Morning light streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows as I stepped into Rhett's penthouse apartment. The space was nothing like the traditional Sullivan family estate—all clean lines, neutral tones, and minimalist furniture. It felt like a fresh start.

"Is this okay?" Rhett asked, hovering near the door. "I can have the staff rearrange anything you don't like."

I set down my single suitcase on the polished concrete floor. "It's perfect."

And it was. Unlike the ornate, suffocating luxury I'd lived with for fifty years of my previous life, this place felt like breathing room. No family portraits, no ancestral symbols, no reminders of obligations and expectations.

"I'll show you your room," Rhett said, leading me down a hallway. "You can decorate it however you want."

My room. Not our room. He was giving me space, respecting boundaries I hadn't even realized I needed.

"I brought very little," I admitted, gesturing to my suitcase. "Just personal things."

Rhett's eyes flickered with understanding. "You left everything else behind."

"Everything Rey ever gave me." I met his gaze steadily. "The jewelry, the clothes, the engagement ring he had commissioned but never gave me. All of it."

Rhett didn't push for details. Instead, he opened a door to reveal a spacious bedroom with a view of the city skyline. "This can be your sanctuary. No one enters without your permission. Not even me."

The words hung between us, heavy with meaning. In my previous life, Rey had never respected my boundaries, physical or emotional.

---

My phone vibrated for the fifth time that morning. Rey's name flashed across the screen. Again.

I silenced it and returned to my coffee, watching raindrops race down the window of Rhett's kitchen. Three days had passed since the announcement. Three days of relentless texting, calling, and now...

"Miss Knight?" The doorman's voice crackled through the intercom. "Mr. Sullivan is here to see you. He's quite... insistent."

"I'm not available," I replied, my voice steady despite the flutter of anxiety in my chest. "Please escort him out."

"Scottie!" Rey's voice boomed in the background. "I know you're up there! We need to talk!"

I cut the connection and turned to find Rhett watching me, concern etched across his features.

"He won't stop," I said quietly.

"This is the third time this week," Rhett observed, his jaw tightening. "I can speak with him if you'd like."

"No." I shook my head firmly. "I need to handle this myself."

Later that afternoon, Rey appeared at my office building. I was leaving a meeting when I spotted him in the lobby, demanding information from the receptionist.

"You can't avoid me forever," he said when he saw me, striding forward. "What game are you playing with my brother?"

I kept my voice low, aware of the curious eyes around us. "This isn't a game, Rey. Please leave."

"You're using him to hurt me," he hissed, gripping my arm. "After everything we've been through—"

"Mr. Sullivan," the security guard interrupted, appearing at my side. "Miss Knight has requested you leave the premises."

Rey's eyes narrowed. "This isn't over."

---

Two weeks later, the annual Children's Hospital Charity Gala glittered with New York's elite. I stood beside Rhett, his hand warm against the small of my back as we navigated the crowd.

"You look stunning," he whispered, his eyes taking in my midnight blue gown.

Before I could respond, a commotion near the entrance caught our attention. Rey strode in, his bow tie slightly askew, his eyes scanning the room until they locked on me.

"Scottie!" he called out, loud enough to turn heads. "We need to talk. Now."

The room quieted as he approached, his movements jerky with barely contained emotion.

"Not here, Rey," I said quietly.

"You're having some kind of breakdown," he announced to the watching crowd, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent ballroom. "She's been acting erratically since her birthday. Making wild accusations, inventing stories—"

"Is that so?" I asked, my voice calm despite the murmurs spreading through the gathering.

Rey faltered at my composure. "You know it is. This... this fixation on Rhett is just a phase. You need help, Scottie."

I met his gaze steadily, feeling the weight of every eye in the room. "Thank you for your concern, Rey. But I'm perfectly well."

Around us, I noticed the subtle shifts in expression—confusion giving way to doubt, doubt to judgment. Not of me, but of him.

"Perhaps," I added softly, "you should consider whether you're the one who needs help."

The morning sun cast golden light across the manicured gardens of the Whitehall Estate, one of Manhattan's most exclusive wedding venues. Rhett's hand rested lightly on the small of my back as we followed the venue coordinator along a stone path lined with blooming hydrangeas.

"This is where we could hold the ceremony," she explained, gesturing to a gazebo overlooking a small lake. "The views are spectacular in early autumn."

I nodded, trying to imagine myself standing there in white. In my previous life, I'd never had this moment—the chance to plan a wedding with someone who truly saw me.

"What do you think, Scottie?" Rhett asked, his eyes searching mine. "Is this what you imagined?"

Before I could answer, he turned to the coordinator. "Could we see the library next? Scottie mentioned wanting to see that space."

The library? I hadn't mentioned anything about a library to him.

Rhett must have noticed my confusion because he smiled, a gentle curve of his lips that reached his eyes. "You don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"Your essay. From middle school. 'My Dream Home.'"

My breath caught. "You read that?"

"I still have it," he admitted, a flush coloring his cheeks. "You wrote about wanting a library with floor-to-ceiling windows that faced east so you could read in the morning light."

The coordinator led us through French doors into a stunning room with exactly that—walls of windows facing the rising sun, comfortable reading nooks built into alcoves, and shelves stretching toward the ceiling.

"This is just the beginning," Rhett said quietly when we were alone. "The house I'm building for us has everything you described in that essay."

I turned to him, stunned. "You've been planning this? For how long?"

"Since I read your essay. Thirteen years ago."

Thirteen years. While I was pouring my heart into loving Rey, Rhett had been quietly paying attention to every detail of what would make me happy.

"There's more," he continued, leading me through the library to a set of glass doors. "Come see the garden."

We stepped outside into a walled garden filled with white roses—simple, elegant blooms that I'd always preferred over more extravagant flowers.

"You remembered that too?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

"Everything," he said simply. "I remember everything about you, Scottie."

---

Three days later, I was reviewing wedding invitations when Diana burst into my office, her expression troubled.

"Scottie, there's something you should know." She closed the door behind her. "Rey's been having you followed."

My stomach tightened. "What?"

"A private investigator. One of my friends works at his agency." She placed a folder on my desk. "These are copies of his reports."

I opened it with trembling hands. Inside were detailed accounts of my daily activities—meeting with florists, lunch with Rhett at a small café, evenings spent planning our future home.

"The investigator told my friend that Rey's convinced you're being manipulated or blackmailed," Diana continued. "He thinks Rhett is forcing you to do this."

I flipped through page after page of our most intimate moments. Rhett bringing me coffee in bed. Us browsing furniture stores. Quiet evenings on his balcony, planning our future.

"And?" I asked, my voice tight. "What does the investigator think?"

Diana's eyes softened. "He says you two are genuinely in love. That you're happier than he's ever seen you."

Happier than Rey had ever made me in fifty years of marriage.

---

The Sullivan mansion's dining room gleamed with old money and older secrets. Crystal glasses caught the light from the chandelier, casting rainbow prisms across the white tablecloth. I sat between Rhett and Diana, facing Margaret Sullivan's calculating gaze.

"Scottie, dear," Margaret said, setting down her wine glass with deliberate care. "We need to talk about this... situation."

"Mother," Rhett warned, but I placed a hand on his arm.

"It's alright," I said quietly.

"Rey has made mistakes," Margaret continued, her voice honey-sweet with manipulation. "He took your relationship for granted. But surely you can see that everyone deserves a second chance?"

I met her gaze steadily. "Not everyone, Margaret."

"He loves you," she insisted. "He's always loved you."

"No," I said, my voice gentle but firm. "He loved the idea of me. The convenient, obedient version that never challenged him."

Margaret's smile tightened. "And Rhett? Do you really think this is real? This sudden change of heart?"

I felt Rhett tense beside me, but I squeezed his hand under the table.

"Some mistakes can't be undone," I said, looking directly at Margaret. "Some choices, once made, define everything that follows."

Across the table, I could see Rey's protective charm glinting on his wrist—the one with Arabella's name engraved on it. In this life, I wouldn't be the woman waiting for a man who would never truly choose me.

As the dinner continued, I felt something shift inside me—a final piece of my old self falling away, making room for the woman I was becoming. The woman who deserved to be loved completely.

But as we left the mansion that night, I couldn't shake the feeling that Rey wasn't ready to let me go. And some men would do anything to get what they thought belonged to them.