CHAPTER 2: THE GIRL WHO SAID NO
I stared at my mother standing in the doorway, holding a garment bag like it contained the crown jewels.
She looked exactly the same. The same soft brown hair pinned back in a twist. The same gentle smile. The same perfume that smelled like vanilla and roses.
The same woman Marcus would convince me to cut out of my life two years into our marriage because she "interfered too much."
The same woman who would die alone in a hospital bed while I sat at a business dinner with Marcus, my phone turned off because he said family emergencies were "distractions."
"Elena, sweetheart, are you ready?" She stepped into the room, hanging the garment bag on my closet door. "I had this custom made in Paris. Wait until you see it."
She unzipped the bag.
The gown spilled out like liquid moonlight. Silver silk that caught the light and shimmered. Hand-embroidered crystals along the bodice. A train that would trail behind me like water.
Thousands of dollars.
All for my birthday party.
The party where Marcus would ignore me all night.
The party where Isabelle Laurent would spill juice on my dress and cry.
The party where I would apologize to her on my knees while everyone laughed.
My throat closed up.
"Mom—"
The word came out broken.
She turned, concerned. "What's wrong?"
I crossed the room in three steps and wrapped my arms around her. Squeezed her tight. Buried my face in her shoulder and breathed in that vanilla-rose perfume.
"I missed you so much," I choked out. "So, so much."
"Elena?" Her hands came up to stroke my hair, confused but gentle. "Silly girl, what's gotten into you? I've always been here."
I pulled back, wiping my eyes fast. "I know. I know, but I still missed you."
She cupped my face in both hands and kissed my cheek. "My sweet girl. Now come on, get dressed fast. The party is about to start, and your father invited half of London."
She left, closing the door softly behind her.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the silver gown.
In my past life, I'd worn it with my hair up the way Marcus liked. With the jewelry Marcus picked out. With a smile plastered on my face while I followed him around the ballroom like a puppy begging for scraps of attention.
This time?
This time would be different.
The ballroom glittered.
Crystal chandeliers. White roses in towering arrangements. A string quartet playing something soft and elegant. Guests in designer gowns and tailored suits, champagne glasses in hand, talking and laughing.
I descended the grand staircase slowly.
The silver gown flowed around me like liquid starlight. I'd left my hair down in loose waves. Wore the diamond earrings my grandmother left me, not the ones Marcus would give me tomorrow as a "wedding gift" that I'd later find out he bought with my father's money.
Conversations slowed as people noticed me.
"Is that Elena?"
"She looks different."
"Stunning."
I scanned the crowd.
Found him immediately.
Marcus Westwood stood near the bar, surrounded by his usual group of friends. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair perfectly styled. A smile that could charm anyone.
He was talking to someone, gesturing with his whiskey glass, and he didn't look up.
Didn't look at me.
In my past life, that would have shattered me. I would have felt my heart crack down the middle. Would have rushed straight to his side, touched his arm, asked if he was okay, if I'd done something wrong.
But this time?
This time I felt nothing.
I walked past him without a word.
His laughter cut off mid-sentence.
I felt his eyes on my back.
Good.
"Elena!"
I turned.
Isabelle Laurent was walking toward me, carrying a crystal glass of orange juice. She wore a simple white dress that made her look innocent. Virginal. Her long dark hair was pulled into a braid over one shoulder.
The daughter of our housekeeper.
The girl Marcus had been sleeping with for the past six months.
The girl who had stood on that bridge in the rain, recording my death on her phone, laughing.
The girl who would move into my house three weeks after I drowned.
She smiled at me. Sweet. Shy. Perfect.
"Happy birthday, Elena," she said softly, walking closer. "I brought you some juice. Orange, your favorite."
I watched her approach.
In my past life, I'd thanked her. Had been so touched that the maid's daughter remembered my favorite drink.
I'd been such a fool.
She stopped right in front of me, extending the glass.
I reached for it.
And at the exact moment my fingers touched the crystal, Isabelle's hand jerked.
The entire glass of orange juice splashed across the front of my silver gown.
Cold liquid soaked through the silk instantly. Stained it bright orange.
Gasps rippled through the nearby guests.
The music faltered.
Isabelle's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh no! Oh, Elena, I'm so sorry!" Her eyes filled with tears. Real tears. She was good at this. "It slipped! I don't know what happened, it just—"
She stumbled backward, and I saw it.
The tiny curl at the corner of her mouth.
The flash of satisfaction in her eyes before she hid it behind more tears.
"I'm so clumsy!" She pressed both hands to her face, sobbing. "Please forgive me! I didn't mean to, I swear!"
The crowd pressed closer.
Whispers started.
"Poor girl, she looks terrified."
"It was clearly an accident."
"Elena's not going to make a scene, is she?"
In my past life, I'd stood there in my ruined gown, juice dripping down my legs, and I'd said, "It's okay, Isabelle. Don't cry. It was just an accident."
And then Isabelle had sobbed harder and thrown herself at my feet, begging forgiveness.
And I'd gotten on my knees on the marble floor and helped her up, telling her it was fine, it was fine, while Marcus watched with cold approval and everyone whispered about how kind and forgiving I was.
How pathetic I was.
I looked at Isabelle now. At her perfect tears. Her trembling hands. Her innocent, terrified face.
And I smiled.
"You're right," I said clearly. "You are clumsy."
My hand connected with her face.
The slap cracked through the ballroom like a gunshot.
The music stopped completely.
Isabelle's head snapped to the side. She stumbled, catching herself on a nearby table, hand flying to her reddening cheek.
For just a second, her mask slipped.
Shock. Rage. Disbelief.
Then the tears came flooding back, twice as hard.
She dropped to her knees, sobbing into her hands. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please, Elena, I didn't mean to! It was an accident!"
The crowd erupted in whispers.
"Did she just hit her?"
"Over spilled juice?"
"That's too harsh."
"She's always been spoiled, but this is—"
Footsteps.
Fast and heavy.
Marcus pushed through the crowd like a storm. His face was dark. Furious.
He dropped to his knees beside Isabelle and pulled her into his arms.
She buried her face in his chest, sobbing.
He looked up at me.
Ice. Pure ice.
"How dare you, Elena." His voice was low. Dangerous. "Are you really this heartless? Bullying a maid?"
I looked down at them. At Marcus cradling Isabelle like she was made of glass. At Isabelle peeking up at me through her fingers, eyes red and streaming.
"Heartless?" I repeated. "Maybe I am."
"She made a mistake!" Marcus snapped. "It was an accident and you attacked her. You owe her an apology."
Isabelle's sobs got louder. "It was my fault! I'm so clumsy, I should have been more careful—"
"You work here," I cut her off. My voice was cold. Clear. "You better behave, or else."
The room went silent.
Marcus stood slowly, still holding Isabelle against his side. "Or else what, Elena?"
I met his eyes.
Saw the calculation there. The test.
He was waiting for me to back down. Waiting for me to crumble. Waiting for me to apologize and beg and prove that I loved him more than I loved myself.
Just like always.
"Enough." His voice echoed through the ballroom. "Apologize to her. Now."
I didn't move.
The crowd held its breath.
Marcus's jaw tightened. "Elena. Apologize, or—" He paused. Let the words hang. "I will call off this wedding."
Gasps.
Real ones this time.
Isabelle's crying stopped for just a fraction of a second. Just long enough for me to catch the tiny, triumphant smirk on her face before she buried it back in Marcus's chest.
Marcus's friends started murmuring from somewhere in the crowd.
"Just watch, she's going to apologize."
"Of course she will. She loves him too much."
"She always does this. Remember when she followed him around campus like a lost puppy?"
"She even begged her father to arrange this marriage."
"Pathetic. A lovesick fool."
Giggles.
Quiet, mocking laughter.
I'd heard these same words in my past life.
Had felt them slice into me like razors.
And I'd still apologized.
Had still gotten on my knees on this marble floor, right here, in this exact spot, and begged Isabelle to forgive me while Marcus watched with satisfaction and everyone whispered about how desperate I was.
I'd done anything to keep him.
Anything.
I looked at Marcus now. At his cold eyes. His perfect face. His arm wrapped protectively around the woman who would help him kill me.
And I laughed.
"Fine then, Marcus." My voice rang out clear and strong across the silent ballroom. "You want to call off the wedding? Do it."
Every head snapped toward me.
Marcus's face went blank with shock. "What?"
"You heard me." I stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. Close enough to see the confusion blooming in his eyes.
I leaned in.
Put my lips right next to his ear.
And whispered.
"The land my father gave you as an engagement gift? The land you've been trying to buy for three years? The land worth twenty million pounds? The land you need for your precious development project?" I paused. Felt him go rigid. "My father only transferred it to you because I begged him. Because I got on my knees and cried and told him you loved me. Call off this wedding, Marcus, and I'll make sure you never see a single inch of it. I'll have my father sell it to your competitors before the sun rises tomorrow."
I pulled back.
Watched his face drain of color.
Watched the panic creep into his eyes.
Watched him realize that the pathetic, lovesick girl he thought he could control had just backed him into a corner.
I looked at Isabelle, still clutching Marcus's shirt, her eyes wide and wet.
In my past life, I'd seen her cry a thousand times. Believed every single tear.
Now I could see the calculation behind them. The venom. The actress playing her role.
"Get up," I said coldly. "Get a mop. Clean this mess up before I decide you'd be more useful living on the street."
Isabelle's face went white.
She looked up at Marcus, waiting. Expecting him to defend her. To choose her.
Marcus just stood there.
Frozen.
Unable to speak.
Because he was doing the math in his head. Twenty million pounds versus a maid he could replace tomorrow.
Isabelle seemed to realize it too.
She scrambled to her feet and ran, her sobs echoing as she disappeared into the crowd.
I turned back to face the ballroom. Every guest was staring at me like I'd transformed into someone else entirely.
The old Elena was dead.
She'd drowned in a river.
"Party's over for me," I announced. "Please, enjoy the rest of your evening."
I walked toward the stairs.
Marcus grabbed my wrist.
His grip was tight. Painful.
"What the hell has gotten into you?" he hissed.
I looked down at his hand on my wrist. Remembered him unbuckling his seatbelt. Swimming away. Leaving me to die.
"Let go, Marcus."
"You're going to regret this." His voice was barely above a whisper. Shaking with rage. "You better not come crawling back begging for forgiveness."
I pulled my wrist free.
Met his eyes.
And smiled.
A slow, cold smile that didn't reach my eyes.
"Oh, Marcus," I said softly. "I'll do much more than that."
I walked up the stairs.
Behind me, the whispers exploded like wildfire.
But I didn't care.
Because in my mind, I was already three steps ahead.
And Marcus Westwood had no idea what was coming for him.