Isla POV

I sat in the passenger seat of Ronan's car, watching the streets slide past the window.

The wedding dress fitting was today, and I had been dreading it all week.

Being this close to Ronan made my skin crawl in a way it never used to. I kept my eyes on the window and my hands in my lap and tried to look like a woman who was simply quiet rather than a woman who had watched him press her sister against a car door three nights ago.

"What's with the attitude?"

I turned to him. He was glancing at me, dark hair falling across his forehead, jaw tight.

"It's nothing," I said.

He scoffed. "You've been ignoring my texts and calls all week."

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "What have I done that's so terrible you can't even pick up the phone?"

I almost laughed at the audacity. I didn't even know why he still insisted on being with me. He could simply go and date Vivienne.

I was tired of being the side piece in this relationship.

"I was busy," I said, averting my gaze.

Which wasn't a lie. Gerald had been making my week miserable for not completing his extra work, and the rewrite was still sitting on my desk. Somewhere between all of it, I had been quietly planning my escape from this miserable life.

"Work has been demanding," I added, adjusting my glasses.

His knuckles went white on the wheel, and I stiffened in my seat immediately.

I had forgotten this about him—or maybe I had chosen not to remember. The way his anger arrived suddenly, without any warning.

I remembered every moment he punched the wall, flipped the table, and the cruel way he threw rocks at ducks at the lake.

He may have never hit me during any of those moments, but the slap he had given me in my last life reminded me that he was capable of such things.

I focused on my breathing, holding my hands in my lap to not show my fear.

"I didn't beg for this marriage, Isla." His voice dropped low. "You did. Your parents gave me a mouthful about the proposal. The least you can do is answer my calls."

I nodded out of habit, before stopping myself. I need to stand up for myself and stop being a pushover.

"I can't be available twenty-four hours a day, Ronan," I said, keeping my eyes forward. "I have a job. A career. The same career that's funding this fitting today."

He almost sideswiped a car, making me hold on to my seat in fear. I glanced at him with wide eyes.

The driver honked at him as he almost crashed into him, cursing as he passed Ronan's car.

"What did you just say?" He turned to look at me, face darkening, a vein visible at his temple.

I opened my mouth, not knowing what to say. My face turned paler by the second, and I could feel my hands visibly shaking.

And then his phone buzzed.

The sound cut through the tension, and he glanced at the screen immediately.

Vivi ❤️

He picked up without another word to me. His whole face changed—the anger smoothing out almost instantly, his voice shifting into something warmer as he answered.

I turned back to the window, grateful for Vivienne's timing.

But I had definitely learned my lesson. Don't provoke Ronan when he's driving. Don't provoke Ronan at all when I'm alone.

I could feel my hands shaking in my lap. I pressed them flat against my thighs and stared at the passing streets and told myself firmly that I was not going to cry in this car.

I was scared of him.

That was the truth. I had spent six years dressing his anger issues as something else—calling it his passion, his intensity.

I was just scared of him. And I was sad that it took me dying in my last life to realize that.

---

We arrived at the boutique, and Ronan got out without opening my door. I was used to it, and I was glad he was ignoring me, at least.

I looked up and felt my stomach drop.

My parents were already there, standing by the entrance with Vivienne between them. All three of them laughing at something like a photograph someone had planned.

I exhaled slowly.

My parents. My adopted parents. The people who had loved me once—until Vivienne arrived and I became the before picture in a story about someone else.

I watched my mother touch Vivienne's arm, laughing, and felt something old and tired move through my chest.

I got out of the car and walked toward them, arms folded.

Vivienne spotted me first. She turned with a bright smile and pulled me into a hug before I could brace for it.

"What took you so long to get out of the car!" she said warmly against my shoulder.

"I got motion sickness," I said flatly.

Ronan raised a brow at my lie, but I ignored him.

My parents hadn't greeted me. I stood there for a moment waiting before accepting that it wasn't coming.

My mother looked me over. "What's that expression? You don't look happy to be here."

"Just tired from work," I said politely.

"Well." My father straightened. "You could try to look a little more excited. It's your wedding fitting."

"She thinks she's too good for all this," Ronan muttered, already moving toward the entrance without us.

I pressed my lips together.

My mother's eyes cut to me immediately. "What is that face? Is that how you treat the man you're about to marry? You should be grateful—"

"Mom." I kept my voice even.

She kept going, leaning closer, her voice dropping into disappointment. "Don't you dare let a good man like that slip away because of your attitude. You should be on your knees thankful—"

I zoned out at her rambling, staring at the wall behind her.

"What exactly is your problem today?" my father said.

"She had a long week at work." Vivienne stepped in smoothly, her voice gentle and certain. "Let's not get involved in her and Ronan's little disagreement. Today is supposed to be about Isla."

What a two-faced bitch.

My father looked at her with the specific warmth he reserved for her and nodded. "You're so thoughtful."

My mother glanced at me, dissatisfied, before turning back to Vivienne with a smile.

"So much more gracious," she said lightly, almost to herself. "Unlike some people we picked up off the street."

I blinked, my chest tightening at her comment.

Her words landed the way they always did. She always made sure to remind me of that.

My mother was already smiling at Vivienne, unbothered by how her words hurt.

"Mom," Vivienne said softly, a little laugh in her voice. "Come on. Today is Isla's day."

"You're right," my father agreed.

They moved toward the entrance together, the three of them, and I stood on the pavement for a moment in the morning light.

Picked up off the street.

Said at my wedding dress fitting with a casual smile, like I had begged them to take me in.

I put my shoulders back and followed them inside. I could endure this for a few more hours.

Once I got in, Vivienne appeared at my side almost immediately, pressing a small gift into my hands. A ribbon-tied box, neat and pretty.

I hadn't even noticed she was holding it before.

"I saw it and thought of you," she said warmly.

I took the box from her, opening it in front of her. A tin of loose leaf tea sat inside—one of my favorite blends. The exact one I had loved since I was sixteen and never once mentioned to anyone.

I went very still. Before, I would have been grateful that Vivienne was the only one who knew me in and out.

She had always kept my tea quietly restocked for years. Every tin replaced before it emptied, every blend exactly the kind I liked.

But now I needed to question it.

My hands were perfectly steady as I looked up at her. Could this be what she used to poison me?

How many cups? How many years? How many times had I wrapped my hands around a warm mug and drunk whatever she put in front of me without a single thought?

"Thank you," I said.

"Of course," she said softly with a smile. "You're my sister. I'd do anything for you."

I thought so too. But I'm never trusting you again.

Isla POV

"Good morning, we're so glad to have you here."

The consultant beamed as she led us into the private fitting room—mirrors on every wall, dresses arranged along the rails.

I looked at them and felt nothing, as I mostly stayed behind.

Vivienne had already drifted to Ronan's side. My parents flanked them naturally, effortlessly, like a beautiful photograph of a family going shopping.

Nobody had thought to stand beside me, even though this wedding fitting was mine. I held onto the tin bag in my hand tightly before letting it down.

The consultant's eyes swept the room and landed on Vivienne.

"And you must be the bride." She reached for Vivienne's hand warmly, smiling between her and Ronan. "We have so many beautiful options for you today."

"Oh no." Vivienne laughed softly, touching her collarbone like the mistake genuinely surprised her. "I'm not the bride."

I stepped forward gently. "I am," I said with a flat, annoyed face.

"Oh, my sincerest apologies." The consultant turned to Ronan with her smile fully intact and directed her apology at him.

"Let's skip the pleasantries," my mother cut in briskly. "Ronan, what did you have in mind for the dress?"

"Ronan?" I said, bewildered.

She glanced at me briefly. "Well, it is his wedding."

"It's my dress," I said evenly, turning to touch the nearest gown along the rail. "And my card is paying for this fitting. So my money, my rules, Mother."

"Your money?" Vivienne said, her voice catching with what sounded like genuine surprise.

I turned toward them.

Vivienne's expression was open, almost innocent. My mother's face was unimpressed. My father stood beside her with his arms crossed, unbothered, like he was waiting for the conversation to move past me.

And Ronan had gone pale.

So Vivienne and my parents genuinely believed Ronan was successful, not knowing he was a very good actor with no vision or intelligence between his eyes.

Whatever. They could keep thinking that.

"Yes," I said pleasantly, correcting myself. "My future husband's money is my money."

I glanced at Ronan with a small smile. "Isn't that right, darling?"

Ronan looked at me for a moment. Something unreadable moved across his face before he turned to my mother.

"She can pick whatever dress she likes," he said smoothly. "I don't mind."

"Ooh." Vivienne had already moved to one of the rails, pulling a gown free and holding it toward me with a bright smile. "This one. It would be so beautiful on you, Isla."

I looked at the dress and recognized it immediately.

The dress from my first life. The exact one. I had never realized how much I had let her steer my choices in almost everything. My education was the only place I had ever truly held my ground.

I was glad even past me had that much.

Still, I had never even liked this dress. It wasn't bad. But it just wasn't mine.

"Simple and elegant," the consultant agreed, already turning to Ronan with a warm smile. "It would suit the bride beautifully."

Ronan glanced at it and nodded. "Alright. Let her try it on."

"Did I say I wanted that dress?" I spoke coldly.

Silence filled the room, everyone shocked by my ice-cold voice.

My father stepped toward me, his voice low and careful. "Come on, Isla. Vivienne knows your taste."

I looked at him, irritation in my gaze.

He had stood beside my mother for years and said nothing while she reminded me where I came from. His gentleness now cost him nothing and meant even less.

I ignored him, not even sparing him a glance like what he had done to me all those years.

"I'm not picking that dress." I said it clearly, without heat. "Wait here. I'll choose my own."

Vivienne's face shifted to a downcast expression. Her eyes widened, and her fingers tightened around the fabric of the dress still in her hands.

I knew that look. She was preparing to wind up.

"I—I didn't mean to upset you," she said softly, her voice carrying just enough to reach my parents.

They moved toward her immediately, their expressions softening without hesitation.

"Well, you did," I said. "And please put that dress back. I don't want it."

"What is wrong with you today?" My mother's voice rose sharply.

I turned to face her, ready to snap back at her—but then her hand came across my face before I saw it coming.

The sound rang through the fitting room. It was a sharp, clean slap.

I stood very still, not even shocked anymore.

The sting spread slowly across my cheek. The consultant had gone rigid, shocked by the scene. Nobody spoke as they waited for my reaction.

I caught Vivienne's smirk before it disappeared. Then she was at my mother's side, taking her arm gently.

"Mom," she said softly. "We're in public."

My mother exhaled, then straightened. She said nothing to me, shooting me a disgusted gaze.

I pressed my fingers briefly to my cheek and dropped my hand. I turned away from my mother's anger, my father's silence, and Vivienne's careful performance and went to find my dress.

I didn't have energy for any back and forth or another fake performance. As I walked away, I felt eyes on my back.

I glanced over my shoulder. Ronan was watching me—not with anger or embarrassment at what my mother had just done in public.

Just watching quietly, hands in his pockets.

I ignored it and kept walking.

I passed a mirror and stopped.

The red mark from my mother's hand sat bright against my pale cheek. I stared at it for a moment.

Then I looked at the rest of myself.

Blonde hair pulled back in its usual ponytail. Simple shirt and trousers with flat shoes, paired with the glasses I couldn't function without.

I had stopped caring about how I looked so gradually I hadn't noticed it happening. There was no single moment I could point to. Just years of making myself smaller and quieter and easier to overlook until I had become someone even I didn't particularly want to look at.

I glanced away.

And that was when the dress caught my eye.

I walked toward it slowly and reached out to touch the fabric.

A mermaid white silhouette dress stood in front of me.

The oversized bow at the shoulders was bold and dramatic, like a declaration. Smooth satin flowed from the tight bodice down to the flared hem, elegant yet unapologetic. It looked like it belonged on someone who knew her worth—someone who walked into a room and made the air shift around her.

My fingers lingered on the cool, luxurious fabric.

For the first time in years, I didn't feel like shrinking away.

I wanted to be the woman who wore this dress.

---

Ronan POV

She's acting strange. She's been acting strange for the past few days—not answering my calls, talking back, and keeping more to herself.

It felt like she was planning something behind my back.

I watched her walk away, ignoring her mother's voice, ignoring Vivienne, ignoring all of it entirely.

Her mother turned to me. "I'm so sorry about that."

"It's fine," I said.

"I only wanted to help her find a dress," Vivienne said softly, her eyes filling. "I didn't expect her to react like that. I didn't mean to—"

"Forget it." I cut her off. "It's not a big deal. Just let her choose her dress."

Vivienne's mouth closed, embarrassed that I had cut her off. Her face twisted in anger.

I looked back toward where Isla had disappeared among the rails.

I didn't entirely understand Vivienne. She wasn't as innocent as she tried to appear—I had always known that. But she was easier. Uncomplicated. And she was far gentler on the eyes than Isla.

Isla was too sharp, too quiet in ways that made you feel watched. But something about her today was different, and I couldn't place it.

Vivienne touched my arm lightly, and I glanced down at her. She smiled up at me, warm and soft—everything about her carefully arranged and performed.

I knew what she was.

But it didn't matter.

Demons also taste sweet.

Isla POV

The changing room was small and quiet as I stepped in with the dress in my hands.

The consultant helped me into it without speaking, fastening the back with careful hands. The satin settled against my body, cool and smooth.

I stood before the small mirror inside.

I barely recognised myself.

The mermaid cut followed every curve I had spent years hiding under loose shirts and safe choices. The bow at the shoulders was dramatic. The fabric caught the light like it had somewhere important to be.

I pushed my glasses up and exhaled slowly.

Then I stepped out.

I walked toward my family, the consultant following quietly behind me. They were all settled, eyes on their phones, already moved on from waiting.

I stepped up onto the platform.

I heard my mother's sharp inhale before I saw anyone's face.

My father looked up from his phone and went completely still, staring with open surprise.

And Ronan.

He had gone very still. I could see his gaze in the mirror, his eyes slowly tracing the dress where it clung to my body. I focused on giving instructions to the consultant. I had spent years being quietly pleased when he looked at me like that.

Not anymore.

I turned slightly and that was when I noticed Vivienne.

Her hands had gone pale where they gripped each other in her lap. Her eyes were fixed on Ronan's expression, her jaw tight.

She caught herself quickly.

"Oh my goodness." She stood and came to take my hand warmly. "The dress suits you so well." She paused, tilting her head with gentle concern. "But are you sure you like it? You know how you prefer not to be the centre of attention. It's a bit overwhelming don't you think?"

"I agree," my mother said immediately, finding her footing behind Vivienne's lead. "It's too much for you. Go pick another one."

"I'm picking this one," I said pleasantly, turning to Ronan. "What do you think darling?"

Ronan blinked out of his daze. "What?"

"Isn't it too much for Isla, Ronan?" My mother pressed. "I don't understand why she wants to upstage you."

Ronan's jaw tightened. "The dress is fine."

My mother's eyebrows lifted slightly before she rearranged herself into a respectful smile. "Of course. Whatever you think is best."

I almost smiled.

Soon enough they would know exactly what he was.

"Good," I said simply. "We should wrap this up. I have work to finish."

Vivienne glanced at me. Just for a moment her eyes were completely cold before she covered it smoothly.

"What about the bridesmaids dresses?" Vivienne said lightly.

I glanced at her from the platform, still in the dress, the satin smooth against my body.

"You've been a bridesmaid so many times I'm sure you know exactly what works." I smiled pleasantly. "I trust your judgment completely."

A beat.

"The payment goes on my future husband's card." I turned back to the consultant. "Could you help me out of this please."

I didn't wait for a response before walking back toward the changing room.

But I caught it anyway.

The smile staying perfectly on Vivienne's face while something underneath it went very still. Her eyes following me with that particular quiet that meant she was recalculating.

She had been a bridesmaid four times.

Always the dress. Never the aisle.

And I had just made sure the whole room was thinking about that without saying it directly.

I stepped into the changing room and let the door close behind me.

The smile I had been holding back finally came.

----

We finally finished the fitting and I couldn't wait to get home.

I needed to start thinking about a proper escape plan. Not just from my family but from the office too. From Gerald. From Lucian. From all of it.

I just wanted a cottage somewhere quiet. A garden. Trees. Myself and no other human ever making me feel like less again.

Proper plans needed to take place.

We stepped out of the boutique into the afternoon light.

"That was fun." My father smiled, shaking Ronan's hand warmly. "We really appreciate you making the time. We know how busy you are."

"Once he's married into the family we can see him practically every day," Vivienne said smoothly, appearing at my father's side.

Whoever brought me back clearly had a sense of humour.

"Ronan you must come for dinner," my mother said. "We've made so much food. Come now, straight from here."

Ronan stood beside me and said nothing for a moment.

Then "Not tonight. Thank you."

I blinked.

He always said yes. He loved the warmth they gave him, the deference, the way my parents looked at him like he was something. He had never once turned down an invitation from them.

"I need to drop Isla home," he said. "We have something to take care of together."

He took my hand.

"Yes," I said carefully. "We do."

"Of course, we won't keep you." My father turned to me with a small smile. "I'm glad you picked that dress. It was different from what you'd usually choose." He paused. "I suppose you're becoming a new woman."

I turned my face away.

He meant it kindly. He always did. It had never been enough.

He noticed. I saw his expression shift; surprise, then something close to guilt but he let it pass without a word. His eyes followed me with a few uncertain glances as Ronan steered me toward the car.

"We'll see you later," Ronan said, already moving.

I let him pull me forward.

I glanced back once.

Vivienne stood behind my parents, her hands folded neatly, watching Ronan's hand in mine.

Just that. Just watching.

He opened the passenger door without a word and I got in. He took the driver's seat and pulled out of the lot before anyone had finished waving goodbye.

The silence in the car sat differently from this morning.

I watched his hands on the wheel and said nothing.

In six years I had always known what Ronan wanted from me. His moods, his needs, his expectations. I had learned to read all of it without being told.

I didn't know anymore.

And that made him dangerous.