My Rival, My Only Hope

On my birthday, my mother told me it was time to choose a fiancé from New York's most eligible bachelors. She urged me to pick Alexander Booth, the man I loved with a foolish passion in my previous life.

But I remembered how that love story ended. On the eve of our wedding, Alexander faked his death in a private jet crash.

I spent years as his grieving fiancée, only to find him alive and well on a beach, laughing with the poor student I had personally sponsored. They even had a child.

When I confronted him, our friends-the men who had pretended to comfort me-held me down.

They helped Alexander throw me into the ocean and watched from the pier as I drowned.

As the water closed over my head, only one person showed any real emotion. My childhood rival, Darrian Golden, screamed my name as they held him back, his face twisted in grief. He was the only one who cried at my funeral.

Opening my eyes again, I was back in our penthouse, just a week before the big decision. This time, when my mother asked me to choose Alexander, I gave her a different name. I chose the man who mourned me. I chose Darrian Golden.

Chapter 1

"Just one week until your birthday, Azalea. You know what that means." My mother, Emilee Wallace, sipped her tea, her eyes fixed on me from across the polished mahogany table.

The afternoon sun streamed into our New York penthouse, but I felt none of its warmth. This was my second chance, and I would not waste it.

"It's time to choose," she continued, her voice light but firm. "Alexander, Alaric, Darrius, Jefferey, or Darrian. Their mothers are all waiting."

I stared out the window, the city a blur. A coldness spread through me, a stark contrast to the lavish room. It was a memory-not a dream, but a life I had already lived and lost.

In my last life, I chose Alexander Booth. I loved the charming tech mogul with a blind, foolish passion. But on the eve of our wedding, his private jet "crashed" with no survivors. I spent years as the grieving fiancée, a broken woman clinging to a ghost, while his friends-Alaric Lambert, Darrius Montgomery, and Jefferey Gibson-pretended to be my devoted suitors, holding my hand and offering their shoulders to cry on. They were all liars.

Eventually, a whisper of a lead took me to a secluded coastal town, where I found him. Alexander was alive and well, laughing on a sunny beach with Isolde Booker-the poor, brilliant student I had personally sponsored. They even had a child. When I confronted them, their shock quickly turned to cold fury. My "friends" appeared, not to help me, but to help him silence me for good.

They dragged me onto a boat. "A boating accident," they'd call it. I remembered the cold water closing over my head, their blank faces watching from the pier as I drowned. Only one person had shown any real emotion. Darrian Golden, my childhood rival, had followed me there. As they held him back on the shore, he screamed my name, his face twisted in grief. He was the only one who cried at my funeral.

That death, that horrifying end, was not my final chapter. It was my second chance.

"Azalea? Did you hear me?" my mother asked, her patience thinning.

I turned from the window. I looked at her, my well-meaning mother, so caught up in tradition and appearances.

"I've made my decision," I said. My voice was calm, a dead flat line.

She smiled, relieved. "Wonderful. Is it Alexander? His mother will be thrilled."

"No."

Her smile faltered. "Oh. Alaric, then? Or Darrius?"

"No."

My mother put her teacup down with a sharp clink. "Azalea, what is this about? Not Jefferey... surely not Darrian?" Her voice was a mix of disbelief and frustration. "You and Darrian can't stand each other. He's nothing like the others."

A small, bitter smile touched my lips. "You're right. He's nothing like the others."

My mother stared at me, her face pale with shock. "You can't be serious."

"I am." I had chased a lie while surrounded by snakes. I ignored the only person whose feelings were real. I had been so stupid. So blind.

"He's the one I want," I said. "He's currently in Europe on business, isn't he?"

My mother nodded numbly.

"I need you to call him personally," I instructed. "Tell him to come back. Tell him I've chosen him to be my fiancé."

A call from my mother, the head of the Wallace-Kidd dynasty, was an order he couldn't ignore. It was a power move, and it was the only way.

"But... Azalea..."

"Do it," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument.

She stared at me for a long moment, seeing a hardness in my eyes she had never seen before. Finally, she nodded, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Alright. I'll call him."

As she left, I walked to the fireplace. On the mantel was a framed photo of me and Alexander smiling at a charity gala. Without a second thought, I threw it into the empty hearth. The glass shattered, the sound echoing in the silent room.

It was a start.

I turned to leave, but stopped when I heard voices from the hallway.

"Is she really going to pick Darrian Golden? That's insane," I heard Alaric's voice.

"She's just being difficult," Darrius replied. "She's always loved Alexander. She'll come to her senses."

I stepped back into the shadow of the doorway, listening.

"Alexander is getting impatient," Jefferey added, his voice low. "He wants this over with so he can get the Kidd real estate assets and finally set Isolde up properly."

My blood ran cold. It was happening all over again, just like before.

Alexander walked into their view. "Don't worry. Azalea is obsessed with me. A little tantrum won't change that. She'll pick me."

He saw me then, standing in the doorway. His face immediately changed, the cold ambition replaced by his usual charming smile.

"Azalea, darling. We were just talking about you."

I said nothing. I just looked at him, at all of them, the men I once thought were my world. Now, all I saw were walking corpses.

"Are you ready for your birthday?" Alexander asked, stepping closer. "Big decision to make."

Isolde appeared behind them, hiding slightly, her wide eyes feigning innocence. The same eyes that would watch me drown. She bumped into Alexander, a clumsy little move.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Booth!" she cried, stumbling.

He caught her, his hands holding her a little too long, a little too familiarly. "It's alright, Isolde."

It was a test. In my past life, I would have been furious. Now, I felt nothing. I just watched them, and my silence made them uncomfortable.

"Azalea, let's go for a walk by the pool," Alexander said. It wasn't a question.

We ended up by the rooftop pool. The four of them, and me. Isolde hovered nearby.

"What's this I hear about Darrian Golden?" Alexander asked, his tone light, but his eyes were hard. "Playing hard to get?"

I didn't answer. I just looked at the water.

Isolde, seeing her chance, "accidentally" tripped again, this time lurching towards the pool's edge, right next to me.

"Oh my!" she shrieked. She grabbed my arm, pulling me with her as she fell into the water.

The shock of the cold was familiar. "Help!" I thrashed, my dress pulling me down.

Through the water, I saw Alaric, Darrius, and Jefferey dive in. They swam right past me. They all went to Isolde.

"Isolde, are you okay?" Alexander's voice was filled with panic as he cradled her.

No one looked at me. I was sinking, the water filling my lungs. It was happening all over again. The memory and reality were blurring into one horrifying moment.

They were leaving me to die.

My last clear thought before the darkness threatened to take over was of Darrian Golden's face, twisted in grief.

This time, I would not let him grieve alone. This time, I would make them pay.

The water was a crushing weight, a cold, dark blanket pulling me down. My lungs burned for air. I was dying. Again.

But this wasn't a memory. This was real.

A fierce, desperate will to live surged through me. I would not die here. I would not let them win. Not this time.

I clawed my way towards the surface, my muscles screaming in protest. My head broke through the water, and I gasped, sucking in a painful breath of air.

Across the pool, I saw them. Alexander was wrapping his jacket around a shivering Isolde, whispering in her ear. Alaric, Darrius, and Jefferey stood around them like guards, their backs to me.

They hadn't even bothered to look for me.

In my past life, I never understood why Alexander hated me so much. I had loved him. I had given him everything. Now I knew. He never saw me as a person. I was a prize, a stepping stone. My love was an inconvenience, my very existence a cage he wanted to escape.

I had to survive. I had to live to see them all fall.

I kicked my legs, my movements clumsy and heavy, and slowly pulled myself towards the edge of the pool. My fingers scraped against the concrete as I hauled my waterlogged body out. I lay there, coughing and shivering on the cold ground, a mess of trembling limbs.

No one came to help.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Darrius turned. "Oh, Azalea. You're out. We were so worried."

He walked over, his face a perfect mask of concern. "We had to get Isolde first. She can't swim. You're a strong swimmer, we knew you'd be fine."

Alaric and Jefferey nodded in agreement, their expressions just as fake.

"Are you okay?" Alaric asked, reaching out a hand.

I flinched away from his touch. I looked at their faces, these men I had once called friends. Their lies were so practiced, so easy.

"I'm fine," I said, my voice hoarse. I pushed myself to my feet, my wet dress clinging to me. I was cold, but my anger burned hot enough to keep me warm.

I refused their offers of a towel, of a change of clothes. I didn't want their false comfort. I didn't want anything from them ever again.

I walked away, leaving them by the pool. I could feel their eyes on my back.

"Azalea, wait!" Alexander called out.

I didn't stop. I walked back into the penthouse, dripping water on the expensive rugs, and went straight to my room. I locked the door behind me.

I stripped off the wet clothes and stood under a hot shower, trying to wash away the feeling of the pool water, the feeling of their betrayal. But it was a stain on my soul, one that could only be cleansed with revenge.

Later, my phone buzzed with messages.

From Alaric: Hope you're feeling better. Let me know if you need anything at all.

From Darrius: So sorry about what happened. We should have been faster. Let me take you to dinner to make it up to you.

From Jefferey: Thinking of you. Here's a little something to cheer you up. A notification followed. A deposit of a hundred thousand dollars into my account.

They thought they could buy my forgiveness. They thought I was the same naive girl who would be placated by empty words and expensive gifts.

I deleted the messages without replying.

The next few days were a blur of fake apologies and grand gestures. Flowers arrived by the truckload. Alaric sent me a diamond bracelet I'd admired last year. Darrius offered to fly me to Paris for a shopping spree. They were trying to appease the girl from my past life, but she was dead and gone.

I ignored it all.

They invited me to a high-profile charity auction, an event I used to love. I knew Alexander and Isolde would be there. I knew it was a trap, another stage for their little drama.

I accepted the invitation.

I saw them the moment I walked in. Alexander stood with his arm around Isolde, who was dressed in a simple but elegant gown. She looked out of place, a little mouse among lions, but Alexander's presence gave her an air of importance.

He saw me and his smile tightened. He whispered something to Isolde, and she looked over at me, her eyes wide with a practiced innocence that made my stomach turn.

He steered her away, a clear and deliberate snub.

Alaric and Darrius were at my side in an instant.

"Don't mind him," Darrius said, placing a comforting hand on my arm. "He's just being a jerk."

"He doesn't deserve you," Alaric added.

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream at them, to expose their hypocrisy to the entire room. But I held my tongue. It wasn't time yet.

I looked at Darrius's hand on my arm and felt a wave of nausea. This was the same hand that would one day help push me off a boat.

I pulled my arm away. "I can handle myself."

They exchanged a look, confused by my coldness.

"Azalea," Alaric said, his voice soft. "We're all waiting for your decision. Who will you choose?"

I gave them a small, enigmatic smile. "You'll find out soon enough."

The uncertainty in their eyes was a small, satisfying victory. Let them squirm. Let them wonder.

Alexander was clearly trying to make a point. He paraded Isolde around the room, buying her expensive champagne, introducing her to influential people. For every glance I sent his way, he would pull her closer, laugh a little louder.

It was all a performance for my benefit. A way to show me what I was missing, to make me jealous and desperate.

In my past life, it would have worked. I would have been heartbroken.

Now, I felt a strange sense of peace. The man I loved was a phantom. The real Alexander Booth was this cruel, manipulative stranger. And I was free of him.

Then, the final item of the auction was announced. A sapphire necklace, known as "The Heart of the Ocean." It wasn't just a piece of jewelry. It was legendary, once owned by a queen, said to bring eternal love to its owner.

More importantly, it was the necklace my father had given my mother on their wedding day. After he passed, she donated it to this charity in his memory.

I had to have it. It was a piece of my family, a piece of a love that was real and true. It was everything my life with Alexander would have been a lie of.

The auctioneer presented the necklace. It glittered under the lights, a deep, mesmerizing blue. My mother's love story was tied to that sapphire. I had to get it back.

"The bidding for The Heart of the Ocean will start at five million dollars," the auctioneer announced.

I raised my paddle. "Five million."

A murmur went through the crowd.

Then, another paddle went up across the room. "Six million," Alexander's voice called out, clear and confident.

He was looking right at me, a challenging smirk on his face. Isolde was beside him, her eyes wide with feigned surprise, though a flicker of triumph danced in them. This was another power play.

"Seven million," I said immediately, my voice steady.

"Ten million," he countered, without blinking.

The room fell silent. This was no longer an auction; it was a duel. Alaric, Darrius, and Jefferey quietly lowered their paddles. They wouldn't bid against Alexander. Their loyalty was never to me.

"Fifteen million," I said, my heart pounding. This was a significant chunk of my personal trust fund.

"Twenty million," Alexander shot back. He was enjoying this, the public humiliation, the display of his power over me.

In my past life, I remembered a similar auction. He had outbid me for a painting I desperately wanted, only to give it to Isolde in front of me. The memory fueled my resolve.

"Twenty-five million," I said, my voice tight.

Alexander laughed. "Fifty million."

A collective gasp echoed through the hall. He had just doubled the price, an impossible sum meant to crush me completely. He knew I couldn't match it.

He had won. The hammer fell.

"Sold, to Mr. Alexander Booth for fifty million dollars!"

He didn't even look at the necklace. He looked at me, his eyes cold and victorious. He leaned down and whispered something to Isolde, who giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Alaric and Darrius were at my side again, their voices full of fake sympathy. "I'm so sorry, Azalea." "He's a monster."

I ignored them, pushing through the crowd, my eyes locked on Alexander. I would not let him have this victory. I walked straight up to him. "I'll buy it from you," I said, my voice low but firm.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what would you offer me?"

"Sixty million," I said. "A ten-million-dollar profit for doing nothing."

Isolde looked at me, her eyes gleaming with greed. But Alexander just smiled. "It's not for sale."

"Everything has a price," I insisted.

He looked me up and down, a cruel, mocking light in his eyes. "You're right. It does have a price. But not one you can pay with money." He leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper meant only for me. "You want it? Get on your knees. Beg me for it. Maybe then I'll consider it."

The humiliation was a physical blow. The crowd was watching, whispering. My face burned. But the necklace... it was my mother's. It was my father's memory.

With my pride in tatters, I did the unthinkable. I sank to my knees on the cold marble floor.

The room erupted in shocked whispers. Alexander's smile widened. He had won. He had brought the great Azalea Kidd to her knees.

"Please," I whispered, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "Sell it to me."

He reveled in my humiliation for a long moment, then he gestured for the auction staff to bring him the box. He took it, opened it, and held the beautiful necklace in his hand. He looked from the necklace to me, still kneeling on the floor.

Then, with a deliberate, slow movement, he snapped the delicate chain. The priceless sapphires scattered across the floor like blue tears.

A horrified gasp swept through the room. He had destroyed it. He had destroyed my parents' memory right in front of my eyes, just to hurt me.

Something inside me broke.

I surged to my feet and slapped him across the face. The sound cracked through the stunned silence.

"You monster!" I screamed.

Isolde immediately burst into tears, rushing to his side. "Alexander! Are you okay? Azalea, how could you?" She was playing the victim, as always. But then she did something unexpected. She ran towards the nearby balcony, climbing onto the ledge.

"If you're going to be so cruel to Alexander, I don't want to live!" she shrieked, a picture of manufactured despair.

It was pure theater. The drop was only one story to a terrace below. A stunt to make me look like the villain.

The crowd panicked. People screamed. Alexander rushed to her, "Isolde, no!" He "saved" her, pulling her back from the ledge into his arms as she "swooned." He then turned to me, his face a mask of fury.

"Look what you've done," he hissed, his voice full of menace. "You'll pay for this."

His security guards grabbed my arms, dragging me away as if I were a criminal.

The next thing I knew, I was in a private room at a hospital. Alexander was there, along with a doctor.

"Isolde is in shock," the doctor said gravely. "The stress you caused her has triggered a severe episode related to her rare heart condition. She needs a blood transfusion immediately, but her blood type is incredibly rare. RH-negative."

I froze. I knew where this was going. My blood type was also RH-negative.

Isolde, looking pale and fragile in the hospital bed, spoke up weakly. "No... don't ask Azalea. It's my fault. I shouldn't have upset her." She was so good at being the martyr.

Alexander ignored her. His cold eyes were fixed on me. "You heard the doctor. She needs blood." He wasn't ordering me, not directly. He was cornering me. That evening, his PR team was already spinning the story. Cruel Heiress Azalea Kidd Drives Innocent Girlfriend to Brink of Death, Refuses Life-Saving Donation.

He was trapping me in a cage of public opinion. If I refused, I was a monster. If I agreed, I was submitting to his will. I looked at his smug face and saw the checkmate he had planned.

"Fine," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "I'll do it."

He smiled, a cold, triumphant smile. He had won this round. As the nurses prepped my arm, I stared at him, my hatred a physical force.

"I curse you, Alexander Booth," I whispered, so only he could hear. "I curse you and that woman. I hope you both rot in hell."

He just laughed. "Save your breath, Azalea. You should be honored to have your blood flowing in Isolde's veins."

The needle slid into my arm. I felt my strength begin to drain away. My vision started to blur. As I slipped into unconsciousness, my mind replayed my own death. The cold water, the laughing faces of my betrayers.

And the one face that was filled with pain.

"Darrian," I whispered, his name a prayer on my lips as the darkness consumed me. "Darrian..."