chapter 3

"Oh, almost forgot—Georgina and I are getting married this fall," he added casually, like he was talking about the weather. "We just bought a place. Oceanfront. Private villa. Deed's under her name. My wedding gift."

Nathaniel puffed out his chest, proud as a rooster who'd finally won the yard.

And just in case I wasn't properly impressed, he pulled up the digital contract, holding it out like it was some kind of crown jewel.

I gave it a glance.

Nice place. Great location. Probably worth a small fortune.

But compared to the island Zacharias gifted me just last week? It didn't even register.

Nathaniel leaned in, his smirk practically carved into his face, and let his voice curl into something venomous.

"Selene, I bet you've never even set foot in a villa, huh? Must be dying to know what it feels like. Dreaming about having one all to yourself? If you hadn't screwed up, your name might've been on that deed instead."

Back when we were married, we couldn't even afford a place of our own.

We'd ended up wedged into his parents' tiny, worn-down apartment—800 square feet of peeling walls and water stains. The place hadn't seen a paintbrush in decades.

And once his debts piled up high enough to crush us, we sold it off and wound up in a basement flat that barely saw daylight.

It was always damp, always cold, and always felt like rock bottom.

So now he thought waving some oceanfront villa in my face would crack me open like glass.

Too bad he misjudged me.

"Nice place," I said without blinking. "Hope you two enjoy it. Have fun."

His smile faltered, then vanished altogether. His eyes narrowed.

"Selene, what's with the passive-aggressive crap?"

Passive-aggressive? That had been sincere.

Because this time around, in this second life, he was the one who'd walked away first.

And now that I'd stopped looking back, he was the one burning.

I turned away and made my way back to the table just as the newlyweds arrived, wine in hand and grinning.

"Ms. Jottingson, hello," the groom greeted as they lifted their glasses in a toast.

After finishing the toast, just as I was about to put down my wine glass, Georgina made her entrance, every step dragged out like a scene-stealing performance.

She moved with the kind of slowness that demanded everyone's eyes.

"We haven't officially met," she said sweetly, reaching for the bottle. "But Nathaniel talks about you all the time. I know you two have some ... history."

She began pouring into my glass, eyes twinkling.

"Really, thank you for being there for him back then. If it weren't for that, he wouldn't be the amazing man he is now. I'm lucky to have him."

"You don't have to thank me," I replied, cool and polite, placing my hand gently over the rim of my glass.

"Oh come on, Ms. Jottingson, no need to be so guarded," she said with a sugary laugh, pushing the bottle forward again with a little too much persistence.

"I'm good. I really don't need any," I said, firmer this time.

"It's just a thank-you toast. You won't even give me that much courtesy?"

Her tone sharpened beneath the sweetness, and she pushed harder.

Then—

"Aahhh!"

Georgina shrieked as a full glass of red wine cascaded down the front of her golden gown.

A dark splash spread across her gown like a wound—vivid, bold, and absolutely unmissable.

"Ms. Jottingson, if you didn't want the wine, you could've just said so. You didn't have to dump it all over me."

Georgina's fingers trembled as she dabbed helplessly at the dark blotch on her dress. Her voice wavered, stuck somewhere between disbelief and accusation.

"This dress was flown in from Romagna this morning. It's Chanel's newest runway piece—one of a kind."

She kept blotting, but the stain only spread deeper into the silk. Thick tears rolled down her cheeks, falling like scattered pearls. Her entire frame shook with the weight of public humiliation. She looked like a portrait of ruin.

Around us, the table erupted into quiet chaos. Someone leaned in to comfort her. Another pulled out tissues, handing them over with wide eyes. A few reached across the table to help clean the spill, though everyone knew it was a lost cause.

That dress screamed money. And now it looked like it had been mauled.

Eventually, Georgina stopped trying.

She let the napkin fall from her hand and stared at me, eyes glassy and lips quivering.

"Ms. Jottingson, I understand you're upset. You're jealous I get to be with someone like Nathaniel. But you're the one who walked away. If you regret it now, it still doesn't mean you can take it out on me."

It had all unraveled too fast. I stood frozen, still trying to process what just happened.

Then Nathaniel stormed over, eyes locked on Georgina.

He wrapped her in his arms without a second thought.

"Nathaniel, I'm so sorry," she sniffed, clinging to him like her world had just crumbled. "The dress you bought me—it's ruined."

Her voice cracked just enough to sound fragile. She brushed the tears from her lashes, sniffling like it hurt to breathe.

"I never imagined Ms. Jottingson would be this calculated. I only wanted to make a simple toast ... "

Nathaniel murmured to her, soothing her like she was porcelain about to break. When she finally stilled in his arms, he turned to me. His voice was low and cold.