Reborn To Choose His Brother

My fate was sealed the day I turned twenty-one: a marriage contract binding me to a son of the Hawthorne family. It was less a romance, more a silent business merger between our two powerful dynasties.

In my last life, I foolishly chose the man I thought I loved, Preston. But after the wedding, he and my adopted sister, Sloane, began a sordid affair, and I became nothing more than a trophy wife for him to parade and control.

Ultimately, they conspired to kill me, arranging a car crash that brutally ended my life.

Now, I have been reborn. Fate has rewound the clock, placing me at the very moment I must choose.

This time, I didn’t hesitate. I chose Sterling—the family outcast, the frail second son everyone had written off as a worthless invalid.

I would let Preston and Sloane have each other. I wished them a bitter "eternity" together.

But in this life, Preston would be the one drowning in regret. He would be the one to lose everything.

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1

In my last life, I chose to marry Preston, the man I had adored for years. He repaid that love with betrayal, ultimately conspiring with my adopted sister to murder me in a meticulously planned car crash.

Reborn, I found myself back in the chairman’s office at the pinnacle of the Hawthorne Group skyscraper. When Conrad Hawthorne asked for my answer, I pointed without hesitation to Sterling, the family’s famously frail, sickly heir.

“I choose him.”

I stepped out of Conrad Hawthorne’s office, the heavy door clicking shut behind me. Under the hallway’s sterile white light, my shadow stretched long and thin.

My palms were damp with sweat. In that room, with its panoramic view of the city, I had just made a decision that would detonate my entire future.

I had chosen my husband.

And it wasn't the one anyone expected.

“Avalon.”

I turned. Preston was emerging from the deep shadows of the glass curtain wall. He was, as always, flawless—impeccably styled blond hair, a bespoke Armani suit, and the effortless arrogance of a man who had never known failure.

"Just left my father's office?" he asked, striding toward me with his usual condescending smirk. "Still daydreaming about our summer villa in the Hamptons?"

I simply stared at him in silence.

The woman I used to be would have blushed, her heart fluttering at his attention. Now, all I felt was a cold knot of disgust tightening in my stomach.

"Listen, Avalon," Preston paused before me, sizing me up with a dismissive gaze. "Since our engagement ceremony is approaching, there are a few rules you need to understand."

"Such as?"

"After we're married, you are an accessory for my social events. Nothing more. I will maintain my freedom," he stated, his tone as casual as if discussing stock prices. "Don't expect me to dote on you like some lovesick fool from a bad movie."

The Hawthorne Group was a corporate titan. My family, a dynasty of architectural design, was its closest partner. To the world, our marriage was the perfect union of power. But Conrad and my father were best friends; he'd watched me grow up and had brokered this contract years ago, waiting only for me to come of age to select my husband.

Even so, calling your future wife an "accessory" was the ultimate insult.

The old me would have been shattered.

I heard a hushed conversation from behind me. A few of Preston's cronies, mid-level managers at the Group, were approaching with smirks, eager for a show.

"Preston's got a point," one of the tailored sycophants chuckled. "Someone's head is in the clouds."

My gaze met Preston's. "That," I said slowly, "is my business."

"What?" He frowned, the word a sharp bark of disbelief.

"I said, that's my business," I repeated, my voice so steady it surprised even me.

His friends exchanged confused looks. This wasn't the timid reaction they were used to.

"Avalon, what the hell are you talking about?" Preston's voice was sharp with impatience, his brow furrowing. "You're my fiancée—"

"Preston!"

A sickly sweet voice cut him off. Sloane appeared at the far end of the hall, a vision in a white Chanel dress and a practiced, perfect smile. She glided over, slipping her arm intimately through Preston's.

Sloane was the girl my parents had adopted, the one who always received the endless patience from Preston that I never did.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," she cooed, gazing up at him with doe-eyed adoration. "The brand launch is starting. Shall we go?"

Preston's eyes softened as he looked down at Sloane, nestled in the crook of his arm. He glanced back at me, his expression hardening again.

"Of course." He smiled at her, then fixed me with an icy stare. "Avalon, you'd better drop the attitude. Jealousy is an ugly look on you."

I laughed. The sound must have been jarring, because his perfect smile faltered for an instant.

"Jealous?" I echoed. "No. I was just thinking it's always amusing when people realize the world doesn't revolve around them."

Preston's entourage started whispering. Sloane's grip on his arm tightened, her smile looking a little brittle.

"Let's go, Sloane," Preston said, pulling her along. After a few paces, he stopped and looked back at me.

A dangerous glint sharpened his gaze. "Avalon, you pull another stunt like this, and I'll have the board reconsider our entire marriage alliance."