I was once the sole heiress to the Devereux family, a California tech giant.

After my mother passed away, my aunt—the matriarch of New York’s formidable Astor financial dynasty—brought me to Manhattan and raised me as her own.

The Astor patriarch had promised that whichever of his sons married me would secure the deciding vote for the CEO’s throne.

In my previous life, I chose the eldest son, Evan.

I poured everything I had into helping him claim his throne. I designed a landmark building for him. I silenced dissenters on the board. I consolidated his power.

And when he had the company firmly in his grasp, he repaid me by fabricating evidence to have me kicked off the board.

He sealed my fate with a hostile takeover agreement he signed himself.

The Devereux Group was devoured. My team was purged.

He came to see me in the final moments before I signed the bankruptcy papers.

"If it weren't for you," he said, his cold breath brushing against my ear, "Jenna wouldn't have had to suffer so much."

"She faced the gossip all alone, and I couldn't even defend her publicly. You will pay for that tenfold."

"Consider the fall of the Devereux Group the price of your delusion of becoming Mrs. Astor."

I was left with nothing. I died in despair.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the fateful charity gala.

The family patriarch and matriarch smiled down at me.

"Marissa, tonight you will choose your husband."

The Astor brothers stood before me.

This time, I didn't even glance at Evan.

I turned and pointed to my cousin, Jonathan.

"I will marry Jonathan."

And this time—it was my turn to decide whose world would burn to ashes.

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1

My aunt, Catherine, watched me, then nodded to an assistant. The man stepped forward and placed an antique Patek Philippe watch in my hand—a treasured family heirloom, the token of alliance between our two empires.

"Marissa," she said gently, her voice resonating through the grand banquet hall, "give it to the man you wish to marry."

William Astor laughed, his voice deep and indulgent.

"Indeed. Whoever Marissa chooses has my full blessing. Let all of Wall Street bear witness."

The banquet hall at the top of the Astor Group tower was filled with board members, top Wall Street bankers, socialites, and the heirs to New York's most powerful families.

As a California tech heiress raised in New York, my marriage was more than a personal affair.

Whoever married me would gain a powerful tech ally, enough to tip the scales of power within the Astor Group.

I slowly ascended the steps, the watch cold in my palm.

Polite smiles and camera flashes followed my every move.

No one doubted my choice.

All of New York knew I had adored the group's heir apparent, Evan Astor, since childhood.

It was the outcome everyone expected.

However, Evan didn't look pleased. He frowned, taking an imperceptible step back.

In a corner stood Jenna Bishop, the daughter of a mid-level manager, an intern who had caught the heir's eye. Tears glistened in her eyes, poised to fall but never quite spilling over.

I walked past Evan's younger brother, and then past Evan himself.

Evan's expression shifted to one of undisguised disgust.

Standing next to him was my cousin, Jonathan Astor—my aunt's third son—who watched me with a quiet, unreadable smile.

As our eyes met, his mask of detached composure seemed to crack, revealing a flicker of pity—as if he already knew I was walking toward my own ruin.

Just that morning, he had leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window of my aunt's private office, arms crossed, sizing me up with that mixture of amusement and concern.

"Use your eyes, Marissa. Why chase a man who won't even look at you? You could have anyone. With your standing, why are you begging for scraps of attention?"

He had smiled then, an easy, warm smile.

And yet—

In my past life, when I was driven to bankruptcy, it was Jonathan who had diverted his private jet from a European business trip, landing in a desperate rush to get back.

He had been too late.

He stood before my cold tombstone for three days and three nights, sleepless, letting the harsh New York wind wear him down to a haggard shadow.

"I failed you," he had whispered hoarsely. "I should have stopped this union, even if it meant fighting the whole family. I should have saved you."

I blinked away the memory.

Next to Jonathan stood the second brother, composed and distant. His mother had been one of William's public mistresses, and though he grew up within the group, he understood the limits of his inheritance. He neither fought nor schemed. The CEO's seat was never truly meant for him.

The entire hall held its breath as I raised the watch.

I walked toward the Astor brothers.

Before I could place it in anyone's hand, Evan suddenly strode forward, his voice cutting through the hall.

"Father," he said, his voice ringing clearly, "I must refuse this honor. My heart already belongs to another."

He turned slightly, extending a hand toward Jenna without quite touching her.

"Miss Jenna Bishop is the woman I love," he continued without hesitation.

"I love her, truly and deeply. I will have no other wife."

Jenna Bishop's father was a department manager at the Astor Group—a respectable position, but a rank that hardly warranted an invitation for his daughter to the top-floor banquet hall.

Her presence was tolerated for one reason only—she was the heir's favorite.

As soon as Evan spoke, a wave of whispers erupted through the hall.

Jenna lowered her gaze, a delicate blush coloring her cheeks, the very picture of humility.

She stepped forward and knelt gracefully.

"Mr. Astor," she said, her voice trembling but clear, "the honor Mr. Evan shows me is more than I deserve. I love him truly. I ask for nothing more than to be by his side. I don't need a title or status—only the privilege of being near him."

Evan turned to her, took her hand without a second thought, and lifted his chin as he faced the main table.

"Father, I will not let Jenna be shamed. I love her, and if I am to marry, it will only be to her."

A heavy silence fell.

"Evan," William Astor said slowly, his voice hard with disappointment, "do you understand the weight of what you're saying?"

Catherine's gaze shifted to Jenna, cold and displeased. The daughter of a minor manager aspiring to be the future matriarch of the Astor Group? The idea was absurd.

William Astor looked from his son to me, then spoke with deliberate restraint.

"Today is Marissa's day to choose," he said coolly. "As for this... arrangement you two seem to have, we can discuss it at another time."

Evan stood his ground, his face burning with defiance.

"I will not marry Marissa. I think of her as a sister, nothing more. If she insists on this union, then let all of Wall Street hear it—I will never share a bed with her. My only heirs will be born of Jenna."

He didn't stop there. His gaze turned to me, unwavering.

"As for Marissa," he continued cruelly, "she can remain under my name if she wishes. As a mistress, perhaps. It would suit her far better than a matriarch's title she could never truly own."

A collective gasp swept through the hall.

William Astor shot to his feet, furious.

I stepped forward before his anger could ignite the room.

"Mr. Astor," I said steadily, "it's alright."

Without a moment's hesitation, I fastened the Patek Philippe watch onto Jonathan's wrist.

He blinked, the amused expression still lingering on his face, but his features grew serious as I clicked the cold clasp shut.

"I have made my choice," I announced calmly. "I will marry Jonathan Astor."

For a moment, Evan simply stared, dumbfounded.

Then, a look of relief washed over his face, and he pulled Jenna protectively to his side.

"You see," he murmured to her, just loud enough for everyone to hear, "now no one can stand in our way. I told you I would only marry you."

William and Catherine exchanged a look filled with regret.

"Evan," Catherine asked softly, "are you certain? The agreements aren't signed. There is still time."

"I'm certain," he replied without hesitation. "I'm marrying Jenna."

Later, as I was leaving the banquet, I ran into them on the terrace, beneath the stone arches, as Evan escorted Jenna to her car.

He looked at me with undisguised contempt.

"I told you I would never marry you. At least today you were spared the humiliation of choosing me."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping as if bestowing a favor.

"If you have regrets, after Jenna and I are married, perhaps I'll convince my mother to give you a place at the Malibu villa. You'll have a nice title, of course, but no matriarchal rights. I've already promised Jenna—only she will bear my children."

Jenna leaned against him, her cheeks flushed.

"Evan, please don't," she murmured, not pulling her hand from his.

Then she looked at me, her gaze timid.

"Marissa, I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted to choose my own life, for once. You won't hold it against me, will you?"

Evan pulled Jenna closer.

"Don't worry. As long as I'm by your side, no one will dare oppose you. You'll be Mrs. Astor one day, and everyone—Marissa included—will have to look up to you."

I looked at Evan's face and remembered my past life—the day he devoured my family's company for Jenna Bishop, the day he signed the order that kicked me off my own board. The memory was a fresh wound.

This time, I would protect what was mine. I would not let history repeat itself.

Without the Devereux alliance my marriage would have secured—without the technology, influence, and capital my name represented—did Evan truly believe he could inherit the Astor Group so easily?

Did he think the CEO's seat would simply fall into his lap?

Jenna Bishop's official engagement to Evan was announced soon after, and overnight she became the most talked-about woman in New York. A mere manager's daughter becoming the most coveted fiancée in a financial empire, and the heiresses of New York's top dynasties could barely conceal their fury.

In private clubs and gallery corridors, the whispers were everywhere.

"Marissa, Evan has gone too far. An intern as his fiancée?"

"You two grew up together. How could he cast all those years aside so easily?"

"I heard Miss Bishop was awful to the other interns. What on earth does he see in her?"

What did he see in her?

He had once told me, with a straight face, "Jenna hasn't been tainted by the ambitions of high society. She's pure, unspoiled. Not calculating and competitive like the rest of you."

"I love her precisely because she isn't moved by status or wealth."

I smiled faintly at the memory.

Good.

Let's see how long that purity lasts when faced with the power of the Astor Group.

Because I was marrying Jonathan, Catherine was ecstatic. She summoned me to her private trust fund office and insisted I pick whatever I desired for my prenuptial agreement.

When I left that afternoon, my legal team trailed behind me, their arms laden with documents for multiple estates, numerous funds, and priceless pieces from Catherine's private art collection.

In the polished marble corridor of a high-end restaurant, I ran into Jenna, who was on her way to greet Catherine. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying, and she was clutching a gossip magazine that contrasted her pitiful engagement ring with my net worth.

When she saw the team of lawyers trailing me, a shadow crossed her face before she lowered her gaze.

"Marissa," she said softly, "you're so fortunate. Your aunt is so generous to you."

I studied her for a moment, then pulled a deed from the nearest file—a beachfront estate in the Hamptons.

"Jenna," I said lightly, "this would be perfect for your weekend parties. Consider it my gift to congratulate you on becoming Evan's fiancée."

Before she could respond, Evan's voice cut through the corridor.

"There's no need for such gestures."

He strode over, his face tightening at the sight of the lawyers and their documents.

"Jenna doesn't value these gaudy displays," he said coldly. "Put your deed away."

He immediately turned to her, his tone softening with concern.

"Why were you crying?"

Then his gaze returned to me, now dark with accusation.