"I heard someone was looking for me. What's the matter—missed me already?"

When I came back to myself, Jace Elden was walking down the stairs, his usual lazy grin in place.

In the past, that look alone would've been enough to set me off. We would've argued, maybe even fought.

But this time, I simply nodded and said calmly, "I've chosen you to be my husband. Isn't it normal to miss you a little?"

The grin vanished from his face. His eyes widened, and all the careless charm drained away.

"Really? You gave up Lance—for me?" His voice dropped lower. "If I take you seriously, you won't have any room to back out."

I smiled and nodded firmly. "Three days from now, we'll have our wedding."

For a moment, he just stared at me. Then excitement flickered across his face, and his words tumbled out, slightly stammered.

"Alright. I—I'll start getting ready."

But from the side came a cold snort.

Lance stepped forward, looking down at me with that familiar condescension.

"If you think using another man to provoke me will get my attention," he said coolly, "then you're being childish."

I was about to respond when Natasha let out a sharp cry.

We turned toward her—she was clutching her ankle, eyes red.

"Lance, I twisted my foot. It hurts so much."

The coldness in Lance's expression melted instantly. Panic flickered across his features as he rushed over and swept her into his arms. "I'll take you to the hospital."

Jace, ever the cynic, scoffed. "Lance, can't you tell she's faking it?"

Lance's face darkened, his tone laced with venom. "I don't need advice from useless trash like you."

He turned toward the door, but before leaving, he looked back at me and said coldly, "Try pulling a stunt like this again, and I'll dump you one more time. You make me sick."

One more time.

Just like before—In every life, whenever I argued with him over Natasha, he'd threaten to leave me.

I stood frozen, watching his back disappear through the door.

Could it be… he'd been reborn too?

Three days later, Jace and I's wedding arrived right on schedule.

The hall was packed—guests chatting, music flowing, laughter spilling from every corner.

As I met Jace's gaze, steady and full of quiet affection, I made a silent vow to myself: in this life, I would never let him down.

"The time has come," the host announced. "Let us welcome the bride and groom to the stage."

The words echoed softly in my ears as I stood there, lost in thought.

Then Jace reached for my hand—his fingers trembling slightly—and together we walked toward the stage under the warmth of a hundred eyes.

When we reached the center, he dropped to one knee, looking up at me with tenderness so raw it nearly hurt.

"Alana Mitchell," he said, "will you marry me? Let me turn my love into a lifelong promise."

"Yes." I nodded.

Applause burst through the room.

For the first time in all my lives, I felt what it meant to be truly happy.

The ceremony moved on in perfect rhythm.

Just as Jace and I were about to exchange rings, the doors burst open.

Lance stormed in, breath ragged.

"Wait!" he cried.

I turned toward him. It had only been three days, but he looked ten years older.

"Alana," he said, "can you give me five minutes? I still have something I need to say to you."

Before I could respond, Jace stepped forward, blocking him.

"Lance, have you no shame?" he snapped. "When Alana loved you, you didn't care. Now that she's marrying me, you show up pretending to be heartbroken?"

They'd grown up together, but Jace had never liked him—especially not after seeing how cruelly Lance had treated me. His disgust now was written plain across his face.

My father's voice followed, cold and sharp. "Get out. Keep pestering my daughter, and I won't be polite."

He had tolerated Lance before, for my sake. But now that I was marrying Jace, that leniency was gone.

Lance ignored them both. He just stood there, eyes fixed on me, waiting. Maybe he still believed that if he lowered himself enough, I'd forgive him—just like I had, again and again, across three lifetimes.

But this time, he was wrong.

I looked at him and said clearly, "There's nothing left to say between us. It's over. The man I'm marrying is Jace."

I had given him three chances—three lives.

And each time, he had used that love to destroy me. Even to kill me.

This time, I only wanted peace. I only wanted Jace.

Something in my certainty seemed to break Lance. He lowered his head, shoulders trembling like a scolded child.

"Alana, please," he murmured. "Just five minutes. Please. Or three… even one. I just need to say something to you."

In all my lives, I had never seen him so small. But affection that comes too late is worthless.

"I'm marrying Jace," I said. "There's nothing left for us to discuss. Please leave."

Lance let out a low, bitter laugh, his eyes wild as he grabbed my shoulders. His voice cracked as he shouted, "Why did you choose someone else this time? Are you doing this just to spite me?"