Chapter 1
My husband watched me bleed out on the bathroom floor, stepped over my body, and walked out to dinner with my sister.
I died at twenty-nine, six years into a contract marriage I was never allowed to speak about.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the morning everything began to fall apart.
Victor Hale was adjusting his cufflinks in the mirror when I sat up in bed, heart slamming against my ribs. The sheets were cold on his side. They were always cold.
He was the CEO of Hale Industries, one of the most powerful men on the Eastern Seaboard. And I was his legal wife—on paper only, hidden away in a penthouse no one knew existed.
"I'll be late tonight," he said without turning around. "Don't wait up."
In my first life, I had nodded. I had smiled. I had swallowed the loneliness like medicine and told myself it was temporary.
He had explained it all so carefully when we married. His board wouldn't accept a nobody. His investors needed stability. His public image required a certain kind of woman beside him.
That woman was my younger sister, Natasha.
She wore his ring at galas. She smiled for cameras on his arm. She gave interviews about their "love story." And I stayed locked in a gilded cage, raising the daughter he refused to acknowledge.
Our daughter, Lily. She was five when she got sick.
A rare autoimmune condition. Treatable, if caught early. Curable, if you had the right connections and money.
Victor had both.
But when I called him, begging, sobbing, telling him Lily couldn't breathe, he said: "Natasha has an event tonight. I can't be seen at a children's hospital. Handle it yourself."
I handled it. I sold everything I owned. I begged doctors. I slept on hospital floors for weeks.
It wasn't enough.
Lily died on a Tuesday. She was holding a crayon drawing of the three of us—me, her, and the father she'd met exactly four times.
After the funeral that only I attended, I confronted Victor. I screamed. I broke things. I threatened to expose everything.
That was when Natasha appeared in the penthouse doorway, wearing my husband's shirt, her smile dripping with pity.
"Oh, Sienna," she said softly. "You really thought he loved you? You were the contract. I was the choice."
Victor didn't even look at me. "Sign the NDA. Take the money. Disappear."
I refused.
Three days later, I slipped in the bathroom. Hit my head on the marble edge. Bled out while my phone rang and rang and no one came.
The last thing I saw was a text from Natasha on my screen: *Don't bother calling V. We're at the Laurent dinner. XO.*
Now I was back. Five months before Lily would get sick. Five months before I would start begging a man who had already decided to let our daughter die.
Victor finished with his cufflinks and finally glanced at me. Something in my expression made him pause.
"What?" he said, faintly irritated. "You look strange."
I looked at the man I had loved for six years, the man who had let our child die and watched me bleed out without a flicker of guilt.
I smiled.
"Nothing," I said softly. "Have a good day."
He left without kissing me. He never did.
The moment the door clicked shut, I threw off the covers. My hands were shaking, but my mind was diamond-clear.
This time, Lily would live.
And Victor Hale would lose everything.
I died at twenty-nine, six years into a contract marriage I was never allowed to speak about.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the morning everything began to fall apart.
Victor Hale was adjusting his cufflinks in the mirror when I sat up in bed, heart slamming against my ribs. The sheets were cold on his side. They were always cold.
He was the CEO of Hale Industries, one of the most powerful men on the Eastern Seaboard. And I was his legal wife—on paper only, hidden away in a penthouse no one knew existed.
"I'll be late tonight," he said without turning around. "Don't wait up."
In my first life, I had nodded. I had smiled. I had swallowed the loneliness like medicine and told myself it was temporary.
He had explained it all so carefully when we married. His board wouldn't accept a nobody. His investors needed stability. His public image required a certain kind of woman beside him.
That woman was my younger sister, Natasha.
She wore his ring at galas. She smiled for cameras on his arm. She gave interviews about their "love story." And I stayed locked in a gilded cage, raising the daughter he refused to acknowledge.
Our daughter, Lily. She was five when she got sick.
A rare autoimmune condition. Treatable, if caught early. Curable, if you had the right connections and money.
Victor had both.
But when I called him, begging, sobbing, telling him Lily couldn't breathe, he said: "Natasha has an event tonight. I can't be seen at a children's hospital. Handle it yourself."
I handled it. I sold everything I owned. I begged doctors. I slept on hospital floors for weeks.
It wasn't enough.
Lily died on a Tuesday. She was holding a crayon drawing of the three of us—me, her, and the father she'd met exactly four times.
After the funeral that only I attended, I confronted Victor. I screamed. I broke things. I threatened to expose everything.
That was when Natasha appeared in the penthouse doorway, wearing my husband's shirt, her smile dripping with pity.
"Oh, Sienna," she said softly. "You really thought he loved you? You were the contract. I was the choice."
Victor didn't even look at me. "Sign the NDA. Take the money. Disappear."
I refused.
Three days later, I slipped in the bathroom. Hit my head on the marble edge. Bled out while my phone rang and rang and no one came.
The last thing I saw was a text from Natasha on my screen: *Don't bother calling V. We're at the Laurent dinner. XO.*
Now I was back. Five months before Lily would get sick. Five months before I would start begging a man who had already decided to let our daughter die.
Victor finished with his cufflinks and finally glanced at me. Something in my expression made him pause.
"What?" he said, faintly irritated. "You look strange."
I looked at the man I had loved for six years, the man who had let our child die and watched me bleed out without a flicker of guilt.
I smiled.
"Nothing," I said softly. "Have a good day."
He left without kissing me. He never did.
The moment the door clicked shut, I threw off the covers. My hands were shaking, but my mind was diamond-clear.
This time, Lily would live.
And Victor Hale would lose everything.