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.

The Ashford estate's dining room had always intimidated me in my previous life—the vaulted ceilings, the oil paintings of stern-faced ancestors, the massive mahogany table that could seat twenty but somehow always made me feel utterly alone.

Tonight was different.

I paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before me. The family elders were already seated, their conversations dying as they noticed my arrival. At the far end of the table, the family patriarch's chair sat empty—a reminder of power that had passed to the next generation. And there, conspicuously vacant, was the seat beside the head of the table.

Killian's seat.

Colton was already at the table, gesturing frantically toward the chair beside him—my usual spot, where I'd sat through countless dinners, invisible and ignored. His eyes met mine across the room, expectation clear in his gaze.

I walked past him without a glance.

The leather chair beside Killian's place was butter-soft beneath my hands as I pulled it out and settled myself into it. The silence that followed was deafening.

"Harper!" Colton's voice cracked like a whip across the dining room. Chair legs scraped against hardwood as he shot to his feet. "That's Killian's—you can't just—"

He was beside me in three quick strides, his hand closing around my upper arm with enough force to leave bruises. In my previous life, that grip would have had me scrambling to apologize, to fix whatever I'd broken.

"That's Uncle Killian's seat," he hissed, his voice low enough that the elders couldn't hear but sharp enough to cut. "Are you completely out of your mind? Get up. Now."

I looked down at his hand on my arm, then back up at his face. "Remove your hand from me, Colton."

Something in my tone must have surprised him because his grip loosened slightly, though he didn't let go entirely.

"Harper, I'm serious. You can't sit there. When Uncle Killian gets here—"

"When I get where?"

The voice that cut through Colton's protests was like aged whiskey—smooth, dark, with an edge that could slice through steel. Every head in the room turned toward the doorway, and I felt my breath catch in my throat.

Killian Ashford stood framed in the entrance like he'd stepped out of a Renaissance painting. He was taller than I remembered, broader through the shoulders, with silver threading through his dark hair that only made him more distinguished. But it was his eyes that held me—gray as storm clouds, sharp with intelligence, and currently fixed on his nephew with an expression that could have frozen hell.

Colton's hand fell away from my arm like I'd burst into flames.

"Uncle Killian," he stammered, taking a step back. "I was just—Harper was sitting in—I mean, she—"

"She was sitting where, exactly?" Killian's voice remained conversational, but there was something underneath it that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. He moved into the room with predatory grace, his expensive suit fitting him like it had been sewn directly onto his body.

Colton gestured helplessly at the chair I occupied. "Your seat. The one beside—"

"My seat," Killian repeated slowly, his gaze shifting from his nephew to me. Those storm-gray eyes studied my face for a long moment, and I saw something flicker in their depths—recognition, perhaps, or approval. "And you assumed I wouldn't want the lady sitting beside me?"

The question hung in the air like a blade. Colton's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, his face cycling through shades of red that would have been comical if the situation weren't so charged with tension.

"I—no, of course not, I just thought—"

"You thought wrong." Killian's attention shifted fully to me then, and when he smiled, it transformed his entire face. "I apologize for keeping you waiting, Harper."

He moved to his chair with fluid confidence, and as he settled beside me, I caught his scent—cedar and leather, with something darker underneath that made my pulse quicken in ways I didn't want to examine too closely.

Colton remained standing for another moment, looking lost and furious in equal measure, before finally stalking back to his original seat. The scrape of his chair against the floor was unnecessarily loud in the suddenly quiet room.

Dinner began with the usual formalities, but I was acutely aware of the man beside me. Killian moved with the kind of controlled precision that spoke of power held in check, and when the first course arrived, he did something that nearly made me drop my fork.

He reached for the serving platter of prawns and began peeling them, his long fingers working with practiced efficiency. Then, without a word, he placed the perfectly cleaned seafood on my plate.

"Thank you," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

"My pleasure," he replied, and there was something in his tone that made heat bloom in my cheeks.

Across the table, I could feel Colton's stare like a physical weight. When I glanced in his direction, his jaw was clenched so tight I was surprised his teeth didn't crack.

Killian continued his attentions throughout the meal—selecting the choicest pieces of lamb for my plate, refilling my wine glass before it was empty, engaging me in quiet conversation about my work while largely ignoring the other dinner guests. It was the kind of focused attention I'd craved for years from Colton, now being lavished on me by a man who barely knew me.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

"So Harper tells me you've been working on international expansion strategies," Killian said to the table at large, though his eyes remained on me. "Fascinating work."

Before I could respond, the dining room doors burst open with enough force to rattle the crystal.

Violet stood in the doorway like she owned the place, her blonde hair perfectly styled despite the late hour, wearing a dress that was entirely too revealing for a family dinner. Behind her, looking sheepish but defiant, was Colton.

"Sorry we're late," Violet said with that saccharine smile I'd learned to despise. "Traffic was just terrible."

Elder Chad's face turned an alarming shade of purple. "What is the meaning of this, Colton? You know family dinners are for family only."

"Violet is family," Colton said quickly, his eyes darting to me with obvious expectation. "She's Harper's sister, after all. That makes her—"

He paused, waiting for me to jump in with my usual diplomatic smoothing-over, to make excuses and apologies that would make everyone comfortable.

I took a sip of my wine and said nothing.

The silence stretched until it became uncomfortable, then painful. Colton's face grew redder with each passing second.

"Harper?" he prompted, his voice tight with barely controlled frustration.

I met his gaze calmly and took another sip of wine.

Beside me, I felt rather than saw Killian's shoulders shake with what might have been suppressed laughter.

"Well," Elder Chad said finally, his voice dripping with disapproval, "I suppose since you're here, you might as well sit down. But this is highly irregular."

Violet practically bounced to an empty chair, pulling Colton down beside her with obvious satisfaction. She was glowing with triumph, clearly believing she'd won some sort of victory.

If only she knew what was coming.

"Now then," Chad continued, settling back in his chair, "the main purpose of tonight's gathering was to discuss wedding arrangements. There are several matters that need to be—"

"Actually," Colton interrupted, his voice gaining strength as he found his footing again, "about the wedding. Harper and I have already taken care of the most important part." He reached over and grabbed my hand, his grip possessive and performative. "We've registered for our mate marking ceremony. Haven't we, Harper?"

His eyes bored into mine, demanding confirmation, expecting me to play along with whatever narrative he was spinning. In my previous life, I would have nodded, would have smiled and agreed and let him control the story.

Not anymore.

I looked around the table, taking in the expectant faces—Chad's approval, Violet's barely concealed smugness, the other elders' polite interest. Then I looked at Killian, whose gray eyes were watching me with something that looked like anticipation.

"Actually," I said, my voice carrying clearly through the sudden silence, "there's been a misunderstanding."

Colton's grip on my hand tightened painfully. "Harper—"

"The person I'm planning to marry," I continued, pulling my hand free of his grasp, "isn't Colton."

The silence that followed was absolute. Even the grandfather clock in the corner seemed to pause its ticking.

"It's Killian."

The words hung in the air like an explosion waiting to detonate. I felt Killian go very still beside me, felt the collective intake of breath from everyone else at the table.

Then chaos erupted.

Chad's wine glass hit the floor with a crash that seemed to break the spell. Colton shot to his feet so fast his chair toppled backward. Violet's face went white, then red, then white again.

"What did you just say?" Colton's voice was barely human, more growl than words.

I stood as well, my movements calm and deliberate in contrast to his fury. "I said I'm going to marry Killian. Not you."

The dining room erupted in voices—shocked exclamations, angry demands for explanation, the scrape of chairs as people rose to their feet. But through it all, I was only aware of one thing.

Killian's hand, warm and steady, as it closed over mine.