Chapter 1

Three years of marriage, and Fletcher Duval never once called me by my name—until the day I signed the divorce papers.

"Nora, wait."

Too late.

I had already pressed the pen to the last page, my signature still wet, while his pregnant mistress sat in my living room wearing my robe.

Fletcher grabbed my wrist across the lawyer's desk, his jaw tight, his eyes unreadable. "You'll walk out of this marriage with nothing. No money. No house. No name. Are you sure you want to do this?"

I looked at the man I had loved since I was seventeen. The man I had cooked for, waited up for, bled for—while he spent every night in Megan Hale's bed.

"I've never been more sure of anything."

His grip tightened. "You're bluffing. You have nowhere to go. Your family is bankrupt. Without the Duval name, you're—"

"Nobody?" I pulled free and smiled. "I've been nobody in this marriage for three years, Fletcher. At least out there, nobody pretends otherwise."

Something flickered in his eyes—Loss? Guilt? It didn't matter. I had seen that look before. In my last life, I had fallen for it, stayed another two years, and ended up dead on the bathroom floor of his penthouse after Megan "accidentally" pushed me down the stairs.

I remembered everything.

The cold tile against my cheek. The blood pooling under my head. Megan's voice whispering, "Finally," before the world went black.

And then I woke up. Three months ago. Right back at the start of the third year of this sham marriage—with enough time to plan my exit.

I picked up my bag and walked toward the door.

"Nora!" Fletcher's chair scraped back. "If you leave now, don't ever come crawling back. I mean it."

I turned, one hand on the doorframe, and met his gaze with the calm he'd never seen from me before.

"Fletcher, in exactly forty-eight hours, you're going to beg me to come back. And I want you to remember this moment—when I tell you no."

His face twisted with disbelief. Behind him, the lawyer shuffled papers nervously.

I stepped out into the hallway, and my phone buzzed.

One message. From an unknown number.

Welcome home, Miss Ashford. Your grandfather is ready to see you.

Ashford.

The name behind half the city's skyline, three global banks, and the one family even the Duvals couldn't touch.

My real name.

The name I'd buried when I was six years old and my mother fled with me in the middle of the night.

I stared at the message, heart pounding—and then another text came through.

Also, my eldest grandson has a question for you. He'd like to know if you're still married, or if he should prepare the engagement ring.

I almost dropped the phone.

Eldest grandson? The Ashford heir? I didn't even know the old man had another grandson besides—

The elevator doors opened in front of me, and a man stepped out.

Tall. Dark suit. Eyes so cold they could freeze a river in July. A face I had only ever seen in newspaper headlines and tabloid rumors.

Dominic Ashford.

The most powerful—and most dangerous—man in the city.

He looked down at me, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

"So. You're the little wife my cousin has been hiding."