Chapter 1

Ethan Cole was dead.

A sudden heart attack, they said. At thirty-two.

Stella Rossi, his fiancée, stood in his home office, a place she rarely entered. It was all sleek lines, cold metal, and the faint hum of technology.

She was supposed to be sorting his affairs. A grim task.

Her fingers brushed against an encrypted drive on his minimalist desk. It was labeled simply: "My Light."

Curiosity, a strange, cold thing, pricked at her. Ethan was not a man for sentimental labels.

She guessed his password easily. Chloe' s birthday. Chloe Vance, the daughter of his deceased mentor, his ward. A sweet girl, always clinging to Ethan, calling him "Uncle E."

The drive opened.

It wasn't business.

It was Chloe.

Hundreds of photos. Chloe laughing, Chloe pouting, Chloe sleeping. Videos of her, year after year, growing up under Ethan' s gaze.

And notes.

Ethan' s words.

"My Chloe, my light. This marriage is a transaction, a means to an end. You are the only one."

Stella' s breath hitched. The room tilted.

A transaction. Her life, her love, her sacrificed ambitions in astrophysics – all a transaction.

Her phone buzzed violently on the desk. A news alert.

"Cole Innovations CEO Ethan Cole Dies Amidst AI Catastrophe: Flagship Product Malfunctions, Lawsuits Mount."

The AI self-driving cars. A pile-up. Deaths. Injuries.

The company was imploding.

Then the lawyers called. The will reading.

Ethan' s entire personal fortune, his company shares – everything to Chloe Vance.

Stella was left with nothing.

No, not nothing.

She was left with the shame. The company's massive liabilities. His name, now a curse.

At the funeral, the air was thick with grief, but also a simmering rage.

Stella stood by the polished coffin, a portrait of Ethan – handsome, impassive – propped nearby.

Then they came.

The families of the victims. Faces contorted with pain and fury.

"She' s responsible!"

"She knew!"

"Murderer!"

They swarmed her. Hands grabbed, fists flew.

Pain exploded in her head, her body.

She fell, the cold marble floor rushing up to meet her.

Her last sight was Ethan' s funeral portrait, his painted eyes cold, indifferent.

A single, burning thought seared through her dying mind.

"If I had another chance, Ethan... I' d never marry you."

Darkness.

Then, light.

Stella gasped, sitting bolt upright.

Her apartment. Sunlight streamed through the window.

Her own bed.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. A dream? A nightmare?

The smell of stale alcohol and something else... Ethan' s cologne.

He stood by the window, his back to her. Dressed in a sharp suit, even at this hour.

"You' re finally awake," he said, his voice like ice.

He turned, his handsome face a mask of displeasure.

"Last night was a mistake, Stella. A regrettable, drunken mistake."

Stella stared, her mind reeling. Last night? What happened last night?

Memories, not her own, yet vividly hers, flooded in. A desperate, clumsy, alcohol-fueled encounter. One she, in that other life, had foolishly hoped would bring him closer. One he, clearly, believed she had orchestrated.

"I assume this means you' ll be speeding up the wedding plans," Ethan continued, his tone laced with accusation. "Trying to trap me?"

The words, the scene, it was all wrong, yet sickeningly familiar.

Weeks before the wedding. This was weeks before the wedding.

Her first life. The pain, the betrayal, the violent end. It was real.

And she was back.

A cold calm settled over her. The trauma of her death had burned away the fog of her love.

"Ethan," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "I want to cancel the wedding."

He scoffed, a humorless sound.

"Don' t be ridiculous, Stella. Another one of your tactics? What is it this time? A bigger ring? A more public apology for some imagined slight?"

He always saw the worst in her, twisted her intentions.

She remembered her past self, desperate for his approval, sacrificing everything. Her dreams of astrophysics, her own identity, all laid at his feet. For what? To be a "transaction." To be dismissed and despised.

He had loved Chloe. Only Chloe.

The pain was still there, a dull ache, but now it was overlaid with a steely resolve.

"No, Ethan," she said. "It' s not a tactic. I' m serious. I don' t want to marry you."

He stared at her, a flicker of something unreadable in his cold eyes – annoyance? Disbelief?

She didn' t care.

She reached for her phone, her fingers surprisingly steady.

She scrolled through her contacts, past his name, past the names of society friends who were never really friends.

Dr. Anya Sharma. Her old astrophysics professor. Her mentor.

The phone rang twice.

"Stella? Stella Rossi? Is that really you?" Dr. Sharma' s voice, warm and familiar, a lifeline.

"Dr. Sharma," Stella said, her voice thick with unshed tears. "It' s me. I... I was calling about Project Stardust. Is there... is there still a possibility?"

A pause. Then, Dr. Sharma' s voice, brimming with excitement.

"Stella! My dear girl! We were just discussing you! You were our top candidate, you know. The project is launching in five days. From the New Mexico observatory. Are you... are you serious?"

Five days.

"There' s a catch, Stella," Dr. Sharma added, her voice suddenly grave. "It' s a ten-year commitment. Minimum. No outside contact. Completely off the grid. It' s... demanding."

Ten years. No contact. Away from Ethan, away from this toxic life.

A chance to live for herself. To reclaim her dreams.

Stella looked at Ethan, who was watching her with a mixture of suspicion and contempt.

He thought this was a game. He had no idea.

"I accept," Stella said into the phone, her voice firm. "I' ll be there."

She hung up.

Ethan was still staring. "What was that all about? Some new drama?"

Stella met his gaze, her own now clear and cold.

"That was about my future, Ethan. A future that doesn' t include you."

She would not be his doormat. Not again.

She would live. This time, for herself.