Chapter 2

Twenty minutes later, I stood at the end of the aisle.

Four hundred guests. Crystal chandeliers. White roses flown in from Ecuador.

The Ashfords had spared no expense—not for me, but for the spectacle. A bankrupt family's daughter marrying into the Ashford empire was the social event of the season.

Ethan stood at the altar, impeccable in his black tuxedo.

I used to think he was the most handsome man I'd ever seen.

Now, all I saw was the man who told the doctors to save the baby first.

Beside him, serving as a bridesmaid she'd begged her way into, stood Luna.

White dress. Almost bridal.

In my last life, I hadn't even noticed.

Now, I saw every calculated detail—the way her dress was just a shade too close to mine, the way she stood just a step too close to Ethan, the way her fingers brushed his sleeve.

The music played. I walked.

My father, frail and broken from losing everything, held my arm. His hand trembled.

"Vivienne," he whispered. "I know this isn't what you wanted. I'm sorry."

In my last life, I'd said, "It's okay, Dad. I love him."

This time, I squeezed his hand and said, "Don't worry. I know exactly what I'm doing."

He looked confused but kept walking.

When we reached the altar, Ethan extended his hand.

I took it. His palm was warm, his grip confident—the grip of a man who believed he owned everything, including me.

"You look beautiful," he murmured.

I smiled. "You look like a man who kissed another woman an hour ago."

The color drained from his face.

"What—"

"Don't worry." I leaned closer, lowering my voice. "I'm still going to marry you."

His jaw tightened, but the officiant had already begun.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…"

I let the words wash over me, watching Luna from the corner of my eye. She was smiling—that sweet, practiced smile.

In my last life, the first three years of marriage had been tolerable. Ethan was distant but not cruel. Luna hovered but kept her distance.

Everything changed when Ethan's mother died and left a will.

The will stated that Ethan's inheritance—sixty percent of Ashford Group—would only be fully transferred to him once he produced an heir.

Suddenly, I wasn't just a wife.

I was a vessel.

And Luna? Luna became the woman whispering in his ear that I was taking too long, that maybe I couldn't conceive, that maybe he needed a "backup plan."

The backup plan was Luna herself.

She had a child with Ethan behind my back—a son, born via surrogate using an embryo she'd somehow obtained. I didn't find out until year five.

By then, Ethan had already begun transferring assets. My family's remaining connections had been stripped. And I was pregnant with the child he'd eventually choose over my life.

"Do you, Vivienne Langford, take Ethan Ashford to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

I looked at Ethan.

In my last life, I'd said "I do" with tears of joy.

This time, I said it with a plan.

"I do."

The reception was lavish. Champagne towers, a twelve-piece orchestra, guests worth a combined net worth of forty billion.

I moved through the crowd with practiced grace, but my eyes were searching.

Searching for one person.

I found him by the bar, alone, swirling whiskey in a crystal glass.

Dominic Cavanaugh.

Thirty-two. Founder and CEO of Cavanaugh Capital. Ethan's most feared competitor.

In my last life, Dominic had tried to acquire Ashford Group three times. Each time, I had helped Ethan fend him off.

I was very, very good at my job.

Dominic looked up as I approached. His eyes—steel grey, unreadable—met mine.

"Mrs. Ashford," he said. "Congratulations."

"Mr. Cavanaugh." I sat on the stool beside him, uninvited. "You weren't on the guest list."

"I wasn't." He took a sip. "I came anyway."

In my last life, I'd avoided Dominic entirely. Ethan had warned me that Dominic was dangerous, ruthless, and not to be trusted.

It turned out the only person I shouldn't have trusted was Ethan.

"Tell me something," I said, keeping my voice light. "Are you still interested in Ashford Group?"

Dominic's glass paused halfway to his lips.

His grey eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time, I saw something flicker behind that cold exterior.

Curiosity.

"That's an interesting question for a bride to ask at her own wedding."

I picked up a champagne flute from the bar and clinked it against his glass.

"Mr. Cavanaugh, I think you and I should have dinner sometime."