Chapter 2

The Blackwell family dinner was exactly as I remembered — a battlefield disguised as a dining table.

Alexander's mother, Victoria Blackwell, sat at the head of the table like a queen surveying her territory. She had never approved of me. In my previous life, she had made that abundantly clear at every opportunity.

"So this is the girl." Victoria's gaze swept over me with the warmth of a meat inspector. "I expected someone more... refined."

In my past life, I had lowered my head and stammered an apology. Tonight, I simply smiled.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Blackwell. Alexander speaks very highly of you."

He didn't, of course. But the lie served its purpose. Victoria's eyes narrowed, uncertain whether to be flattered or suspicious.

Alexander, seated beside me, shot me a sideways glance. I could feel his confusion radiating off him like heat from a furnace.

"Mother, Vivian is here as my wife. I expect her to be treated accordingly," he said flatly.

I almost laughed. In my previous life, he hadn't said a single word in my defense during these dinners. He'd sat in silence while his mother dissected every flaw I had — my background, my education, my clothes, my existence.

The difference now was that he needed this marriage to look real. The Blackwell Group's board had made it clear: no stable family image, no CEO position. Alexander needed a wife, and I was the cheapest option available.

"Tell me, Vivian," Victoria continued, ignoring her son entirely. "What exactly does your family do?"

"My father was a teacher. He passed away when I was sixteen. My mother is currently receiving treatment for a chronic illness." I kept my voice even. "I'm sure your background check already covered all of this, Mrs. Blackwell."

The table went silent.

Victoria's fork paused midair. Alexander's hand tightened around his glass. Even the housekeeper standing by the wall seemed to hold her breath.

"You have quite the mouth on you," Victoria said slowly.

"I've been told."

A dangerous smile curled on Victoria's lips. "We'll see how long that lasts."

After dinner, Alexander cornered me in the hallway. He gripped my arm — not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make a point.

"What the hell was that?"

"Dinner," I replied. "Was the food not to your liking?"

"Don't play games with me, Vivian. My mother isn't someone you want as an enemy."

I looked down at his hand on my arm, then back up at his face. "Let go."

Something in my tone made him release me immediately. He looked almost startled by his own compliance.

"I signed your contract, Alexander. I'll play the role in public. But behind closed doors, I don't owe you or your family a performance." I straightened my sleeve. "And don't touch me without my permission again."

I turned and walked toward the guest room I'd arranged for myself. I could feel his stare boring into my back, heavy with questions he didn't know how to ask.

Good. Let him wonder.

In my previous life, I had spent three years trying to decode Alexander Blackwell's silences, searching for warmth in a man made of winter. I had convinced myself that every crumb of attention was a feast.

When Serena Mitchell entered the picture — beautiful, confident, from old money — I told myself it didn't matter. I was his wife. That had to count for something.

It counted for nothing.

I still remembered the night I found them together. Not in bed — that would have been simpler. They were on the balcony of his office, and Serena was crying softly while Alexander held her, stroking her hair with a tenderness I had never once received.

"You're the only person who understands me, Serena," he had murmured.

I had stood in the doorway for eleven seconds before quietly closing the door and walking away. He never knew I was there.

That was the night I stopped eating. Not deliberately — my body simply refused food. Within two months, I had lost thirty pounds. Within four months, I collapsed at a charity event.

Alexander sent his assistant to take me to the hospital.

His assistant.

I locked the guest room door and sat on the edge of the bed. No tears came. I had used up a lifetime's worth of tears in my previous life.

This time, I would save my energy for things that actually mattered.

My phone buzzed. An unknown number.

"Dr. Vivian Gale? This is St. Helena Medical Center. We'd like to formally offer you a position in our cardiac surgery department."

I stared at the message for a long moment before a genuine smile — the first one in what felt like years — spread across my face.

In my previous life, I had abandoned my medical career to be Alexander's perfect wife. I had given up my residency, my research, my identity — everything that made me me — because Victoria said a Blackwell wife didn't work.

Not this time.

I typed back: "I accept."