Chapter 2

The gala was electric. Cecilia's collection—dark, architectural, fierce—had taken the fashion world by storm. Editors, buyers, and celebrities packed the venue.

But Cecilia barely registered any of it.

Her mind was still reeling. She was twenty-three again. Her parents were still alive. Her fashion label, ASHFORD, was still hers. And Rowan Blackwell was nothing but a man she hadn't married yet.

She wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

"Cecilia!" Nora appeared at her elbow, eyes wide. "Rowan Blackwell just walked in. He's heading straight for you."

Cecilia's jaw tightened.

She remembered this moment perfectly. In her past life, Rowan had crashed her gala, gotten down on one knee in front of three hundred people, and made her the most envied woman in the room.

She had cried. She had said yes. She had thrown away everything.

Now, she watched him cut through the crowd. Tall, dark-haired, devastatingly handsome. The kind of man who made women forget their own names.

He stopped in front of her. His eyes swept over her with that familiar intensity.

"Cecilia." His voice was low, intimate, as though they were the only two people in the room. "I need to talk to you. Alone."

In her past life, she would have followed him anywhere.

"No," she said.

Rowan blinked. For a fraction of a second, surprise cracked through his composure.

"I'm hosting an event," she continued coolly. "Whatever you need to say can wait."

She turned her back on him and walked toward a group of Vogue editors.

Behind her, she felt the weight of his stare. Rowan Blackwell was not a man accustomed to hearing "no."

Good. He'd better start getting used to it.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of champagne toasts and business cards. Cecilia moved through the crowd like a woman reborn—because she was.

She secured three major retail partnerships, confirmed the Vogue feature, and personally charmed the CEO of a luxury conglomerate into discussing a potential investment.

These were opportunities she'd thrown away in her past life, all because Rowan's proposal had derailed her entire evening.

Not this time.

As the gala wound down, she stepped outside for air. The cool night hit her flushed skin. She closed her eyes and breathed.

"You've been avoiding me all night."

She opened her eyes. Rowan stood three feet away, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. His expression was unreadable.

"I haven't been avoiding you," she said. "I've been busy. There's a difference."

"You didn't answer my texts."

"I deleted your number."

Silence.

Rowan studied her face as though trying to decode something new. "What's going on with you tonight, Cecilia? You're different."

"Maybe I just finally woke up."

He pushed off the wall and stepped closer. "I came here to ask you something important."

"I know." She met his gaze. "And the answer is no."

His eyes narrowed. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"You were going to propose." She watched the shock ripple across his face. "You have a ring in your left jacket pocket. A 5-carat emerald-cut diamond from Van Cleef. You were going to get down on one knee in front of everyone because you thought a public proposal would make it impossible for me to say no."

Rowan's hand instinctively touched his pocket. His expression shifted.

"How did you—"

"It doesn't matter how I know." She took a step back. "What matters is my answer. And it's no."

"Cecilia—"

"We're not right for each other, Rowan." Her voice was steady, but beneath it, old wounds pulsed. "You don't love me. You never will. And I refuse to spend the rest of my life pretending otherwise."

She turned and walked toward the waiting car.

Behind her, Rowan called out, "This isn't like you. You've wanted this since we were teenagers."

She paused but didn't turn around.

"People change."

She got in the car and closed the door. As it pulled away, she allowed herself one glance in the rearview mirror.

Rowan stood on the sidewalk, watching her leave. For the first time in her memory, he looked completely lost.

Get used to it, she thought. This is only the beginning.