Chapter 2

Seraphina' s composure cracked, a hairline fracture in her perfect facade.

"Not me? Ethan, what are you talking about?"

Leo placed a comforting hand on her arm, a gesture that made my stomach turn. He was already playing his part.

"Perhaps Ethan is merely jesting, Seraphina," Leo said, his voice smooth.

"I'm not jesting," I stated, my gaze fixed on Seraphina. "I've chosen Chloe Maxwell."

Her eyes widened, a flicker of genuine shock, quickly masked. "CJ? That... tomboy? Ethan, you can't be serious. She's entirely unsuitable."

"Unsuitable for whom, Seraphina? For you? Or for the Vanderbilt image you were so keen to acquire?"

A blush crept up her neck. "That's unfair. I only ever wanted what was best for..."

"For yourself," I finished. "And for your family's precarious finances."

She recoiled as if struck.

I remembered her then, in my first life. The way she' d looked at me with those wide, innocent eyes, claiming undying affection while her family' s debts mysteriously vanished, paid by anonymous Vanderbilt funds I later realized I had unknowingly authorized.

I thought back to why I' d fallen for her. It wasn't just her beauty.

There was that charity event, years ago. A small, disadvantaged child was being bullied by some older boys. Suddenly, someone had rushed in, a whirlwind of motion, scattering the bullies. I' d only caught a glimpse of a figure, swift and brave. Later, Seraphina had been nearby, looking flustered, and I' d mistakenly attributed the heroic act to her. It had cemented her image as kind and courageous in my young, naive mind.

A false image. A complete fabrication.

"Ethan," Seraphina said, her voice regaining some of its manipulative softness. "About the gala, and the Starfire Tiara. You can't possibly mean to give it to her."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said, stepping closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret, "everyone knows it was always meant for me. If you bid on it for CJ, it will be a public humiliation. For me. For us."

"There is no 'us,' Seraphina."

Her eyes narrowed. "If you insist on this charade, then I have conditions for my... well, for my continued social acquaintance with you. You can't expect me to simply stand by."

I almost laughed. Conditions? From her?

"I expect nothing from you, Seraphina. Except for you to stay away from me."

Leo stepped forward, his expression one of concern. "Ethan, old man, you seem overwrought. Perhaps you bumped your head?" He reached out as if to check my forehead.

I sidestepped his touch. "I've never been clearer in my life, Leo."

Later that week, at a pre-gala reception, Leo "accidentally" tripped while carrying a tray of drinks, sending champagne and canapés flying. He stumbled, knocking his shoulder hard into mine. A sharp pain shot through my arm.

"Oh, Ethan, I am so dreadfully sorry!" Leo exclaimed, clutching his own arm dramatically. "My ankle, I think I twisted it!"

Seraphina rushed to his side immediately. "Leo! Are you alright? Ethan, how could you be so careless, standing in his way!"

I stared at them, the familiar script playing out. Leo the victim, Seraphina his staunch defender, and me, somehow, the aggressor.

In my first life, I would have apologized, fussed over Leo, felt guilty.

Not anymore.

"He tripped himself, Seraphina," I said, my voice cold. "And he bumped into me, not the other way around."

"How can you say that?" Seraphina cried, cradling Leo' s arm. "Look at him, he's in pain! You're just being cruel because you're angry I won't simply accept your ridiculous choice of CJ."

My patience snapped.

"Get out of my sight, both of you," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "I'm tired of your games."

Seraphina looked shocked at my tone. Leo' s eyes held a flicker of something else – malice.

They retreated, Seraphina muttering about my sudden change in temperament.

The pain in my arm throbbed, a dull ache. But it was nothing compared to the ache of memory, the years of manipulation I had endured.

I recalled countless "accidents" Leo had, always when I was around, always resulting in Seraphina blaming me, drawing her closer to him, painting me as clumsy or uncaring.

This time, the script would have a different ending.