Chapter 1

The scent of lilies, heavy and cloying, filled the drawing-room.

My parents, William and Catherine Vance, sat opposite me, their expressions a mixture of expectation and parental authority.

This was the day. The day they presented my future.

"Elara, darling," my mother began, her voice smooth as silk, "we've given this a great deal of thought."

Father nodded, his gaze serious. "These are alliances, Elara. For the good of the Vance name, for your future."

On the polished mahogany table between us lay three velvet boxes.

Ethan Cole. Finance prodigy, stoic, a pillar of old money.

Liam Hayes. Media heir, charming, dangerously reckless.

Noah Miller. Philanthropic foundation head, seemingly dependable, quietly intense.

My past husbands. All three of them.

I felt a chill, a phantom ache from a life I' d already lived and lost.

This time, I knew better.

"No," I said.

My voice was quiet, but it cut through the room' s stuffy formality.

Mother' s perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose. "No?"

Father frowned. "Elara, this isn't a suggestion. These are the best possible matches."

I looked at each box, a wave of nausea washing over me.

My first life. Ethan. He died in a fiery multi-car pileup, rushing to Chloe Davis after one of her many "crises." Our marriage had been cold, a business arrangement he barely acknowledged.

Then Liam. He perished in some sordid underground poker game, trying to win money for Chloe, money she claimed she desperately needed. He' d been a whirlwind of chaos, his charm a thin veneer over a deep well of irresponsibility, all of it fueled by Chloe.

And Noah. My last husband. A long, emotionally barren marriage. On his deathbed, his voice a rasp, he' d confessed his only regret: not Chloe. Not me. Just Chloe.

Each marriage, a tragedy. Each man, secretly, desperately in love with her.

Chloe Davis.

The unassuming daughter of Michael Davis, our family's long-time estate manager.

She was pretty in a soft, harmless way, always looking slightly apologetic, a little lost.

It was a carefully crafted illusion.

Underneath, Chloe was a vortex, pulling everyone into her manufactured dramas, her endless needs.

"I won't marry any of them," I repeated, my gaze steady.

"And why not?" Father demanded, his patience thinning.

"Because their hearts are already given elsewhere," I said. "To Chloe Davis."

My parents exchanged a bewildered look.

"Chloe?" Mother scoffed lightly. "Michael's daughter? Elara, don't be absurd. These men are scions of great families."

"Their affections are not for me," I stated, a lifetime of pain hardening my voice. "And I will not be a placeholder again."

I took a breath. This was the moment.

"I have made my own choice."

"Oh?" Father said, a dangerous edge to his voice. "And who might that be? Someone we know?"

"Blake Sterling," I announced.

Silence. Thick, palpable silence.

Blake Sterling. The tech billionaire from Silicon Valley. Self-made. Fiercely ambitious. An outsider.

In my previous life, he became a global powerhouse, untouched by scandal, a man who built an empire from nothing, or perhaps from the ashes of a less privileged branch of a once-wealthy family, or after a major fallout. The details were hazy, but his success was not.

"Sterling?" Mother finally said, her voice faint. "The tech man? From California?"

"He's new money, Elara," Father stated, disapproval clear. "Not our world."

"His world is the future, Father," I countered. "An alliance with Blake Sterling gives Vance Holdings a foothold in the West Coast tech scene. A massive, booming market we currently have no access to. Think of the diversification, the growth."

I saw a flicker of interest in Father' s eyes. He was a businessman, first and foremost.

"Strategically, it's a brilliant move," I pressed. "Far more beneficial than reinforcing old ties with families whose heirs are... unreliable."

They were silent for a long moment, processing.

Mother looked at Father. He gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod.

"Very well, Elara," Father said, his voice still hesitant but tinged with a new respect. "If this is your considered decision... we will explore it. We'll have our people reach out to Sterling's."

"I' ve already reached out," I said. "He's agreeable. The wedding can be soon."

Their surprise was evident, but they didn't argue further.

The alliance was set. My new life, my new strategy, was in motion.

A few days later, they found me in the library. Ethan, Liam, and Noah.

They looked out of place, their usual confidence replaced by a bewildered anger.

"Elara," Ethan began, his voice tight. "What is this nonsense about Blake Sterling?"

Liam lounged against a bookshelf, arms crossed, but his eyes were sharp. "A bit sudden, isn't it? Choosing some Silicon Valley nobody over one of us?"

Noah, ever the quiet one, simply watched me, his gaze searching. "We grew up together, Elara. We always assumed..."

"You assumed wrong," I said, closing my book.

"Why him?" Ethan demanded.

"My reasons are my own," I replied, enigmatic. "You'll understand on my wedding day."

They exchanged frustrated glances.

I saw it then. Their concern wasn't for me. It wasn't about lost love or a broken understanding.

It was the shock of not being chosen, of their assumptions being shattered.

It was the inconvenience of my decision.

Suddenly, the library door opened. It was Michael Davis, Chloe' s father, his face etched with worry.

"Mr. Vance, Mrs. Vance," he began, then saw us. "Oh, Miss Elara. And gentlemen."

His eyes darted to the three men. "It's Chloe. There's been a small accident at the stables. She's asking for... well, she's been taken to the hospital."

Instantly, the atmosphere shifted.

Ethan was the first to move. "Is she alright?"

"Which hospital?" Liam demanded, already pulling out his phone. "My family are major donors at Mount Sinai."

Noah was already by Michael's side. "What happened, Michael?"

They didn't even glance at me.

One moment, they were confronting me about my future, my choice. The next, I was forgotten.

Chloe. Always Chloe.

They rushed out, a flurry of concern and urgent calls, leaving me alone in the sudden silence of the library.

The air still vibrated with their panic for her.

I walked to my room, a cold calm settling over me.

I opened my jewelry box.

A pair of simple pearl earrings from Ethan, given on my 18th birthday.

A silver charm bracelet from Liam, each charm a reckless memory.

A leather-bound volume of poetry from Noah, inscribed with a quote about enduring friendship.

Lies. All of it.

I swept them into a plain velvet pouch.

Later that evening, my phone buzzed. An Instagram notification.

Chloe Davis.

A picture of her in a hospital bed, looking pale but artfully dishevelled.

A delicate hand, Ethan's distinctive watch clearly visible on the bedside table next to a vase of flowers.

Another post. A selfie, a hint of Liam's university varsity jacket draped over the chair behind her.

And a story. A close-up of a rare first-edition book on her lap – the very same edition Noah had gifted her, a fact she' d made sure I knew in my past life.

She was broadcasting their devotion. Subtly, for the uninitiated. Blatantly, for those who knew.

I went to my father' s study.

The Cole family' s vintage Cartier brooch.

The block of Hayes media conglomerate shares.

The significant artwork from the Miller collection.

Tokens of serious courtship, of accepted proposals in our world.

I carefully packaged each one.

Tomorrow, they would be couriered back. Timed to arrive on my wedding day to Blake.

This life would be different. I would make it so.