Chapter 1

The marriage contract that would merge our two corporate empires was laid out before me. I was supposed to sign my life away to Jace Robertson, the man I had loved since we were kids.

But my love had been burned away the night the chandelier fell. When it came crashing down, my fiancé didn't pull me to safety. He shoved me aside to shield my cousin, Cassidy, with his own body.

He chose her. Instinctively.

My own mother rushed to her side, later telling me I needed to be more understanding. "Cassidy has always been delicate, Ellie. Jace did the right thing."

It was then I remembered everything. In my last life, I died alone in a cold hospital room from a cancer they found too late. Jace was on a romantic trip to the Amalfi Coast with Cassidy. My mother was at a charity luncheon.

My last thought was a regret so deep it could tear a hole in the universe. I had wasted my one precious life on people who saw me as nothing more than a stepping stone.

But now, I was back. The pen was in my hand, the contract on the table. Jace wanted Cassidy. My mother adored her. Fine. Let them have each other.

With a steady hand, I drew a single, clean line through my name on the signature line and wrote in a new one: CASSIDY COLEMAN.

This time, I would live for myself.

Chapter 1

Ellie Stanley POV:

The contract that signed away my life was also supposed to be my marriage certificate.

"Ellie, for God' s sake, just sign it," my mother, Jocelyne Stanley, said, her voice as crisp and cold as the starched white linen on the dining table. "Jace is on his way. The Robertsons are expecting confirmation within the hour."

Her fingers, adorned with rings that could fund a small country, tapped an impatient rhythm against the polished mahogany. The sound echoed the frantic beat of the grandfather clock in the hall, each tick a countdown to the end of my autonomy.

I stared down at the document. It was printed on thick, creamy stock, the kind of paper that felt important, permanent. It smelled of money and lawyers. My fingers traced the embossed seal of Robertson Corp intertwined with Stanley Industries. A merger. A marriage. To them, it was the same thing.

A lifetime ago-or maybe just last year-I would have treated this moment with a reverence it didn' t deserve. I would have imagined my hand shaking with joyful anticipation, my heart fluttering at the thought of binding my life to Jace Robertson. I had loved him, or at least, I had loved the idea of him. I' d loved the boy who promised to protect me, the man I thought I saw glimpses of beneath the polished corporate heir.

But love had been burned out of me, cauterized by a thousand small betrayals that culminated in one blindingly clear moment. The Stanley Foundation Gala. A night of champagne, fake smiles, and a near-death experience that had served as my final, brutal awakening.

"I' m waiting, Ellie," my mother prompted, her tone sharpening.

I picked up the heavy, gold-plated fountain pen left for me. It felt cold against my skin. I didn't look at her. I didn't need to. I knew the exact shade of disappointment that would be clouding her perfectly made-up face.

Jace arrived then, his footsteps brisk on the marble floor. He didn' t greet me. He just walked straight to the table, his eyes fixed on the contract.

"Is it done?" he asked my mother, loosening the knot of his silk tie as if the air in the room was suffocating him. He was anxious. I could see it in the slight tremor of his hand as he ran it through his perfectly styled dark hair.

He was handsome, devastatingly so. The kind of handsome that made heads turn, that graced the pages of business magazines under headlines like 'Most Eligible Billionaire Bachelor.' He had a strong jaw, eyes the color of a stormy sea, and a smile that could disarm anyone.

Anyone but me. Not anymore.

I remembered Cassidy sighing dramatically whenever Jace entered a room, her hand fluttering to her chest. "Oh, Ellie, that jawline could cut glass. You' re the luckiest girl in the world," she would say, her eyes not on me, but glued to him.

I looked at Jace, my fiancé, the man who was supposed to be my partner for life. "I need a minute to read this over properly," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "You can go wait outside, Jace. I' m sure you have more important things to do."

I knew he did. Or rather, someone more important. Cassidy was probably waiting by the phone, anxious for the news that the deal-that I-was officially his.

A flash of relief crossed his face, so quick I might have missed it if I hadn' t spent years studying his every micro-expression. "Right. Good idea," he said, already backing away. "Don' t take too long."

He paused at the door, his gaze flicking to my mother. "And make sure she doesn' t do anything... creative. Cassidy isn' t feeling well. The stress of all this is getting to her."

The casual cruelty of it, the way he invoked my cousin' s name as if she were the fragile one, the one making a sacrifice, sent a familiar, bitter taste to the back of my throat. I didn' t respond. I just kept my eyes on the paper. Arguing was pointless.

I had spent my entire life arguing, defending, explaining. It never worked. They only heard what they wanted to hear.

Jace left, his footsteps hurrying away down the hall, and the room fell silent again, save for the ticking clock and my mother' s shallow breathing.

I held the pen, my knuckles white. My hand trembled, not with fear, but with a rage so profound it felt like a physical illness. The memory of the gala flooded me, sharp and vivid.

The enormous crystal chandelier, a masterpiece of Venetian glass, had begun to sway. There was a groan of stressed metal, then a collective gasp from the crowd. I was standing right beside Jace, my hand on his arm. Cassidy was a few feet away, her back to us.

When the first shard of crystal rained down, Jace didn't pull me to safety. He didn' t even look at me. He moved like a lightning strike, shoving past me so hard I stumbled backwards, and threw his body over Cassidy, shielding her as the chandelier came crashing down.

He protected her. Instinctively. Without a single thought for me, his fiancée, who was left standing in the path of shattering glass.

I wasn' t seriously hurt, just a few cuts from flying debris, but the emotional wound was mortal. In that split second, I saw the truth. He didn' t love me. He would never choose me. He loved her.

My mother rushed to Cassidy' s side, fussing over her, checking for injuries she didn' t have, while a stranger helped me to my feet. Later, in the hospital, my own mother told me I needed to be more understanding. "Cassidy has always been delicate, Ellie. Jace did the right thing."

Even when I was dying, riddled with a cancer they found too late, they weren' t there. Jace was on a business trip, a trip I later found out was a romantic getaway with Cassidy to the Amalfi Coast. My mother was at a charity luncheon.

I died alone in a cold, sterile hospital room, the beeping of machines my only company. My last coherent thought was a regret so deep it felt like it could tear a hole in the universe. I had wasted my one precious life on people who saw me as nothing more than a stepping stone.

A single, hot tear escaped and fell onto the contract, smearing the ink of the first paragraph. I watched it bleed into the paper.

No. Not this time.

The sharp point of the fountain pen dug into the soft flesh of my palm. The pain was grounding, a fierce, bright anchor in a sea of suffocating memories. This time would be different.

My gaze fell on the signature line designated for the bride. 'Ellie Anne Stanley.'

With a steady hand, I drew a single, clean line through my name. The black ink was definitive, a brutal slash across a future I refused to accept. Then, in the space above it, I wrote a new name in neat, deliberate block letters.

CASSIDY COLEMAN.

A small, humorless smile touched my lips. Jace wanted Cassidy. He loved her. My mother adored her, treated her more like a daughter than she ever treated me. They saw her as the prize. Fine. Let them have each other. Let them be bound together, not just by their sordid affair, but by the full weight of the Stanley-Robertson merger. This contract wasn' t just a marriage certificate; it was a financial document tying the spouse to specific corporate responsibilities and profit-sharing clauses.

I signed my own name where it was required-as a witness for the Stanley family. Then I capped the pen, placing it neatly beside the altered document.

I stood up, my chair making no sound on the thick Persian rug. My mother was on the phone in the hallway, her back to me, her voice a low murmur.

I walked out of the dining room, past my mother, past the ticking clock, and out the front door into the crisp autumn air. I didn' t have a bag packed. I didn' t have a plan.

But for the first time in my life, I was free. And I didn't look back.