"Mr. Harrington," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. I stood up.

Everyone stared.

"Eleanor, dear, what is it?" Catherine asked, her smile faltering.

"I believe I am not qualified for the Chief Designer role," I stated. "My vision may not align with the future of Harrington Holdings. And I think James should choose a partner he truly connects with."

I paused, looking directly at James. "I withdraw my name from consideration."

James froze. Just for a second. A flicker of shock in those cold eyes, quickly masked.

Then, pure ice.

He said nothing. He pushed his chair back, stood, and walked out of the dining room without a word.

I knew where he was going. Olivia Morningstar. In this timeline, she wasn't a ghost. She was alive. Everything could be different for him.

A bitter smile touched my lips. Decades of marriage, a lifetime of devotion, all smoke and mirrors.

"Eleanor, what are you saying?" Alistair's voice, usually so commanding, was laced with confusion.

I met his gaze. This man, who had once treated me like a daughter, looked lost.

I took a deep breath. "Mr. Harrington, James has his heart set elsewhere. I'm stepping aside."

Alistair and Catherine exchanged bewildered glances. But after James's abrupt departure, they seemed at a loss for words.

I excused myself and went to my suite to pack. I was leaving.

The next morning, my phone buzzed with notifications. Social media, gossip sites, all blaring the same headline: "James Harrington Steps Out with Mysterious Beauty Olivia Morningstar!"

The photos showed Olivia, radiant and young, nestled in James's arm. He held her tight, his eyes soft, adoring.

I swiped them away, my face blank.

Around noon, a commotion erupted downstairs.

I went to the window. James was escorting Olivia through the main entrance of the Harrington estate, his arm possessively around her waist.

A few minutes later, shouting echoed from Alistair's study.

James's voice, sharp and demanding. "Dad! I told you, I've chosen Olivia! Why is Eleanor still listed as lead architect on the new City Center project?"