Chapter 1

The sunlight hit my face.

I opened my eyes.

This was my bedroom in the Vanderbilt mansion.

Today was the day.

The day my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt, would present me with their curated list of husbands.

Ethan Astor, Liam Caldwell, Noah Sterling.

The Golden Trio.

My heart clenched. Not again.

I sat up in bed, the silk sheets cool against my skin.

This life, my second chance, I wouldn' t waste it.

"Ava, dear, are you awake?" Mother' s voice, crisp and clear, came from downstairs.

"Coming, Mother," I called out, my voice steady.

I rejected them.

I had to.

My parents sat in the morning room, their expressions expectant.

"Ava," Father began, a sheet of paper in his hand. "We have some excellent prospects for you."

"No," I said.

Just one word.

Their smiles froze.

"No?" Mother echoed, her perfectly plucked eyebrow arching. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean I won't be choosing from your list."

A heavy silence filled the room.

My parents exchanged a look of pure shock, then confusion.

"But Ava," Father said, his voice losing its usual confident tone, "these are the finest families. The Astors, the Caldwells, the Sterlings. Dynastic mergers, stability, legacy."

Legacy. Always the legacy.

My mind flashed back.

Pain, sharp and familiar, twisted inside me.

I remembered the emptiness, the betrayals.

Being a Vanderbilt in New York's old-money elite meant one thing: strategic marriage.

I was the heiress, a valuable piece in their grand game of power and prestige.

My happiness was never the primary concern.

My first life played out before my eyes.

Ethan Astor, my first husband.

He was charming, the scion of a Wall Street banking family.

Our wedding was the event of the season.

But he was never truly mine.

His attention, his heart, it all belonged to Isabella "Izzy" Rossi.

Daughter of our head of household, our estate manager.

She grew up with us, always demure, always needing help.

Ethan neglected me, our home filled with his preoccupation with Izzy.

The public humiliation was constant.

He died in a high-speed chase.

He was trying to "rescue" Izzy from some manufactured danger, a mess orchestrated by one of her jealous, lower-status admirers.

He sacrificed his life for her.

Not for me, his wife.

Years passed. The pressure mounted.

I married again.

Liam Caldwell, heir to a media conglomerate.

A thrill-seeker, reckless, emotionally a black hole.

He also doted on Izzy.

She was his "innocent," his "pure" contrast to his jaded world.

He gambled. He womanized.

He died in an underground poker game.

A game he entered to win a "favor" for Izzy.

Another life thrown away for her.

Then came Noah Sterling.

From a family known for philanthropy, deep political connections.

He seemed kind, stable.

Our marriage was quiet, a companionship of sorts.

It lasted until his natural death.

On his deathbed, he confessed.

His lifelong, unrequited love for Izzy.

He urged me, if I ever had another chance, not to choose him.

So he could have pursued Izzy.

His dying wish was for her.

I blinked, the memories receding.

Ethan, Liam, Noah.

All different men, different failings.

But one common thread: their absolute devotion to Izzy Rossi.

She was always at the center of their drama, their downfall.

Always the innocent victim, the cherished friend.

Never the schemer I knew her to be.

Izzy.

She wasn't remarkably beautiful, not overtly intelligent in traditional ways.

But she was a master of subtle manipulation.

Appearing sweet, demure, always in need of help.

She craved the status, the attention that came with them.

And they gave it to her, endlessly.

Why?

Why did they throw everything away for her? Their fortunes, their futures, their lives?

I could never understand it.

The despair of that past life, the feeling of being utterly secondary, washed over me.

I was just a placeholder, a societal requirement.

Never truly loved, never truly seen.

No more.

This time, I would prioritize myself.

My stability, my respect.

Love? That was a dangerous illusion.

"I have chosen my own husband," I announced, my voice ringing with a newfound resolve.

My parents stared, speechless.

"And who might that be?" Father finally managed, skepticism dripping from his tone.

"Julian Mercer," I said.

"Julian Mercer?" Mother gasped. "The tech fellow? From Silicon Valley? Their money is new, Ava. Very new."

"Unconventional," Father added, frowning. "Risky."

"He's brilliant," I countered. "His company is revolutionizing industries. A strategic alliance with the Mercers will diversify the Vanderbilt empire into tech, securing its future. It's a sound business decision."

I paused, letting that sink in.

"And," I added, my voice devoid of emotion, "he's focused on his work. Unlikely to cause emotional drama. Love is not a factor. This is business."

My parents exchanged another long look.

Julian Mercer. Ruthless in business, discreet in his personal life.

He was, in my calculation, emotionally "safe."

He had also, for a brief period, attended the same Ivy League university as me. I barely remembered him, but he was there.

Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt, ever pragmatic when it came to the empire, began to see the logic.

Tech was the future. Julian Mercer was a formidable force.

After much debate, reviewing his successes, they reluctantly agreed.

"Very well, Ava," Father said, a sigh escaping him. "We will approach the Mercers."

The Vanderbilts would make the first move.

A wave of relief washed over me. The first step was taken.

The engagement would be arranged. The timeline, swift.

The world outside the Vanderbilt mansion continued, oblivious to the seismic shift within me.

I felt a strange mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

The path ahead was uncertain, but it was mine.

Suddenly, the butler, Jeeves, announced visitors.

"Mr. Astor, Mr. Caldwell, and Mr. Sterling are here to see you, Miss Ava."

My heart skipped a beat.

The Golden Trio.

They walked in, all smiles and easy charm, the scent of expensive cologne filling the air.

Ethan, with his banker's polish. Liam, with his daredevil glint. Noah, with his quiet intensity.

In my past life, they were my brothers, my playmates, before they became my husbands.

We grew up together, a tight-knit circle of New York's elite.

There was an affection there, a familiarity.

They were always protective, or so I thought.

"Ava," Ethan began, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "We heard you were making a decision today."

"We just wanted to see how you are," Liam added, a little too casually.

Noah simply watched me, his gaze unreadable.

I looked at them, truly looked at them, perhaps for the first time with clear eyes.

Their "protection" in the past, their "concern" now...

It wasn't about me.

In my past lives, they avoided marrying me for as long as they could.

They only agreed when family pressure became unbearable, or when it served their purpose regarding Izzy.

Their pursuit was never about desire for me. It was about fulfilling an obligation, or worse, using me as a shield or a means to an end concerning Izzy.

The realization was a cold shard in my chest.

"I'm fine," I said, my voice cool. "The decision has been made."

I kept my response evasive, yet firm.

Let them wonder. Let them squirm.

Their faces registered surprise, then a flicker of something else. Offense?

"Oh?" Ethan pressed. "And?"

Liam leaned forward. "Don't keep us in suspense, Ava."

Noah' s eyes narrowed slightly.

Just as I was about to speak, Ethan' s phone buzzed violently on the table.

He glanced at it, his expression immediately changing.

Worry creased his brow.

"Excuse me," he muttered, picking up. "Hello? Mr. Rossi? What's wrong?"

His voice sharpened with alarm. "Izzy? What happened to Izzy?"

I watched him. His entire focus shifted in an instant.

The air in the room changed.

"She what? Fell? Where is she? Hospital? Okay, I'm on my way."

Ethan snapped his phone shut, his face pale.

He looked at us, but his eyes were distant, already with Izzy.

"Izzy had an accident. She' s at Lenox Hill," he said, grabbing his keys.

He barely glanced at me. "Ava, we' ll talk later."

He was already halfway to the door.

"We'll come too," Liam said, jumping up. "I can call my guy at the hospital, get her the best care."

Noah was already on his feet. "I'll arrange for a specialist, just in case."

They followed Ethan, a whirlwind of concern for Izzy.

They didn't ask if I wanted to come.

They didn't ask if I was okay.

My decision, the reason for their visit, was forgotten.

Izzy was in trouble. That was all that mattered.

I watched them go, a bitter taste in my mouth.

Their excuses were so transparent now. Their priorities so clear.

How had I been so blind for so long?

A small, humorless laugh escaped me.

It was almost comical.

I walked to the large window, watching their cars speed away.

Detached. That' s what I needed to be.

Later that day, Izzy' s Instagram feed was filled with posts.

Pictures of her with a tastefully bandaged wrist, looking fragile and brave.

Ethan, Liam, and Noah were in every shot, hovering, concerned.

The captions were full of gratitude for her "three saviors."

Public confirmation of their unwavering devotion.

I looked at the screen, a strange calm settling over me.

The family heirlooms.

The Astor sapphires. The Caldwell racing chronograph. The Sterling first-edition classic.

In my past lives, choosing one of these signaled my acceptance.

This time, I had already called the appraisers.

They were to be valued and prepared for return.

A clear, unequivocal message.

I was done with all of them.

My choice was made.

And it wasn't any of them.

My future was with Julian Mercer.

A strategic alliance.

A safe harbor.

Or so I hoped.