NATHAN JANG
Fiona sat beside me on the sofa, her lips curved in a smile that promised things I didn't want. Not from her.
I shouldn't be here.
My gut twisted. Vanessa would be furious—hell, she should be furious—but Fiona's frantic call had left me no choice. "Nathan, please, he had a knife. I'm so scared!"
The wrongness of the situation burrowed into my skin. What was I doing?
"I'm sure Vanessa's fine. I know you left her in the hospital to take care of me," Fiona murmured, her fingers tracing the rim of her whiskey glass. "But I only have you." She leaned in, her grip tightening on my forearm like a vise. The neckline of her dress dipped, revealing too much cleavage, but my gaze stay locked on her face. "Nathan, stay with me tonight."
Dream on. I wrenched my arm free. "I'll arrange security. They'll watch the apartment."
"Bodyguards? Really, Nathan?"
"I'm getting married. It's not appropriate for a married man and single woman to be alone."
"I'm your assistant!" she snapped, surging to her feet. "What's wrong with being in your assistant's apartment?"
The apartment I paid for. The car I leased. The life I bankrolled. Guilt was a blade in my ribs. Her father's crimes had ruined her—stolen her name, her future—and I'd stepped in because I remembered 16-year-old Fiona. She was sweet and kind and pretty. This Fiona was different.
And not in a good way.
"It's a contract marriage. It's not real," said Fiona. "You don't have to be loyal to that woman. She doesn't deserve you!"
Vanessa's face flashed in my mind—the way her eyes lit up when I walked into a room, the quiet desperation in her touch. She loved me. Really loved me. And what did I do? I ran to Fiona every time it got too real.
"I think you should return to France," I said.
"What?" Fiona stared at me. "For her? You're choosing her over me? I don't believe it."
I looked into Fiona's eyes and saw her anger reflected there. I realized that Vanessa had been right. Every time I took care of Fiona, I signaled that she was important. More important than my fiance.
You really are an asshole, Nathan Jang.
"I'm leaving first. I'll make arrangements for you. I think you're better off in France. It's not like you'll be welcome in the circle again."
Her lips thinned. "You're abandoning me?"
"Don't. It's not like that. But you're not more important than Vanessa. You can't be. You're my friend. She's my wife."
"Not yet," said Fiona. "Do you really have to marry her?"
"Yes." And I realized that I wanted to marry Vanessa. I wanted to have a real relationship. Vanessa had been right. I couldn't have two women in my life.
I had to choose.
So I would choose Vanessa.
"You don't have to go into the company tomorrow. I'll make arrangements for you to return to France. I'll give you some money, enough to live well with your mom."
"I don't want to leave," she said, tears filling her eyes. "Please, Nathan."
"If you stay, it'll be without my financial support."
"You're cruel." Tears fell. She wiped her cheeks, and sighed. "O-okay. I'll go." Fiona nudged my untouched drink toward me. "Have one last drink with me."
I snatched the glass and downed half in a single swallow. Fire burned down my throat—but beneath it, something wrong. Bitter. Chemical.
"What did you—?"
Fiona smiled, and I saw the calculation in her gaze. Too late, I realized I'd been duped.
The room lurched. My vision blurred at the edges, darkness creeping in. I staggered to my feet, and dropped the glass. It hit the tiles and shattered.
My legs gave out. I crashed to my knees, the world spinning.
Fiona crouched in front of me, tilting my chin up with one manicured nail. "Shhh. It'll be over soon."
I fumbled for my phone, but she plucked it from my pocket with a laugh. "Looking for this?"
"Fiona—" My tongue was lead, words slurring. "Don't… do this…"
She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. "Too late, husband."
***|***|***|***|***
VANESSA BELMONT
Do you know where your fiance is?
A picture appeared under the text: Nathan lay next to Fiona. His eyes were closed, his shirt open, and Fiona had her freaking hand on his chest, her smile cat-like in the photo she'd obviously taken.
Betrayal coiled around my heart and squeezed until my chest ached. My fingers trembled as I stared at the intimate photo of my white moonlight with his white moonlight.
My throat tightened.
Why did I care?
I repeated it like a mantra, but the words were hollow. This wasn't just a contract. Not to me. Not anymore.
The phone screen blurred as my vision swam. I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. Anger was easier. Anger didn't make me feel like a fool.
I sent the photo to Nathan without a word. Let him explain. Let him lie. Let him do something other than leave me drowning in this silence.
But the minutes stretched into an hour, and the weight of his non-response crushed me.
Had he seen it? Was he even going to acknowledge it?
Or worse—was he still with her right now, laughing about how easily I fell for their act?
The thought sent a wave of nausea through me. I curled into myself, gripping the phone so hard the edges bit into my palm.
Here I was, in my precious second life, falling in love with my husband all over again.
Idiot.
Would I be doomed to die on my wedding day again? If I couldn't get out of the contract, what then—live as his nominal wife while he kept Fiona as his secret lover?
Oh, hell nah. I would burn the contract in front of his face and stomp on the ashes.
The photo was seared into my mind. Fiona's smirk. Nathan's closed eyes. The intimacy of the moment—real or staged—that I could never unsee.
Sleep came in jagged fragments, restless and unsatisfying. Every time I closed my eyes, the image flickered behind my lids, disturbing my dreams, stabbing my heart.
My phone glowed unnaturally bright in the darkness, casting long shadows that slithered up the walls. I tried to scream but my mouth stitched itself shut, lips fusing together with invisible thread. My legs moved without my consent, carrying me toward the door as the floorboards whispered warnings in Fiona's voice.
When my hand touched the knob, it burned. The door swung open to reveal a body on a metal table. The body was covered by a white sheet. All except the face. The face ... was mine. Nathan stood over my unconscious body holding divorce papers dripping in blood.
"Sign them," he said. Behind him, monitors flatlined in perfect sync with my real heart's pounding. Fiona materialized from the shadows, her engagement ring pulsating on her finger. "He was never yours," she crooned. "Not in your first life and not in your second life."
I woke suddenly, heart pounding, sweat beading my forehead. My phone lay beside me, its screen dark.
No messages.
No Nathan.
What the hell was going on?