Chapter 1

In my last life, my wedding day ended with the flatline of a heart monitor.

I remember the beeping sound, the cold of the coma, and then a final, jarring silence. My death was ruled an accident, a tragic fall into a swimming pool during my own reception. A prank gone wrong.

My loving fiancé, Ethan Scott, the charming resort manager I' d plucked from obscurity, inherited a slice of my Anderson oil fortune. He used it to fund a lavish life for himself and his "quirky" artist sister, Sabrina.

They sent her to a prestigious art school in Europe on my money while my parents grieved.

The last thing I heard before the darkness took me was Sabrina' s voice, a whisper to a nurse as she fiddled with my life support.

"Oops, my bad, just a prank!"

Then, nothing.

Until now.

The jarring sound of raucous country music blasts through the pristine Hamptons air, a sound so out of place it feels like a violation. My eyes snap open. I' m not in a hospital bed.

I' m standing on a manicured lawn, the scent of salt and roses in the air, wearing a multi-million dollar designer wedding gown.

And a group of sweaty men in tight jeans and cowboy hats are swarming me, their hands grabbing at my dress.

It' s happening again. The "bachelorette party surprise" from Sabrina.

In my past life, I froze. I was humiliated, confused, and looked to Ethan for help, only to be met with his amused smile. He told me to lighten up.

This time, there is no confusion. Only a cold, burning rage that has been simmering in the abyss for what felt like an eternity.

The fabric of my gown rips under a man' s grasping hand.

The memory of my head hitting the concrete edge of the pool flashes in my mind. The image of my family photo, with everyone laughing as I sank beneath the water. The sound of Sabrina' s gleeful "oops."

I don't freeze. I don't cry.

I scream, a raw, primal sound that cuts through the music and the laughter.

"Security! Get these men out of here! I'm pressing charges for assault!"

The music stutters to a halt. The cowboy-strippers freeze, their sleazy smiles wiped from their faces. The wedding guests murmur, their amusement turning to shock.

I turn my gaze from the hired muscle to Sabrina, who stands beside Ethan, her face a mask of feigned innocence and artistic eccentricity.

"And you," I say, my voice dripping with ice. "You hired them?"

One of the performers, looking nervous now, nods. "The lady, Sabrina, paid us a thousand dollars."

I let out a short, sharp laugh. It' s not a sound of humor. It' s the sound of a lock clicking into place.

"A thousand? That' s it?" I reach into the small, beaded purse my mother insisted I carry and pull out a checkbook. My hands are perfectly steady.

"I' ll give you five thousand dollars each," I announce to the stunned performers, my voice ringing out across the lawn. "All you have to do is give my future sister-in-law the exact same 'surprise' you just tried to give me. And I want you to be thorough."