Reborn To Reclaim: The Boss Who Never Forgot

Isla POV

Tomorrow was supposed to be the best day of my life. That's what everyone calls it. The day two people become one. The most exciting day for a young lady like me.

But sitting alone in my hotel room, all I felt was incoming dread. I didn't understand why such a feeling was taking over my body. I should be ecstatic, happy, and glad. I was about to marry the love of my life and start a family.

But as I stared at myself in the mirror, I couldn't recognize myself.

I stared at my now-short blonde hair. Ronan's preferred style. He had made me cut it short.

"Long hair makes women too independent," he'd told me once. "It'll get in the way of starting a family."

And now I had lost my favorite feature of myself. My long golden blonde hair, gone.

Six years I'd given this man my whole life, and somehow I kept shrinking to fit his expectations.

I quit my job at Vale Groups. I dropped my ambitions and my career, and smiled through every humiliation he and my adopted family threw at me.

I even helped him with the company and all the success he had gained... but I didn't remember him thanking me for my efforts, or even offering me a top position in his office.

He took all the credit.

All for a proposal that only came after my parents wore him down.

I needed to see Vivienne, my little sister. My best and only friend. She was the only thing that was nice to me. Just seeing her face and smile always made things manageable.

I left my room and walked the quiet hallway toward the suite she'd borrowed to get ready.

I stopped as I saw Ronan's shoe was outside the door. The ones I'd bought him. I frowned, confused as to why it would be in front of Vivienne's hotel room.

The door was open a bit.

From inside came sounds that made my chest hurt: low, ragged breaths. The sounds of two bodies moving together.

"Vivienne... you feel so good..." Ronan's voice, slurred.

My heart stopped. I couldn't move.

"Harder, Ronan!" Vivienne called out. "I'm not Isla! I can handle you!"

I blinked. My vision blurred. My sister. My fiancé. Together.

Ronan had never been... like this with me. He was always distant, even in intimacy. I just thought he was one of those people who weren't into sex and maybe showed his affection through other things.

But this-this was real. And he was having it with my sister.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be. Vivienne... she wouldn't...

When the sounds finally faded, Vivienne's voice drifted through the gap, soft and casual.

"You really should leave her, Ronan... she's so clingy. Always needing someone there. I don't know why you put up with it."

Ronan chuckled. "I know... but it's complicated. She... isn't easy to walk away from."

"Complicated... right," Vivienne said. "Or maybe you just don't want to hurt her. She's so lonely. What if she falls apart? Acts unstable when you leave?"

"You know I wouldn't be shocked if she hurt herself at the thought of losing you," she added.

I had propped this man up for six years. His investors were my contacts. His clients were my introductions. His company existed because of my sleepless nights. And here he was, letting my sister call me clingy while he lay in her bed the night before our wedding.

I pushed the door open.

Ronan scrambled up, grabbing the bedsheet, eyes wide with shock before turning cold.

"Isla-"

"How long?" I asked, my voice steady, as I tried to contain my tears.

Vivienne sat on the bed. She let her lip tremble, letting the tears come out in a fake weep.

"It's my fault," she croaked. "I'm so sorry, Isla. It just happened. You were always so busy and I only wanted-"

I crossed the room and slapped her clean across the face, making her gasp in shock.

The sound rang through the air.

One second Ronan was across the room. Then his hand landed across my face so hard that I hit the floor hard, the impact hurting my entire body. My ears were ringing from the slap.

The pain was bad. But I had never expected my fiancé to hit me. I knew he had some anger issues before this, but he had never hit me.

I pressed my palm to the carpet, pushed myself upright, and stood.

"Don't," he said, chest heaving in anger, fists still clenched at his sides. "Don't you ever put your hands on her."

"Your company," I declared, voice shaking. "Every investor came through me. Every major client. Every back-channel deal. I have the records, Ronan. All of it. Every contract with my name on it. I will burn it to the ground."

The fury on his face left. Just enough to see the fear underneath.

"Let's be rational." He straightened, slipping into the smooth boardroom voice I'd heard a hundred times. "You're upset. Fine. But destroying the business destroys what you built too. Walk away clean and I'll make sure you're taken care of. You won't lose anything."

"I don't want your money."

"Isla-"

"I want your company in ruins." I held his gaze. "I want every person who ever invested in you to know exactly who you are."

His expression hardened. "You're being irrational."

"I'm being very rational."

I felt pain moving through my veins and my body, so much pain. My legs were shaking from it.

I grabbed the wall, my vision blurry. My hand slid to my nose, and then I felt it: a warm liquid on my upper lip.

I brought my hand down and stared at the blood on my fingers.

"Something's wrong," I said, fear clinging to my skin.

I slid down the wall, groaning, and hit the floor. This time I couldn't get back up.

"Ronan." My voice came out small and frightened. "Something is wrong. Please. Help me."

He looked down at me and didn't move.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said quietly, crouching to my level. "You drop everything. The business, the threats, all of it. You sign whatever I put in front of you. You do that, and I'll get you help. That's the deal."

I looked up at him through my blurring vision.

"Your business," I whispered, "will be gone before the year ends. I promise you that."

He stood up and stepped back.

He stared down at me and did nothing. His face blank, without a care for me.

The room was fading. My body felt far away. I was genuinely scared, and I did what I'd always done when I was scared.

I turned to my sister.

"Vivi-"

She was already looking at me, and the smile on her face stopped every thought in my head.

Not concern. Not panic. And not the horror of watching someone you love die in front of you.

Just a quiet satisfaction. Her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes moving over me with something almost like relief.

Like she'd been waiting.

Like she'd been waiting for a very long time.

She did something.

My best friend. My sister. The only person I'd never once thought to question.

She had done this. Why? Betraying me by sleeping with my fiancé was one thing. But doing something to kill me was another.

The darkness pressed in on my eyes, and the last thing I felt wasn't rage at Ronan. It wasn't even pain.

It was the specific, devastating grief of understanding that the person you loved most in the world had never loved you back at all.

-

Isla POV

My head snapped up from my desk so fast my glasses flew sideways. My hand knocked my water bottle and it hit the floor with a bang that made half the office flinch.

Every head turned in my direction before going straight back to their screens. Not one person asked if I was okay.

I sat there, chest heaving. My long blonde hair half escaped from its ponytail, one side of my face almost certainly imprinted with keyboard marks.

What just happened?

I looked around slowly, confused. Was all that just a dream? Because it was way too detailed.

I took a deep inhale as I looked around. Calmly, I was in the Vale Groups office.

Except something was wrong with it. People were moving between desks with purpose, the printer ran without stopping, and someone stood at the window on the phone.

I looked around for another moment before it registered. This energy only happened for one reason.

I turned to my computer and looked at the date in the corner of the screen.

July 2nd.

I leaned forward in panic before reading it again.

July 2nd.

This was two months before my wedding. Two months before I died while Ronan and Vivienne watched without a care.

Haven't I lived this day before? With the exact same situation, too.

Today was the quarterly partnership review. The one where every department head presented directly to Lucian Vale in front of the entire senior floor. The one where I had to stand up and present my report.

In my dream-in what I had been desperately insisting was just a dream-I had printed my report that morning and the numbers had been wrong. Three months of careful analysis turned into something that looked like I had never once opened a spreadsheet in my life.

I had walked into that meeting anyway because I hadn't caught it in time.

And Lucian Vale had told me-in front of everyone, in that flat tone of his-that this was not the standard he expected. That carelessness was not something he tolerated. That I had wasted the room's time.

I had stood there and taken every word of it.

And then Vivienne had found me afterwards, her arm warm around my shoulders. He's like that with everyone. Your work is brilliant, Isla. He just can't see it.

And I had felt grateful back then. Now I wondered: was all that a fake? Was she planning my death even back then?

My hands were already moving, opening files and apps. I navigated to the report folder, begging to whatever supernatural thing that brought me back that the report was perfectly fine.

I finally opened the report and the numbers stared back at me.

The numbers were all wrong and jumbled up, column four bleeding into column five. Three months of careful work broken so thoroughly it looked like I hadn't checked it once.

I knew every number in this report. I had built it from scratch. I knew what it was supposed to say and I knew what it said now, and I had not done this.

I checked the timestamp.

Last modified: yesterday, 11:47pm.

I had left the office at six, from what I remembered.

I stared at those numbers for a long moment. Trying to figure out how and why this happened last time, and why I was back at this moment.

Was it Vivienne who ruined this report? She did have access to some of my work things.

The thought arrived quietly. And with it came a hundred horrible memories of my life that Vivienne was apparently always there for.

I pushed it down. Not now. Right now I needed to fix this before the meeting to avoid the reprimand and that embarrassing moment. I looked at the clock.

I had one hour and forty minutes.

I could try, though I didn't keep my hopes high. The corruption was too thorough.

---

I couldn't fix it.

I printed what I had and gathered my materials. I fixed my outfit and pushed my glasses up. There was nothing I could do.

I had already survived this once. I could do it again.

The executive conference room was everything I remembered and had been hoping to misremember. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows and a long table that seated twenty. Every senior staff member already seated.

Vivienne was third from the front with perfect posture, her short dark hair tucked behind one ear, completely at ease. She caught my eye and gave me a small, warm smile.

I smiled back reluctantly before I found my seat at the back-alone, the way I always ended up.

Then the door finally opened. Lucian Vale walked in.

He was the heir to the Vale fortune, and the whole country knew his face-rich, famous, and the kind of handsome that felt almost unfair. He was also the most demanding, exacting, cold person I had ever had the misfortune of reporting to.

It had always felt personal. The extra work he piled on me. The detailed criticism of everything I submitted. Even when I eventually quit-pushed out by Ronan's expectations-I had been quietly relieved to leave him behind.

He set his folder on the table, sat, and looked around the room once.

My back stiffened as I felt his gaze pause on me for a second too long before moving on. That didn't happen last time, and it didn't help my worry.

"Begin," he said.

The meeting began, and I heard none of it. I sat with my broken report in my lap and mentally recited his words from my first life.

This is not the standard I expect.

Carelessness has consequences.

I suggest you take the weekend to reconsider your approach to detail.

I knew every word, every pause, and the painful way he would look at the report without looking at me-like my presence in the room was secondary to the offense of the work itself.

"Isla Montclair."

I stood up too quickly at the sound of my name from his lips. My legs were steady, and I was genuinely impressed by them.

"The Q3 partnership analysis," I started.

And then I looked at my report and my mind went completely blank. I had sat at my desk for an hour telling myself I knew this work, that I knew every number. But the report was too wrong. How could I present this?

"The figures in section three," I said, my voice a shy whisper, "there was a file issue. Some of the numbers-"

"Present the report, please," he said, cutting me off.

I took a deep breath and just started presenting it. My panic was getting to me so that I was stumbling over my words, the jumbled numbers getting to me. I couldn't even play it off like the report was perfectly fine.

When I finished, I took a sigh of dread and turned to Mr. Vale as he stared back at me for what felt like four seconds.

"The Q3 figures," he said. "Column four."

"There was a file corruption-"

"I'm looking at column four." He didn't raise his voice, but I hated hearing that condescending tone. "Walk me through the figures."

I gave him the correct numbers from memory. My voice was a bit steadier now. And I was actually glad he had given me this opportunity to explain myself.

He listened and made a note on his notepad. I bit my lip nervously, awaiting his response.

"The presentation of this report," he said, "is not the standard I expect."

There it was. The exact same words from before.

"I understand," I said, not having enough courage to explain why.

"Carelessness-"

"It wasn't carelessness, sir." I cut him off and internally scolded myself.

The room went very still. I heard small gasps from around me, but I ignored them.

Lucian looked at me, his brows knitted together in thought.

"The file was modified at 11:47pm yesterday," I said, explaining myself.

My voice wasn't entirely steady, but it was present and it was mine. "I left the office at six. I noticed the corruption this morning and did not have sufficient time to correct it before this meeting."

"Who has access to your files?" he asked, his voice quiet.

My brows lifted at the question.

In my first life, he had said take the weekend to reconsider your approach. He had not asked who had access to my files. He had simply concluded and moved on, leaving me standing in shame and embarrassment.

He wasn't saying those things now.

"The shared drive," I said carefully. "Standard department access."

He held my gaze for a moment that lasted longer than was strictly professional. Making me a bit uneasy... he was such an uncomfortable man.

"Sit down, Montclair. We'll discuss the full report separately." He lifted his finger and rubbed his temples.

I sat down slowly, relief washing over me.

My hands were shaking under the table. I pressed them flat against my thighs, stared at my folder, and breathed.

He had not said carelessness has consequences.

He had asked who has access to my files.

And sitting there in that room, with my broken report in my lap and Vivienne's warm smile still fresh in my memory-I was starting to understand exactly what that meant.

I have been reborn.

Isla POV

The meeting was finally over.

I gathered my things quickly, keeping my head down, hoping that Mr. Vale had already moved on to something more important than me.

Before I could escape the room, he appeared behind me, startling me so much that I almost dropped my things.

He seemed unfazed by my shock, giving me a raised brow that seemed to hold a trace of amusement. "To my office, Mrs. Montclair."

I sighed under my breath as I followed behind him quietly.

I finally reached his office. This was the first time I had ever been in it. It was impressive and clean.

His office was large, white, immaculate. Tall windows behind his desk overlooked the city roads, pedestrians, and buildings. Shelves of different books and small statues were decorated by the side wall, surrounded by a long, relaxing couch and carpets.

I stood in front of his desk with my hands rested at my sides. He opened my file and read through it with a blank expression that gave nothing away.

Then his black gaze came up and met mine, cold and calculating, assessing my form.

"M-my apologies, Sir," I said shyly. The words came out smaller than I intended.

"I didn't ask for an apology." His voice was flat and final. "An apology won't fix this."

I knew that. I knew that, and I still said it because six years of making myself small had apparently become muscle memory.

He finally set the file down, tapping his finger on the desk, the sound filling the room.

"You have one week to rewrite this completely," he said. "I expect no excuses about missed errors. I expect it done correctly."

He slid the document across the desk toward me, and I reached for it immediately. "Th-thank you, Sir-"

"Ms. Montclair," he cut in gently, his voice oddly soft.

I stopped, my eyes meeting his.

He was looking at me with that careful, controlled expression. The one that had been sitting on his face all day as he glanced at me during the meeting.

"You are a smart and capable woman," he said. "Your work history makes that clear. But your timidness-" he paused, choosing the word deliberately, "-needs addressing. In this industry, being too trusting is not a virtue. You need to watch your back."

I stared at him, shocked, my hand still frozen on his desk.

My work history. He had looked at my work history. He had read it carefully enough to have an opinion about it.

And this man, this cold, exacting, perpetually dissatisfied man who had never once in three years said anything to me that wasn't a criticism, had just called me smart and capable and then warned me to watch my back.

I didn't understand him. I had never understood him. But the flash of the hotel room came-the blood on my hand, Vivienne's satisfied smile, and Ronan's cold stare. He was right.

I do need to watch my back.

"Yes, Sir," I said.

And I left before he could say anything else that I didn't know how to process.

---

It was nearing 6 p.m., and I was still at my desk.

Most of the office had emptied out, but a few of us remained, heads down and working. I hadn't taken a lunch break. There was no one to take it with. Vivienne had disappeared hours ago with her usual crowd, and I had eaten at my desk the way I always did and told myself it was fine.

I glanced across the floor.

Vivienne was in the far room, perched on someone's desk, laughing at something, completely at ease. A small group of people gathered around her, drawn in without deciding to be, the way people always were with her.

I watched her for a moment.

She had always been like this, ever since we were little: at home, at school, and now at work. Every room she entered, she owned within minutes, and she accepted it like it was simply the natural order of things.

And then there was me.

No friends, no cliques, not even acquaintances. Just my desk and my work and a quiet I had gotten so used to I had stopped noticing it.

Was this her doing? Did she ensure I was so isolated that I only rely on her? The thought arrived quietly. Or am I just like this?

I turned back to my screen and caught my reflection in the dark border of the monitor.

I touched my ponytail without thinking and felt something loosen quietly in my chest. My long golden hair was back.

I had missed it more than I realized. Ronan had made me cut it. But here it was: long, blonde, and mine.

I almost smiled. I would never let anyone make me cut it off again.

I snapped out of it when a stack of papers dropped onto my desk so hard that it made me flinch.

A old short man stood over me with a cold scowl on his face. Gerald Marsh, my department second in command.

He was the kind of man who had been in an office long enough to believe the office belonged to him-grey-haired, heavy-shouldered, with the specific contempt of someone who had never once been told no by anyone beneath him.

He had made my professional life a misery for as long as I had worked here. Extra work dumped on my desk without explanation, credit taken without acknowledgment, and opportunities that dissolved before they ever reached me.

I had never understood why. Why so many people hated me, especially this old man who I had helped gain status in the eyes of Mr. Vale.

"How stupid can you be?" he snarled loudly. A few people still at their desks went very still, listening. "You think you can embarrass me like that? Presenting that nonsense in front of the CEO?"

My jaw tightened. "I-"

"The CEO and company directors were in that room." He leaned forward. "And you made me a laughingstock. What exactly is the point of vouching for you if you can't even catch your own mistakes?"

I dropped my gaze, face hot. Nobody intervened. They just stared, watching, entertained, as Gerald spat nonsense at my face.

Was I really that invisible? Or were they just that used to this?

His hand came down hard on the stack of papers. "This needs to be done by tomorrow morning. All of it."

I looked at the pile, face tight with irritation.

This wasn't my work. It was never my work. Gerald had been handing me assignments above my grade for years, taking the credit at galas and presentations while I sat at my desk and produced the things he would smile over.

In my first life, I had taken it every single time. But I wouldn't anymore.

"I can't, Mr. Marsh," I said. "Mr. Vale has already assigned me a full rewrite of my report within the week. I don't have the capacity for additional work on top of that."

The floor went completely still. Everyone's eyes widened in fascination at my retort. Even Gerald stared at me, caught off guard.

I had never pushed back. Not once. I watched the realization move across his face, and then something uglier settle behind it.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by a sweet voice.

"Gerald!"

Vivienne's voice, warm and bright, cutting across the floor like she owned it.

I noticed it now. She was the only person in this office who called him by his first name. Looking back at it, it wasn't professional at all. Something was definitely going on between these two.

Her hand landed briefly on his arm, and she glanced between the pile of work and me. For just a fraction of a second, I saw it. She was genuinely surprised at my defiance.

"Oh, Isla, you're going to help him with his work!" she announced brightly, gesturing toward me with a little laugh, her short dark hair bouncing. "How nice of you! I'm sure he'll appreciate it!"

"I am not," I said simply.

Vivienne blinked, shocked. Mr. Marsh's face reddened, anger flashing before his eyes, but Vivienne gave him a look to relax before turning back to me.

"Come on, Isla, it's not even that hard." Her voice stayed light, almost amused. "Just sorting through files. You could do it in your sleep."

"If it's that easy," I said, turning back to my screen, "then you do it."

The air filled with awkward tense silence, and I was very pleased about it.

I heard Gerald mutter something under his breath. I didn't catch the words, but I caught the tone. I didn't care anymore. He wasn't worth my time.

But it was Vivienne that made me nervous.

She was still standing there, and her expression rearranged into something soft and wounded, her voice dropping into the register she used when she wanted a room on her side.

"I'm sorry, Isla," she said sweetly. "I know Mr. Vale was really hard on you today. You don't have to take it out on everyone else, though." She paused, letting it land. "I was only trying to help."

The room immediately shifted at her attention. Eyes turned to me in barely disguised disdain.

Vivienne stood there looking gracious and understanding while I sat with my jaw tight, my spine straight, and my very existence apparently reading as hostile.

"She's so mature," someone murmured.

"Honestly, I can't believe she's the younger sister."

And then, quieter, from somewhere I couldn't pinpoint: "Isla's adopted anyway, remember."

I flinched at that word, averting my gaze to my desk.

Vivienne heard it too. She didn't correct it. She just smiled softly and gestured for Gerald to follow her. He went, smoothed and redirected, the confrontation dissolved before it could finish.

Finally, I took a deep breath, going back to work, glad it was over. But before I could enter my workflow, she came back alone and sat on the edge of my desk like nothing had happened.

"Hey," Vivienne said softly. "I know today was a lot."

I didn't answer her. I kept working, ignoring her. A flicker of something crossed her face at my silence, but she pushed through it, not respecting my silence.

"I called Ronan," she said, brightening. "I thought it might help-getting out, a nice dinner, the three of us. He's meeting us at Marcello's at eight." She smiled. "What do you think?"

She had called my fiancé behind my back and made plans for my evening. And she was sitting on my desk waiting for me to be grateful.

"Sure," I said calmly and smiled.

She squealed softly, squeezed my shoulder, and left, giggling. I frowned, turning back to my screen.

In this life, I would escape my tragic death. And take back every single thing that I rightfully deserved.