When the marriage contract was placed in front of me, I only took a moment to read the terms, but Lucien Moretti urged me three times to sign.

He was in a hurry, after all. His precious savior, Isabella, was waiting for him to take her to her favorite opera.

So I picked up the pen, but I did not sign my name. I copied Isabella’s handwriting and wrote hers instead.

In my last life, I had signed that contract with a heart full of hope. I thought becoming Lucien’s wife meant I would finally stand beside him as the Donna of the Moretti family. Instead, he kept me hidden after the wedding. At every public event, Isabella was the woman on his arm. Every matter that should have required the Donna’s approval went through her first.

I told myself I was not strong enough yet. I swallowed every insult and was forced to give up everything that should have been mine.

Until the night gunmen broke into the Moretti estate, and Lucien chose her again. He carried Isabella out in his arms while I bled out behind him.

Then I opened my eyes and found myself back before the wedding contract was sealed.

This time, I gave Isabella the Donna’s necklace. I gave her the wedding dress. I even signed her name on the contract meant for me.

I gave up my name, and I gave him up with it.

When the marriage contract was placed in front of me, I only took a moment to read the terms, but Lucien Moretti urged me three times to sign.

He was in a hurry, after all. His precious savior, Isabella, was waiting for him to take her to her favorite opera.

So I picked up the pen, but I did not sign my name. I copied Isabella’s handwriting and wrote hers instead.

In my last life, I had signed that contract with a heart full of hope. I thought becoming Lucien’s wife meant I would finally stand beside him as the Donna of the Moretti family. Instead, he kept me hidden after the wedding. At every public event, Isabella was the woman on his arm. Every matter that should have required the Donna’s approval went through her first.

I told myself I was not strong enough yet. I swallowed every insult and was forced to give up everything that should have been mine.

Until the night gunmen broke into the Moretti estate, and Lucien chose her again. He carried Isabella out in his arms while I bled out behind him.

Then I opened my eyes and found myself back before the wedding contract was sealed.

This time, I gave Isabella the Donna’s necklace. I gave her the wedding dress. I even signed her name on the contract meant for me.

I gave up my name, and I gave him up with it.

...

I came back to life in Lucien Moretti's private chapel, with a pen in my hand and his family lawyer waiting for me to sign away the rest of my life.

"Grace, Isabella is waiting for me," Lucien said, checking his watch for the third time. "How much longer are you going to drag this out?"

The chapel smelled of candle wax, old stone, and expensive roses. The white lilies by the altar were the same. The gold-edged contract on the table was the same. Even Lucien looked exactly as he had in my last life: black suit, sharp jaw, calm eyes.

Last time, I had signed with shaking fingers and a full heart. I thought marrying the heir of the Moretti family would save the Vances and prove that Lucien loved me. I thought patience could become love if I was gentle enough.

I was wrong.

On our wedding night, Isabella called. Lucien left before I had even taken off my veil.

"She is having an episode," he had told me. "She saved my life. I owe her. Don't make this ugly."

"But tonight is our wedding night."

"Grace, she is like family to me. We have the rest of our lives."

The rest of my life turned into years of watching Isabella sit beside him at every Moretti dinner, sleep in the room next to his, and wear the jewelry meant for his wife. I gave way because I did not want to seem cruel. I smiled because I did not want to seem jealous. In the end, I gave away so much of myself that there was nothing left to save.

Then came the raid. Smoke, glass, screaming. I still remembered the heat of my own blood under my palm and the sound of Lucien calling Isabella's name first.

"Grace." His voice cut through the memory. "What is wrong with you?"

I looked up at the man I had loved enough to die for. "Nothing."

"Then sign. I need to go."

"You can go now," I said. "Don't keep her waiting."

Relief softened his face so quickly it almost made me laugh. "Good. I knew you could be reasonable."

He leaned down to kiss me, but I turned my head, and his mouth brushed my cheek. He paused for half a second, as if something about that bothered him, but Isabella called again, and he was already gone.

The chapel door shut behind him.

I picked up the pen. On the contract, my name waited beside his: Grace Vance, future wife of Lucien Moretti.

Never again.

I drew a clean line through my name, slow enough to feel every inch of it leave me. Then I wrote another name in its place.

Isabella Vale.

The lawyer stared. "Miss Vance, are you sure?"

"Completely."

He hesitated, but the Moretti seal was already stamped on Lucien's side. The bride's name could be amended before final filing, and no one in that room had the power to question me unless Lucien told them to.

I signed the witness page and slid the folder back across the table.

For the first time in two lifetimes, I could breathe.

I returned to the Moretti estate to collect what still belonged to me.

Verona House sat above the Hudson like a fortress dressed up as a mansion. Black gates, armed guards, marble steps, cameras hidden behind ivy. In my last life, I had mistaken all that steel and money for safety.

Now I knew better.

I stepped inside and found Lucien in the foyer with Isabella in his arms. She was tucked against his chest, one hand gripping his lapel, her voice soft and trembling.

"I ruined your signing, didn't I? Grace must hate me. I should leave. I don't want to cause trouble."

Lucien stroked her hair. "Stop that. You are not trouble. Your safety comes first. Grace will understand."

I cleared my throat.

Lucien released her a little too fast. Isabella lowered her eyes, but not before I saw the small, satisfied curve of her mouth.

"Grace," Lucien said. "I was just checking on her. She had a rough morning."

My gaze moved to Isabella's throat. The Moretti ruby rested there, dark red against her skin. It was the family necklace reserved for the bride, the one Lucien had once promised to fasten around my neck himself.

In my last life, I never wore it.

Isabella touched the ruby as if she had only just remembered it. "Oh, this. I thought it was beautiful and wanted to try it on. I'll take it off if you mind."

Her fingers moved slowly toward the clasp. Her eyes were on Lucien, not me.

"Grace," Lucien said, already tired of the conversation. "Don't make a scene over a necklace. Isabella likes pretty things."

"She should keep it," I said.

Both of them looked at me.

I smiled. "It suits her."

Isabella blinked. "You don't mind?"

"Why would I?"

Lucien's mouth tightened. He had expected tears, an argument, some proof that I still cared enough to fight. My calmness did not comfort him. It made him uneasy.

"Grace," he said quietly, "do not play games with me."

"I'm not."

He watched me for another second, then reached for a long white box on the hall table. "I had this brought in for you. The dress from Paris. The one you wanted."

The lid lifted to reveal ivory silk and antique lace. In my last life, I had cried when I saw it. I had thought it meant he had been listening.

This time, I only saw fabric.

"Let Isabella try it," I said. "We're close enough in size."

Lucien's expression hardened. "I ordered this for you."

"Then consider it a gift from me."

Isabella's eyes brightened before she remembered to look guilty. "Grace, I couldn't possibly. I mean... wouldn't I look like the bride?"

"Maybe you should," I said.

Silence fell hard.

Lucien let out a short laugh, the kind he used when he was angry but did not want to show it. "Fine. If this is the mood you're in, Isabella can have it."

"Thank you," I said, and walked past them.

I did not go upstairs to cry. I went to my room and locked the door. Then I opened my suitcase and began packing.

In the bottom drawer of my desk, under a stack of old Vance family letters, I kept the only thing that mattered now: clearance papers for the Raven Wharf auction.

Raven Wharf was where old families sold secrets without admitting they were broke. Land deeds, offshore accounts, black ledgers, stolen art, favors written in blood. One vault there held documents my father had hidden before the Vance family fell. If I could get them, I could rebuild without Lucien Moretti's name.

The auction opened in seven days.

Seven days, and I would be out.

Someone knocked.

"Grace," Lucien said through the door. "We need to talk."

I slid the papers beneath a scarf. "Come in."

He entered without waiting, his eyes moving over the half-open suitcase. "Going somewhere?"

"Sorting things."

"You were strange today."

"Was I?"

"You gave Isabella the ruby. You gave her your dress. You are either furious or trying very hard to look like you aren't."

I folded a blouse and placed it in the suitcase. "Isn't this what you wanted? A woman who doesn't argue with you about Isabella?"

For once, he had no clean answer.

After a moment, he said, "I came to ask you for something."

Of course he did.

"What?"

"The Vance signet."

My fingers stopped. The signet ring was the last real heirloom my family owned. It opened our old vaults, verified our accounts, and proved that the Vance name still had weight in certain rooms.

"Why?"

Lucien's jaw flexed. "Isabella's name is still tied to the convoy shooting. I need leverage with a judge who owes your family. The signet will get him to listen."

In my last life, I would have handed it over just to hear him call me generous. I would have told myself love meant helping him protect the woman he kept choosing over me.

This life, I looked him in the eye. "You can have it."

Suspicion flickered across his face. "Just like that?"

"No. I want a signed release removing every Vance holding from Moretti custody, and a sponsor letter for Raven Wharf under my own name. No Moretti escort. No Moretti oversight."

His stare went cold. "That is a lot of paperwork for one ring."

"Then don't pay it."

Something changed in his expression. The anger faded, replaced by a slow, almost arrogant smile. "So that is what this is. You want to prove you can walk away. You want me to stop you."

"Call it whatever helps you sleep."

He stepped closer. "You still care. If you didn't, you wouldn't be making such a show of independence."

I let him believe it. A man like Lucien trusted his own ego more than the truth, and right now, his ego was useful.

"Do we have a deal?" I asked.

"We do." He looked too pleased with himself. "You can have your little release. And you will come with me to the Ravencrest gala tomorrow night. The families expect to see my future wife."

Before I could answer, the door opened.

Isabella stood there in the Paris dress. The ivory silk hugged her perfectly, and the Moretti ruby burned at her throat.

"Lucien," she said, turning once with a shy smile. "How do I look?"

His eyes softened before he could stop them. "Beautiful."

Isabella glanced at me as if she had won something. "I heard you mention the gala. Grace, you're going? I just don't want people to think I pushed you out."

The trap was obvious. If I refused, I was bitter. If I went, I watched them perform.

I closed my suitcase. "I'll be there."