I woke up in the ICU, every shallow breath feeling like a countdown to a final judgment that had already been passed. Through the haze of sedatives and the rhythmic, clinical throb of the monitors, I heard Brady’s voice. It was low, strained, and anchored by the sharp, calculating tone of his mother, Evelyn. “If you really want to marry that girl—if you want to bring a nobody into this family—then end it with Margot now,” Evelyn hissed. “Stop playing this long, exhausting game.” “She’s dead, Mother.” Brady was silent for a long beat. When he spoke again, his voice broke, a masterpiece of manufactured grief. “I couldn't just walk away. Five years ago, the Steward family bailed us out. Her grandfather literally handed me the keys to their empire as her dowry. I couldn’t break the engagement.” He paused, a jagged sigh escaping him. “But it was always Isla. I promised her she would be the only Mrs. Whitlock. I just had to wait for Margot to... disappear.” As the fog in my brain cleared, a news report flashed on the wall-mounted TV. I saw my own face—a cold, black-and-white memorial photo. I wanted to scream, but my lungs felt like they were filled with crushed glass. It wasn’t an accident. None of it was. Brady Whitlock and I had been the "it" couple of the city for five years. We had planned our engagement party twenty-four times. And twenty-four times, disaster struck the day before the event. The first time I tried on my gown, I was pricked by dozens of needles hidden in the lining, leaving me bloody and infection-ridden. The second time we scouted the venue, a massive crystal chandelier plummeted, nearly crushing my skull. The third time, the catering headquarters burned to the ground, taking every detail of our preparation with it. People whispered that I was "bad luck." That I was a curse on the Whitlock family. They urged me to let him go. But I loved him. I stayed. Until the twenty-fourth time. On my way to pick up the rings, I was abducted. They didn't want a ransom. They just wanted me gone. In the end, I got nothing but a shallow grave. But if the universe is giving me a second chance, I’m not going to be the victim this time. If Brady can’t make a choice, I’ll make it for him. 1. The scent of bleach and hospital-grade soap was thick enough to taste. The steady beep... beep... beep... of the heart monitor was the only thing anchoring me to reality. I snapped my eyes open. The ceiling was a sterile, blinding white. This wasn't the rusted, freezing warehouse where the kidnappers had left me to bleed out. I twitched my fingers, and a lightning bolt of pain shot from my temple down my spine. "Margot! Oh, thank God, you’re awake!" That voice. Familiar, polished, and utterly hollow. Brady leaned into my field of vision, his handsome face a mask of exhaustion. His eyes were bloodshot, his stubble perfectly groomed to suggest a man who hadn't slept in days. Looking at him made my stomach turn. This was the man I grew up with. My "childhood sweetheart." The man who, in my past life, wept over my death while whispering his love for another woman in the same breath. "Brady..." My throat felt like it was coated in sand. "I’m here, baby. You’re safe." He grabbed my hand, his palm warm and steady. A year ago, this touch would have made me feel invincible. Now, I knew these were the same hands that would eventually push me into the abyss to embrace someone else. Behind him, his mother, Evelyn, crowded into the space. She dapped at her eyes with a silk handkerchief, though her mascara remained flawlessly intact. "Margot, darling, you gave us such a scare. That chandelier... what a freak accident! To think it just fell like that. It’s a miracle you’re alive." The chandelier. My pupils contracted. I remembered now. This wasn't the day I died. I had been sent back further. This was the second accident. In my previous life, this concussion kept me in the hospital for two weeks. I had exactly two months left before the kidnapping. Two months to crawl out of the grave they were digging for me. "My head... it hurts so much," I whispered, closing my eyes to hide the cold fire burning in them. Brady immediately hit the call button, barking orders at the nurses with the frantic devotion of a man who couldn't bear to lose his prize. Evelyn started her usual routine, her voice a soft, poisonous lullaby. "Margot, honey, I hate to say this, but is it possible you and Brady are just... ill-fated? This is the second time. Maybe we should put the engagement on hold? For your safety?" There it was. The exact script from the first time. Every "accident" was followed by these suggestions—calculated moves to make me feel like the problem, to make me feel like a burden until I was isolated enough to kill. In my last life, I would have sobbed, clutching Brady's hand, begging them not to give up on me. But now? I just wanted to see them burn. I opened my eyes, letting the tears spill over. I looked directly at Brady, my voice trembling but sharp. "Brady, even your mother thinks I'm a curse. Do you feel that way too? Are you... are you trying to find a reason to leave me?" Brady froze. He wasn't used to me being direct. He was used to me being a soft, pliable extension of the Steward fortune. Evelyn’s face tightened. "Margot, don't be dramatic. I’m just worried about you—" "I’m asking him, Evelyn," I cut her off, my gaze locked on his. The air in the room turned brittle. Brady’s eyes flickered with a momentary panic before he smoothed it over with a look of profound heartbreak. He leaned down, brushing a tear from my cheek with his thumb. His voice was like honey. "Don't say that. Ever. I’d die for you, Margot. You’re my life. We’ve just had a run of bad luck. As soon as you're out of here, we’re setting the date again. Okay?" It was an Oscar-worthy performance. I nodded, leaning my head against his chest, listening to the steady lie of his heartbeat. Fine, Brady, I thought, my eyes turning to ice. You said it. Let’s see whose luck runs out first this time. 2. I stayed in the hospital for three days. Brady and Evelyn were there every morning. Brady played the part of the devoted fiancé to perfection. He peeled grapes, sliced apples into perfect wedges, and read me poetry in a low, soothing hum. Evelyn brought homemade soups, claiming they were full of healing nutrients. In my old life, I would have been moved to tears by their kindness. Now, I just watched the theater of it all. It was almost funny how much effort they put into the lie. On the fourth day, the guest I was waiting for finally arrived. She wore a white sundress, her long hair cascading over her shoulders like silk. She looked like a portrait of innocence as she walked in carrying a thermal flask. When she saw Brady, her eyes lit up for a fraction of a second before she caught herself. She looked at me with a shy, timid expression. "Brady? Evelyn? Oh... am I interrupting?" This was Isla Fontaine. According to Evelyn, she was a "distant cousin" from upstate who was staying with them while she finished her degree. In my past life, I loved her like a sister. I bought her designer bags, let her borrow my jewelry, and told her all my secrets. I didn't realize until I was a ghost that she wasn't a cousin at all. She was the love of Brady’s life. The secret he was keeping while he spent my grandfather’s money. Brady’s expression softened the moment he saw her, but he quickly masked it. "Isla. What are you doing here? I told you to stay home and study." Isla looked at me, her lower lip trembling slightly. "I heard Margot was awake. I wanted to bring her some fish soup. I made it myself." She set the flask on the nightstand, her doe-like eyes brimming with "concern." "Margot, I’m so sorry. If my stomach hadn't been acting up that day, I would have been at the venue with you. Maybe... maybe I could have pushed you out of the way." She started to cry. A delicate, beautiful white lily of a girl. In my previous life, I would have consoled her. I would have told her it wasn't her fault. But now, I just wanted to see if I could make her wilt. "Isla," I said, my voice quiet but cutting through her sob. "That stomach ache... was it something you ate?" Isla’s crying stopped abruptly. Brady and Evelyn both shifted, their body language suddenly guarded. I acted like I hadn't noticed. "It’s just so strange. You were the one who invited me to scout the venue that day. Then, right as we were leaving, you were doubled over in pain. Now that I think about it, thank God you stayed behind. Otherwise, you would have been the one under that chandelier." I paused, looking her dead in the eye. "You should see a doctor. It almost feels like someone poisoned your breakfast just to keep you away from that spot." The sound of Evelyn’s paring knife hitting the floor was deafening. Isla turned as white as her dress. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Brady recovered first. He lunged for the knife, his brow furrowed. "Margot, don't be ridiculous. She has a sensitive stomach. It was just a virus." "Really?" I blinked, looking innocent. "But Isla always had an iron stomach when we went out for street food in the city. To have a 'virus' exactly at the hour of my accident? What a coincidence." I let the word coincidence hang in the air like a guillotine. The silence was suffocating. I watched the blood drain from their faces, savoring the frantic look in their eyes. I knew why she hadn't been there. I had seen it as a spirit, drifting through their house after my death. I’d seen Evelyn in the kitchen, stirring a heavy dose of laxatives into Isla’s milk, whispering, "Don't worry, honey. This will keep you home for a few hours. I can't risk you being near Margot when the cable snaps." They had planned to kill me back then, too. And Isla had been in on it from the start. 3. The atmosphere never quite recovered after that. Isla fled the room in tears, escorted by a protective Evelyn. Brady stayed behind, his face a mask of simmering tension. He sat by the bed for a long time before he finally spoke. "Margot, what’s going on with you?" "What do you mean?" "You’re being... aggressive. Did someone say something to you?" I looked at the suspicion in his eyes and felt a thrill of cold joy. So, the golden boy is getting nervous? I let my eyes fill with tears, my voice cracking. "What’s going on? Brady, I almost died. I’m terrified. I was just worried about Isla—worried that someone is targeting the people I love. Why are you snapping at me?" I began to sob, the kind of hysterical, breathless crying that usually made him uncomfortable. "Does she matter more to you than I do? Is that it?" Brady’s wall crumbled instantly. Guilt and annoyance warred on his face before he folded, pulling me into a hug. "I’m sorry, Margot. I’m so sorry. I’m just stressed. You’re right, you’ve been through hell. Don’t overthink it. I just don't want you getting paranoid." I buried my face in his shirt, feeling the expensive fabric against my cheek. I smiled, a jagged, invisible thing. For the next few days, I was the perfect patient. I stopped mentioning Isla. I ate their soup. I played the role of the devoted, fragile heiress. I watched them relax, watched them start to believe that my "outburst" was just a side effect of the concussion. They thought they were back in control. They had no idea I was just waiting for the right moment to take back what was mine. A week later, I was discharged. My grandfather’s driver came to pick us up. As we cruised through the city, I leaned my head on Brady’s shoulder and said, almost casually, "Brady, how is the Waterfront Project coming along? The one Steward Global is co-funding with your firm?" The Waterfront Project was the biggest deal in the city. It was the "meat" my grandfather had thrown to the Whitlocks to keep them afloat. Brady was the lead director. In my last life, that project had been a black hole of delays. After I died, I found out Brady had siphoned off nearly thirty million dollars from it—money used to pay off his family’s gambling debts and to buy Isla a jewelry boutique. Brady went stiff beside me. "It’s fine. Smooth sailing. Don't worry your pretty head about business." "Is it?" I sat up and pulled a folder from my bag. "I had my personal assistant pull a progress report while I was in the hospital. Some of the line items for 'Consulting Fees' looked a little... inflated. I thought you could explain them to me?" Brady took the folder, his face turning an ashen gray as he saw the red-circled figures. Sweat broke out on his forehead. "Margot, this... this is just standard industry movement. You wouldn't understand the nuances." He tried to close the folder with a forced smile. "Really? Because it looks like those 'nuances' are being wired into a shell company called 'Isla-Rose Jewels.'" I tilted my head, looking at him with wide, curious eyes. "What a strange name. It’s almost like your 'cousin' Isla, isn't it? And the registered owner... her last name is Fontaine. Is that another coincidence, Brady?" The temperature in the car dropped to zero. The driver, a man who had worked for my grandfather for twenty years, caught my eye in the rearview mirror. He didn't say a word, but I saw his grip tighten on the steering wheel. Brady’s face went from white to purple. He never expected me to look at a balance sheet. He never expected the girl who used to spend her days at Bergdorf’s to start hunting him through his bank accounts. 4. "Margot, let me explain." Brady’s voice was a jagged whisper. He grabbed my hand, his grip so tight it bruised. "That’s a friend’s company. We’re using them for interior sourcing. The money is just... moving through. It’s coming back." What a pathetic lie. I pulled my hand away and rubbed my wrist. "Oh, I see." "I was almost worried you were taking my grandfather’s money to set up a life for your mistress." The words hit the air like a bomb. Brady’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "What... what did you just say?" The car swerved slightly as the driver reacted. I just laughed—a bright, hollow sound. "I’m joking, Brady! Look at your face. You’re so serious." "Isla is so sweet, I know you think of her as a sister. And you love me far too much to ever lie to me, right?" I stared into his soul, waiting for him to blink. He couldn't. He looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I was a monster he had accidentally let into his house. When we arrived at the Steward estate, my grandfather was waiting. He saw the bandage on my head and pulled me into a hug, his voice thick with emotion. I played the doting granddaughter, making sure not to mention the conversation in the car—yet. Brady followed us in like a kicked dog. At dinner, he was overly attentive, piling food onto my plate, trying to win back the "old" Margot. I let him. I ate every bite. But as coffee was served, I looked at my grandfather. "Grandpa, I want to start working at the firm. Specifically, I want to oversee the Waterfront Project." The dining room went silent. My grandfather looked stunned. "Margot, you’ve never shown interest in the business." "Well, things change when you almost have a chandelier fall on your head," I said lightly. "I realized I can’t hide behind you and Dad forever. I want to learn how to protect what our family has built." My reasoning was flawless. My grandfather’s eyes sparkled with pride. "But your health..." "I’ll be in the office, not on-site. And besides, I’ll have Brady to guide me. He’s the expert, right?" I turned to Brady and gave him a saccharine smile. "You’ll show me everything, won't you, Brady? Every single cent of that project?" Brady looked like he wanted to vomit. He couldn't say no. Not in front of my grandfather. Not when I was being so "inspirational." He forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Of course, Margot. Whatever you want." The trap was set. Starting the next day, I didn't go to the office. I told Brady to bring the files to the estate so I could "study in peace." In reality, I was building a paper trail that would lead to his prison cell. Brady was forced to come over every afternoon, and like clockwork, Isla would find an excuse to tag along. She’d bring pastries, wear her prettiest dresses, and try to reclaim her territory by leaning over Brady while he "explained" things to me. One afternoon, she brought a box of macarons. "Margot, you look so tired from all this reading. Have a treat." She set the box down, her hip brushing Brady’s shoulder. I looked at the macarons, then at her. "Isla, you’ve been doing a lot of baking lately. Brady must love that." Isla blushed. "He does." "Interesting." I flipped a page in a ledger. "Do you know how much it costs to start a custom jewelry boutique like 'Isla-Rose'? The startup capital alone is astronomical." Isla’s smile vanished. "I did some math," I continued, my voice cold and steady. "Between the lease in SoHo, the renovations, and the initial diamond inventory... you’re looking at ten million dollars, minimum." I looked up, catching both of them in my crosshairs. "Isla, you’re a student. Where did you get ten million dollars?" "Or," I leaned forward, "is it not your money at all?" The air left the room. Brady stood up abruptly, snatching the ledger from my hand. "Margot! Enough! What the hell is wrong with you?" He used my full name, his anger finally overriding his mask. Isla began to shake, tears streaming down her face as she clutched Brady’s sleeve. "Brady, I... I don't know what she's talking about..." I leaned back in my chair. "You don't know about the company in your name? Or you don't know the money was stolen from Steward Global?" "Brady," I said, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "The fire at the catering company was such a tragedy. We lost all our plans. But I think it’s time we restart. Let’s pick a new date for the engagement." "The 18th of next month. It’s perfect." In my last life, the 18th was the day I was murdered. Brady turned a shade of white I didn't think was biologically possible. He looked at me with pure, unadulterated terror. "What? You don't want to?" I challenged him. "No... no," he stammered. "Of course. Whatever you want." "Good," I said, standing up. "Oh, and the rings. I want to pick them up personally. Isla, why don't you come with me? A girl’s day out." I smiled at the girl who was about to faint. "You wouldn't say no to your favorite cousin, would you?"
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