The scream tore from my throat as I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged animal desperate to escape. Cold sweat clung to my skin, and for a moment, the boundaries between dream and reality blurred into a nauseating haze.

Colton's voice still echoed in my ears—those words that had shattered my world twenty years too late: "I've always loved Violet. I married you because I had to, Harper. But my heart... my heart was never yours."

I pressed my palms against my temples, trying to stop the memories from flooding back. The way he'd looked at her during our anniversary dinner. The gentle touch he'd given her shoulder when she'd cried about her latest heartbreak. The lie I'd lived for two decades, believing I was loved when I was nothing more than a convenient arrangement.

But something was wrong. Terribly, impossibly wrong.

The room around me wasn't the master bedroom of the Ashford estate where I'd spent the last twenty years of my life. The walls were painted the soft lavender I'd loved as a teenager, not the stark white Colton had insisted upon. My vanity held the collection of vintage perfume bottles my mother had given me for my eighteenth birthday—bottles that had been packed away years ago when Colton deemed them "childish clutter."

My hands trembled as I reached for my phone, and the date on the screen made my blood run cold: March 15th. Six months before the Luna Selection ceremony. Six months before I'd walked down the aisle in that suffocating white dress, believing I was marrying for love.

I was twenty-two again.

The realization hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. Somehow, impossibly, I'd been given a second chance. The Moon Goddess had heard my dying prayer—because I remembered dying, remembered the crushing weight of betrayal stopping my heart as surely as any blade.

"Think, Harper," I whispered to myself, forcing my breathing to steady. "Think."

I couldn't waste this gift on hysteria. I had to be smart this time. Strategic. The Harper who had chased after Colton Ashford like a lovesick puppy, who had embarrassed herself at pack gatherings trying to win his attention, who had let Violet manipulate her into looking like a fool—that Harper was dead.

I remembered it all now with painful clarity. How I'd thrown myself at Colton during his friends' poker nights, desperate to be the perfect hostess, only to spill wine on his business partner's suit. How Violet had "accidentally" revealed my crush to the entire pack during the Harvest Moon celebration, making me the subject of pitying whispers for months. How his mother had looked at me during family dinners—not with malice, but with the resigned disappointment of someone forced to accept damaged goods.

Never again.

A soft knock on my bedroom door interrupted my thoughts. "Harper, sweetheart? Are you awake?" My mother's voice carried that particular note of excitement that meant she had news.

"Come in, Mom." I smoothed my hair and tried to look like someone who hadn't just experienced a cosmic revelation.

Eleanor Sinclair swept into the room with her usual grace, her silver hair perfectly styled despite the early hour. In her hands, she carried a leather portfolio that made my stomach clench with recognition.

"I have wonderful news," she began, settling onto the edge of my bed with barely contained enthusiasm. "The Ashford family has agreed to meet with us tomorrow to discuss potential matches."

She opened the portfolio with a flourish, revealing three photographs arranged like a deck of cards. Three handsome faces stared up at me, each representing a different path, a different future.

"Marcus is the youngest," Mom explained, pointing to the first photo. "Twenty-five, just finished his business degree. He's charming, though perhaps a bit... frivolous."

Marcus Ashford. I remembered him vaguely from pack gatherings—always laughing, always surrounded by admirers, but with the depth of a puddle. In my previous life, I'd dismissed him immediately.

"Then there's David," she continued, moving to the second photograph. "Thirty, very serious about pack politics. He's being groomed for a position on the Council."

David had cold eyes and a calculating smile. I'd heard whispers about his treatment of omegas, about servants who'd mysteriously disappeared from his household. The thought of being tied to him made my skin crawl.

"And of course, there's Colton." Mom's voice took on a dreamy quality as she touched the third photo. "Heir to the Ashford fortune, devastatingly handsome, and I've heard he's quite taken with you already."

Colton's face smiled up at me from the photograph—those green eyes that had once made my heart race, that strong jaw I'd traced with my fingers on countless nights, believing I was touching love itself. Now, looking at him, I felt nothing but a cold, hollow ache.

"So, darling," Mom said, clasping her hands together, "which one catches your fancy? I know it's a big decision, but—"

"None of them."

The words slipped out before I could stop them, and Mom's face fell like a stone.

"None of them? Harper, what do you mean? These are the three most eligible bachelors in the Ashford family. Any one of them would be a magnificent match."

I reached into the pocket of my nightgown—a habit from my previous life where I'd always carried a small photo of Colton like some besotted teenager. But this time, my fingers found something different. A photograph I'd torn from a pack newsletter years ago and forgotten about until this moment.

Slowly, I pulled out the fourth photo and placed it on the bed beside the others.

Mom's gasp filled the silence like a gunshot.

"Killian?" Her voice cracked on the name. "Harper, that's... that's Colton's uncle. He's not... he wasn't part of the selection process."

I stared down at the photograph of Killian Ashford. Even in the grainy newspaper print, his presence was magnetic—dark hair streaked with premature silver, eyes like winter storms, and a face that spoke of power earned through blood and sacrifice. They called him the Blood Alpha for good reason. At thirty-seven, he'd never taken a mate, never shown interest in the political games that consumed the rest of his family.

He was dangerous. Unpredictable. And most importantly, he was the one person in the Ashford family who could protect me from all the others.

"He's fifteen years older than you," Mom continued, her voice rising with panic. "And the stories they tell about him... Harper, they say he's killed men with his bare hands. They say he's never shown mercy to anyone who's crossed him."

"I know exactly who he is," I said quietly, meeting her horrified gaze. "And my decision won't change."

The words hung in the air between us like a declaration of war. In my previous life, I'd been a romantic fool, chasing after a love that had never existed. This time, I would be practical. Strategic. If I was going to bind myself to the Ashford family, it would be to the one man who could give me real power.

The one man who could help me destroy Violet and Colton both.

Mom stared at me as if I'd grown a second head, but before she could voice another protest, my phone buzzed against the nightstand. The caller ID made my blood freeze: Colton Ashford.

I looked at his name flashing on the screen, remembering how that sight used to make me giddy with excitement. How I'd rush to answer before the second ring, desperate to hear his voice, to pretend that his attention meant something more than obligation.

Not anymore.

I reached over and pressed the decline button, watching his name disappear from the screen. The small act of defiance sent a thrill through me that was better than any drug.

Let him wonder. Let him worry.

This time, Harper Sinclair would not be anyone's consolation prize.

The Crystal Lounge was exactly the kind of place where Colton and his privileged friends liked to hold court—all polished marble and gleaming chandeliers, where conversations were conducted in whispers and deals were sealed with handshakes worth millions. I'd avoided places like this in my previous life, too intimidated by the casual display of wealth and power.

But today, I walked through those glass doors with my chin high and my shoulders squared. I had business to conduct, and I refused to let the ghosts of my former insecurities hold me back.

I'd barely made it three steps into the main lounge when a familiar voice cut through the ambient chatter like a blade.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her presence!"

James Whitmore's voice carried that particular brand of cruelty that only came from a lifetime of never facing consequences. He was sprawled across a leather armchair, a tumbler of whiskey dangling from his manicured fingers, surrounded by the usual suspects—pack heirs who'd never worked a day in their lives but somehow believed they'd earned their positions.

"Your fiancé is here!" Another voice chimed in, and cruel laughter rippled through their little circle.

I turned toward the sound, and there he was. Colton Ashford, looking every inch the golden prince in his perfectly tailored suit, his green eyes flashing with an emotion I couldn't quite place. In my previous life, this moment would have sent me into a spiral of anxiety. I would have stammered apologies, tried to explain myself, begged for his understanding.

Not today.

Colton rose from his seat with the fluid grace of a predator, his jaw tight with barely controlled irritation. "Harper." My name fell from his lips like an accusation. "We need to talk."

The lounge seemed to hold its breath as he approached, his friends leaning forward in their seats like spectators at a gladiator match. I could feel their eyes on me, waiting for the show they expected—the pathetic girl groveling for the prince's attention.

"How dare you," Colton's voice was low, dangerous, meant for my ears alone as he stopped just close enough that I could smell his cologne—that expensive scent that had once made my knees weak. "How dare you announce an engagement to my family without even consulting me? Do you have any self-respect left?"

In my previous life, those words would have shattered me. I would have crumbled under the weight of his disapproval, would have apologized until my voice was hoarse, would have promised to fix whatever I'd broken.

Instead, I met his gaze steadily, a small smile playing at the corners of my mouth.

"You're absolutely right, Colton," I said, my voice carrying just enough to reach his attentive audience. "I should have been clearer from the beginning."

His expression shifted, confusion flickering across his perfect features. This wasn't the script he'd expected.

"The person I intend to marry," I continued, savoring each word like fine wine, "isn't you."

The silence that followed was deafening. Then James Whitmore's laughter exploded across the lounge, sharp and mocking.

"Oh, this is rich!" he wheezed, slapping his knee. "Harper Sinclair thinks she can play hard to get now!"

The others joined in, their laughter a symphony of cruelty that would have sent the old Harper running for the nearest exit. But I stood my ground, watching as Colton's face cycled through a rainbow of emotions—confusion, anger, and something that looked almost like... wounded pride?

"Enough!" His voice cracked like a whip, silencing his friends instantly. When he turned back to me, his eyes were blazing. "What kind of game are you playing, Harper? You've been throwing yourself at me for months, making a fool of yourself at every pack gathering, and now you want to pretend you don't want me?"

The old Harper would have flinched at the public humiliation, would have felt shame burn through her veins like acid. But I'd lived through twenty years of his indifference, had died knowing the truth of his heart. His words couldn't hurt me anymore.

"I'm not playing games," I said quietly, my voice steady as stone. "I'm just finally being honest about what I want."

"And what's that?" The question came out strangled, as if he couldn't quite believe he was asking it.

I smiled then, and I knew it wasn't the sweet, hopeful expression he was used to seeing from me. This smile had teeth.

"When Killian returns from his business trip, you'll understand everything."

The name hit the group like a physical blow. James's laughter died in his throat. Marcus Chen, who'd been filming the whole exchange on his phone, nearly dropped the device. Even Colton took a step back, his face going pale.

"Killian?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "You can't be serious. Harper, that's... that's my uncle. He's dangerous. He's—"

"Exactly what I need," I finished for him.

Before anyone could respond, the soft click of heels on marble announced a new arrival. The scent hit me first—jasmine and vanilla, sickeningly sweet, the perfume I'd once complimented because I'd thought it would make Violet like me more.

"Colton, darling, what's taking so long?"

Violet appeared at his side like she'd materialized from thin air, her perfectly manicured hand sliding possessively up his arm. She was wearing a dress that left little to the imagination, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders in waves that had clearly taken hours to perfect.

In my previous life, Violet had been careful. Subtle. She'd played the role of the supportive friend, the innocent bystander caught up in a tragic love triangle. She'd hidden their relationship behind closed doors, let me play the role of the official fiancée while she enjoyed all the benefits of being Colton's true love.

But seeing her now, pressed against his side with such obvious ownership, I realized something had changed. The timeline was different this time. My rejection had accelerated whatever plans they'd been making.

"Hello, Harper," Violet purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I heard about your little announcement. How... unexpected."

I watched as Colton's arm automatically wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. The gesture was so natural, so practiced, that it was clear they'd been doing this for far longer than anyone knew.

"Actually," Colton said, his voice gaining strength as Violet's presence seemed to bolster his confidence, "since you're here, Harper, there's something Violet and I wanted to tell you anyway."

He straightened to his full height, every inch the alpha heir, and I could see the exact moment he decided to go for the killing blow.

"We're going to get our mate marks registered tomorrow," he announced, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent lounge. "I was going to break our engagement privately, but since you've made this whole thing so public..."

He shrugged, the gesture casual and devastating.

In my previous life, this revelation had come two years after our wedding, whispered to me by a pack member who'd thought I already knew. The betrayal had nearly killed me then—literally, as it turned out.

But now? Now I felt nothing but a strange sense of relief, like a weight I'd been carrying for decades had finally been lifted from my shoulders.

"Congratulations," I said simply, and meant it.

The word hung in the air like a challenge. This wasn't how this scene was supposed to play out. I was supposed to cry, to beg, to make a scene that would entertain them for weeks.

Instead, I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit, my steps measured and confident.

"That's it?" Colton called after me, and I could hear the confusion in his voice. "You're just... leaving?"

I paused at the doorway, glancing back over my shoulder at the tableau they made—Colton and Violet wrapped around each other like they were posing for a magazine cover, his friends watching with slack-jawed amazement.

"Enjoy your mate marking," I said, my voice carrying clearly across the marble expanse. "I hope you'll be very happy together."

As I walked out into the afternoon sunlight, I could hear the explosion of voices behind me, everyone talking at once, trying to make sense of what they'd just witnessed.

But I wasn't thinking about them anymore. I was thinking about the conversation I needed to have with my mother, about the phone calls that needed to be made, about the man who would be returning from his business trip in three days.

Killian Ashford was about to get a very interesting proposition.

The cursor blinked mockingly at me from the empty screen, the white void where my business plan should have been. Three months of work—gone. Market research, financial projections, strategic partnerships I'd carefully cultivated using knowledge from my previous life—all of it vanished like it had never existed.

My hands trembled as I clicked through folder after folder, searching for any trace of the files. The Ashford Expansion Initiative had been my masterpiece, a comprehensive plan that would have revolutionized their international holdings. In my previous life, I'd presented this exact proposal to Colton two years after our marriage, and it had generated over fifty million in profit for the family.

Now it was gone.

I pulled up the security logs on my laptop, my heart hammering as I scrolled through the timestamps. There—3:47 AM last Tuesday. Someone had accessed my computer remotely, systematically deleting every file related to the project.

The surveillance footage from the office building's security system told the rest of the story. A familiar figure slipped through the corridors in the early morning hours, her blonde hair catching the harsh fluorescent lighting as she made her way to my workspace.

Violet.

I watched the grainy video as she inserted a USB drive into my computer, her fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced efficiency. She wasn't just deleting my work—she was copying it first.

The rage that coursed through me was different from anything I'd felt in my previous life. Then, I would have been devastated, heartbroken by the betrayal. Now, I was coldly furious, calculating. She'd stolen from me, but she'd also shown me exactly who she really was.

I grabbed my keys and headed for the door.

---

The elevator ride to Violet's floor felt endless, each ding of the floors passing by like a countdown to war. I'd rehearsed this confrontation in my mind during the drive over, but now that I was here, my previous life's memories of cowering before her confident cruelty tried to surface.

Not today.

Her office door was slightly ajar, and I could hear her voice drifting through the gap—sweet, innocent, the same tone she'd used to manipulate me for years.

"Of course, Mr. Richardson. The Ashford family is very excited about this international expansion opportunity. We believe this proposal will exceed all your expectations."

My proposal. My words, spoken in her honey-sweet voice to close a deal I'd spent months setting up.

I pushed the door open without knocking.

Violet looked up from her desk, her blue eyes widening in what looked like genuine surprise. She was wearing a cream-colored blazer that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent, her makeup flawless despite the early hour.

"Harper!" She rose from her chair with that practiced grace she'd perfected, her smile bright and welcoming. "What a lovely surprise. I was just—"

"Cut the act, Violet." My voice was steady, controlled. "I know what you did."

Something flickered behind her eyes—a flash of calculation before the innocent mask slipped back into place. "I'm sorry? I don't understand what you mean."

"My business proposal. The one you stole from my computer last Tuesday at 3:47 AM." I stepped further into her office, noting how her hand moved instinctively toward her phone. "The one you're currently presenting as your own work."

Violet's laugh was light, airy, the sound of someone who'd never faced real consequences. "Harper, sweetheart, I think you might be confused. I've been working on this project for months—"

"Have you?" I pulled out my phone, the security footage queued up and ready. "Because the surveillance cameras tell a different story."

For the first time, uncertainty crept into her expression. But before she could respond, the office door swung open behind me.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Colton's voice cut through the tension like a blade, and I turned to see him filling the doorway, his green eyes blazing with protective fury. He looked between Violet and me, and I could see the exact moment he chose his side.

"Harper," he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous tone I remembered from our worst fights, "what are you doing to my fiancée?"

The word hit me like a physical blow. Fiancée. Not future fiancée, not potential mate—they were already engaged. The timeline had shifted even more than I'd realized.

Violet moved to his side with fluid grace, her hand finding his arm in a gesture that spoke of long practice. "Colton, I don't know what's gotten into her. She burst in here accusing me of stealing some business proposal—"

"You did steal it," I said quietly, my voice cutting through her performance. "I have security footage of you accessing my computer. I have timestamps showing when my files were deleted. I have evidence, Colton."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I saw something flicker in his eyes—doubt, maybe, or the ghost of the man who had once claimed to care about honor and truth.

Then Violet's fingers tightened on his arm, and the moment passed.

"How dare you," he said, his voice rising with each word. "How dare you come in here and accuse Violet of theft? What kind of person makes up lies like this just because they can't handle being rejected?"

In my previous life, those words would have shattered me. I would have crumbled under his anger, would have apologized through my tears, would have begged him to believe me.

Instead, I met his gaze steadily, my voice calm as winter morning. "The kind of person who has security footage. The surveillance cameras don't lie, Colton. Unlike some people in this room."

I turned toward the door, then paused, glancing back at Violet. She was pressed against Colton's side, her blue eyes wide with feigned hurt, playing the victim with Oscar-worthy skill.

"Enjoy the presentation, Violet," I said softly. "I hope it brings you everything you deserve."

---

The shopping center was a welcome change from the suffocating atmosphere of corporate warfare. I wandered through the upscale boutiques, searching for something that would convey the right message—respect, but not submission. Interest, but not desperation.

Killian had always been different from the rest of his family. Even in my previous life, during the rare occasions when he'd returned from his international business trips, he'd treated me with a courtesy that bordered on genuine care. I remembered him pulling Colton aside at family dinners, his voice low and dangerous as he told his nephew to "treat your wife better, or I'll teach you how it's done."

At the time, I'd thought he was just being protective in the way powerful men protected their family's property. Now I wondered if there had been more to it than that.

I found what I was looking for in a small jewelry boutique tucked between designer clothing stores. A vintage pocket watch, silver and elegant, with intricate engravings that spoke of old-world craftsmanship. It was the kind of gift that showed thought, consideration—exactly the impression I wanted to make.

As I headed back to the parking garage, my phone buzzed with a text from my mother: "Killian's flight lands at 8 PM. Dinner tomorrow at 7."

Perfect timing.

---

The underground parking garage was dimly lit, shadows pooling between the concrete pillars like dark water. I was halfway to my car when I spotted it—Colton's sleek black sedan, parked in the far corner where the security cameras had blind spots.

The car was rocking.

I should have kept walking. Should have gotten in my car and driven away without a second glance. But something made me move closer, my footsteps silent on the concrete floor.

Through the half-open window, I could hear them—breathless gasps, whispered endearments, the unmistakable sounds of passion. Violet's voice, breathy and desperate: "God, Colton, I've missed this so much."

His response was muffled, but the hunger in his tone was unmistakable.

I stood there in the shadows, watching the car shake with their movements, and felt... nothing. No heartbreak, no jealousy, no crushing sense of betrayal. Just a cold, clinical observation of two people who deserved each other.

A hand slapped against the fogged window from the inside, and through the condensation, I caught a glimpse of Colton's face—flushed, eyes closed in ecstasy, completely lost in the moment.

Then his eyes opened, and through the steamy glass, our gazes met.

The car went still.

I didn't run. Didn't gasp or cry out or give him the satisfaction of seeing me hurt. I simply turned and walked to my car, my heels clicking against the concrete with measured precision.

Behind me, I heard the frantic sounds of clothing being adjusted, hushed voices arguing in urgent whispers. But I didn't look back.

I had more important things to focus on.

---

The Ashford estate loomed before me in the evening light, its neo-Gothic architecture casting long shadows across the manicured grounds. I'd always found the place intimidating in my previous life—too grand, too imposing, a constant reminder that I didn't belong in their world.

Now it just looked like what it was: a house built on old money and older secrets.

Colton's car was already in the circular driveway, which meant he'd beaten me here. Probably broke several speed limits trying to get home before me, to control the narrative of what had happened in that parking garage.

I was still sitting in my car, gathering my thoughts, when he appeared at my window.

"Harper." His voice was muffled by the glass, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

I rolled down the window slowly, meeting his gaze with calm indifference.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice tight with barely controlled emotion.

I glanced at the gift box on my passenger seat, then back at him. "Do we?"

His eyes followed my gaze to the elegantly wrapped package, and something shifted in his expression. The guilt and panic I'd seen in the parking garage melted away, replaced by smug satisfaction.

"I knew it," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I knew you couldn't stay away. You bought me a gift, didn't you? Even after everything that happened today, you still—"

He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes dropping to his waistband. Following his gaze, I saw it—a scrap of black lace hanging from his belt loop, clearly not his own.

Violet's underwear, forgotten in their hasty attempt to make themselves presentable.

I looked at it, then at him, then back at the lace. My expression didn't change.

"You were saying?" I asked quietly.

Colton's face went white, then red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He reached down to frantically stuff the evidence into his pocket, but it was too late.

I rolled up my window, gathered my gift, and stepped out of the car.

"Harper, wait—" he started, but I was already walking toward the front door.

I didn't look back, didn't acknowledge his stammered attempts at explanation. I had an appointment with destiny, and Colton Ashford was no longer part of that equation.

The gift in my hands wasn't for him.

It never had been.