On my twentieth birthday, my parents placed a stack of photos in front of me—eligible bachelors from elite families all over the country—and told me to pick one for an arranged marriage.

I told my dad to leave it to fate and draw lots.

In my past life, I had chosen without hesitation the man I’d long admired: Lucas Whitmore, the most eligible bachelor of Astor Hill's elites.

But after we got married, I found out the truth.

His first love—the girl he had always held dear, Claire Monroe—was devastated by our marriage. One night, heartbroken, she went out drinking and was assaulted by a group of thugs.

Claire attempted suicide three times after that.

And Lucas blamed it all on me.

He handed over my family’s fortune to Claire, draining every last cent from the Meyers.

In the end, Lucas even helped her cut the brake lines on our car.

My parents and I died in that crash.

Now that I’d been given a second chance at life, the name I drew was Liam Morgan—the reclusive heir from Orchard Valley, known for shunning the world and dedicating himself to Buddhism.

But when I showed up arm-in-arm with Liam at our engagement party, Lucas lost his mind.

I placed Liam Morgan's photo in front of my parents.

They exchanged a look—clearly uneasy.

“Destiny,” my dad began, “we know you’ve liked Lucas since you were little. Maybe you should reconsider—”

I shook my head.

“If this is what fate chose, maybe I should try going along with it… just this once.”

I already knew how things would end if I forced that marriage to happen.

Seeing that I was firm in my decision, my parents gave in with a sigh.

“All right. We’ll reach out to the Morgans and discuss the engagement. But Destiny, both the Meyers and the Morgans are high-profile families. To avoid any unnecessary trouble, we should keep this quiet until the actual engagement party.”

I agreed. But on my way to a charity gala that night, reporters swarmed me. Somehow, the news was leaked.

“Miss Meyer! Have you chosen which family you’ll be engaged to?”

Another reporter jumped in before I could speak.

“Everyone knows you’re in love with the Whitmores’ son. It must be him, right?”

I looked up and met Lucas Whitmore’s eyes as he stepped into the venue.

Surrounded by cameras and press, his expression was as cold and dismissive as always.

“Excuse us.”

His bodyguards pushed the reporters aside. He walked past them without hesitation, pulling a pale-faced Claire Monroe into his arms.

“My heart has always belonged to Claire,” he said. “Even if I’m forced to marry someone else for the sake of the family, I will never give a single shred of my love to anyone but her.”

Claire’s cheeks flushed pink as she clung tightly to his waist.

Nearby, a few socialites—girls who had never liked me—giggled quietly.

“So what if she’s the number one heiress? Mr. Whitmore clearly wants nothing to do with her. All that wealth, and he’s still into the daughter of a nouveau riche.”

“She’s such a disgrace to the Meyers. She threw herself at Lucas just to play second lead to Claire.”

Their voices got louder, the mockery sharper. Claire lifted her head from Lucas’s chest and gave me a smug, triumphant look.

I turned away and focused on the event.

Of all things, the organizers had to seat Lucas right next to me.

He sat down with tension in his jaw, still clearly upset.

“Destiny Meyer.” Lucas snapped. “How many times do I have to say it? I don’t want to marry you. Why won’t you just let me go?”

I’d heard that line more times than I could count. It still hurts, even now.

“I’m not holding on to you.” I said quietly.

He slammed his fist onto the table, eyes full of disgust.

“Then why do you keep forcing this? Just because your family outranks mine, you think you can decide my future for me?”

“You’re stomping all over my dignity. Even if we do end up married, don’t expect me to ever look at you.”

And he meant it. In my last life, he didn’t give me a single ounce of affection.

Just then, the woman he claimed to love walked over. Her eyes were glistening with tears. She didn’t say a word before dropping to her knees in front of me.

“Miss Meyer, I know you hate me. But my parents didn’t do anything wrong. When you had security throw them out, my father almost had a heart attack.

“I’m begging you, please leave us alone. I’ll even back off and let you have Lucas, if that’s what it takes…”

Claire's voice cracked by the last few words. I hadn’t even processed what she was implying when Lucas stepped forward and helped her up. When he turned to look at me, his gaze carried something new—hatred.

“This has nothing to do with Claire,” he said sharply. “Why would you treat her like that?”

The accusation came out of nowhere.

“I didn’t—”

“You really were spoiled rotten, weren’t you?” he cut me off. “So spoiled you think the world should bend to you.”

Before I could even respond, someone nearby stepped up with an overly eager smile, holding out a gift box.

“Mr. Whitmore, a little something to celebrate your engagement to Miss Meyer—”

Before he finished, Lucas snatched the box and hurled it at me.

“Destiny,” he growled, “apologize to Claire.”

“If you don’t, I’ll call off the engagement. I don’t care if the Whitmores aren’t as powerful as the Meyers, I will not marry an evil woman like you!”

...

The box was beautifully wrapped, but one sharp corner sliced my chin open as it hit me.

There was a collective gasp around the room, but no one dared step forward.

I raised my hand to touch my face. Blood streaked across my palm.

The way Lucas looked at me—cold, furious, disgusted—was exactly how he’d looked in my past life whenever he humiliated me for Claire.

Something inside me froze over.

“I won’t apologize for something I didn’t do.”

“Fine,” he said. “Then don’t come crying to me later!”

With that, he turned and walked out, his arm around Claire.

My parents were horrified when they saw the cut on my chin. They rushed me home and called our private doctor to treat it immediately.

Watching their anxious faces, I felt something I hadn’t expected—relief.

Thank God I was given a second chance. A chance to do things differently.

This time, my parents were still alive. The Meyers’ fortune was still ours.

And I was going to stay as far away from Lucas and Claire as humanly possible.

A few days later, the Morgans sent over the engagement gifts. The boxes filled the entire first floor of our estate.

Among them was a family heirloom bracelet, passed down through generations of Morgans. A clear sign of how much they valued this match.

I felt a sharp pang in my chest.

In my last life, the Whitmores had known how deeply I loved Lucas—and still, they told people they didn’t approve of me. Said I had begged and clung until they “reluctantly” let their son marry me.

There was no engagement party. No gifts. The “wedding” was just a meal shared between our two families.

I still remembered his parents mocking me at the dinner table. The way Lucas looked at me like I was nothing.

Now, comparing that to how the Morgans treated me—I knew, without a doubt, I was lucky to have this do-over.

So I decided: I would personally choose Liam’s engagement gift.

At a century-old tailor shop, I was discussing cufflink designs with the master craftsman when the doorbell rang.

Lucas walked in, hand-in-hand with Claire.

He spotted me and immediately frowned.

“What are you doing here?”

The tailor answered on my behalf.

“Miss Meyer wanted to personally design her fiancé’s engagement outfit. She has quite the eye for detail.”

Lucas glanced at the sketches on the table, then scoffed.

“I’ve told you a hundred times—I don’t want to marry you. No matter what you do, I’m not changing my mind.

“And I hate initials on cufflinks. That's so tacky.”

I looked at the sketch in front of me. The letter “L” was engraved into the design.

He clearly thought it was for him.

“Actually, those are for—”

“Lucas, this dress is gorgeous!” Claire suddenly gasped, stepping past me to run her fingers across a crimson gown on display.

Lucas’s expression softened. “If you like it, have the tailor make you one just like it.”

“But I want to wear this dress tonight,” she said sweetly. “You promised to take me to the concert.”

His smile returned, and without hesitation, he turned to the tailor.

“Alter the dress to Claire’s measurements. We need it ready for tonight.”

I frowned. “Lucas, that’s my engagement dress.”

He didn’t even blink. “I’m busy. I don’t have time for whatever party the Meyers are throwing.”

“And honestly, Claire looks better in that dress than you ever could.”

Claire had her back to him. The smug look on her face said it all.

Still, her words came out laced with guilt.

“Miss Meyer, if you don’t want to give it up, that’s fine. A dress this elegant… there’s no way nobody like me deserves to wear it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lucas said without hesitation. “The woman I love could never be a nobody. Destiny is just living off her parents. She’s not so high and mighty herself.”

With that, he handed the dress over to the tailor.

The old tailor didn’t move. He stood there, calmly waiting for my instructions.

After all, the Meyers had been this shop’s top patron for generations, going all the way back to his great-great-grandfather.

Lucas clearly didn’t like that.

“You—”

“She wants it?” I interrupted Lucas. “Then let Miss Monroe have it.”

Lucas finally seemed satisfied.

“Since you’re being reasonable,” he said, smug as ever, “I’ll have dinner with you once a month after we’re married.”

The way he said that was like he was doing me a huge favor.

In that moment, something clicked.

The change in his attitude had started the moment he learned the Meyers were the most powerful family in the country, while the Whitmores barely made it into the top ten.

I used to love how fearless he was when we were younger, how he never measured a person’s worth by money or status.

But after that, he started using “you Meyers” like a curse. Constantly reminding me that I was nothing without my parents. Always putting me down, always mocking me, and using my love for him as an excuse to say the cruelest things.

Truth was, he was insecure.

The thought made me laugh.

“Lucas, what makes you so sure I'm going to marry you?”

...

Lucas smirked, like I’d just told the world’s funniest joke.

“You’ve been chasing me since we were kids,” he scoffed. “Every birthday wish was the same—you wanted to marry me when you turned twenty.

“Well, you’re twenty now. Do you think you'll marry someone else?”

Claire snuggled into his chest, a smug edge in her voice.

“Though I guess with the Meyers’ status, every heir in the country’s probably fighting to marry her.”

“She could have every prince on his knees—she’d still only want to marry me,” said Lucas.

With that, the two turned and walked out.

Before leaving, Lucas tossed one last order to the tailor.

“Have the dress altered and sent to my house. And those tacky cufflinks—make them square. No initials.”

The tailor watched him go, then turned to me with a sigh.

“Miss Meyer, should we…”

“If she wants it, she can have it,” I said, sitting back down and sketching again. “I’ll design something new. And forget what he said about the cufflinks. He’s not my fiancé. He doesn’t get a say.”

That night, I had a friend’s birthday party.

Halfway through the night, Claire finally arrived—late, of course. One of Lucas’s bodyguards followed behind, carrying a red plastic bag.

He placed it down by my feet.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Meyer. I was going to return the dress right after the concert, but Lucas insisted we stay a little longer… in the car.

“But Miss Meyer is famous for being generous. I’m sure you don’t mind, right?”

I looked down at the bag.

The 3 million dollar dress was stuffed inside like a rag, crumpled into a wrinkled ball.

What's worse was the white stains that stood out starkly against the crimson fabric.

The people around me gasped. Some were angry for me. Others just watched with amusement.

“Claire's picking a fight with Destiny right in her face, yet she's still keeping calm. Guess Destiny really is head over heels for Lucas.”

“Destiny can love him all she wants. Mr. Whitmore only has eyes for Claire.”

“Pathetic. The Meyers’ only daughter being humiliated like that… at this rate, the whole family business might as well belong to the Whitmores.”

I looked away, not even bothering to react and called for someone to throw it out.

“If Miss Monroe likes it, that’s all that matters.”

My indifference made Claire’s smugness fall flat. She clenched her fists and stalked off to the last table, the one reserved just for her.