To save Hugh, I took the hit—literally. The kidnappers beat me so bad I ended up with a brain hemorrhage. My mind? Stuck at thirteen.

Hugh, all guilt and promises, said, "Wenna, I'll protect you forever."

And he did.

He watched over me. When the house caught fire, he threw himself over me, took the burns, didn't flinch.

Then came his oh-so-perfect foster sister.

"Mia's not into... slow people. Maybe you should live next door," he said.

And my son? The one I nearly died bringing into the world?

"Stupid woman! You embarrass me and Dad. You're nothing like Aunt Mia—she's smart and pretty. If it weren't for you, she could've been my mom. You should just die!"

To play hero for Mia, my son shoved me into the street. A truck did the rest.

When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day Hugh proposed.

This time? I wasn't here for his pity.

And I sure as hell wasn't marrying him.

Hugh dropped to one knee, flashed a diamond ring. "Wenna Wade, will you marry me?"

The crowd? Buzzing.

"Look at her—she doesn't even get what a proposal is."

"Hugh's lost it, marrying that kind of burden."

"He's just grateful she saved his life. Anyone would be."

Last time, I couldn't understand the words—just felt the hate and clung to Hugh like a frightened kid.

Now? I got it.

They didn't think I deserved him.

And deep down, they didn't think he loved me, either.

I suddenly remembered my last life—Hugh carrying me through the fire, skin burned and peeling, his voice shaking as he whispered, "Wenna, don't be scared."

When I was in labor, screaming my lungs out, he held my hand, eyes red. "Wenna, hang in there. Our baby's waiting for you. I'm waiting for you too!"

Bowie was this tiny, squishy bundle in his arms. Hugh smiled, teaching him, "Say Mommy. This is Mommy."

Life was good.

Then Mia came back.

She floated in with her designer dresses, bright smiles, and a death grip on Hugh's arm. They looked... cozy.

Hugh started coming home late, reeking of her perfume.

He stopped hearing me, like my slow speech was background noise. I'd show him Bowie's drawings—he'd just pat my head like I was a pet.

Bowie got older, colder.

He crushed the cake I baked. "Don't pick me up from school! Everyone says my mom's a retard. You're ruining my life! Only Aunt Mia should be my mom!"

And yeah—he meant it.

One day, he shoved me into the street. "Die! Give Dad back to Aunt Mia!"

The last thing I saw? Hugh's face—sad, but kinda... relieved.

"Wenna, I've repaid my debt these fifteen years. Please, let me go. Let me be with Mia."

Guess fools and 'normal' people don't mix.

The memories faded like smoke, but the ache in my chest? Still sharp.

I looked down at Hugh, still on one knee.

"No. I'm not marrying you."

***

Hugh froze, then gave this weak little laugh, all soft and patronizing. "Wenna, sweetheart, don't throw a tantrum, okay? I have to go to the airport soon and pick up someone very important. Be good and say yes, and I'll have Patrick get you your favorite milk candies—a whole box, okay?"

Yeah. I knew exactly who that "important person" was.

Mia. Fresh off the plane from whatever fancy school abroad.

He talked to me like I was five, like I was throwing a tantrum over nap time.

But then—

I caught my reflection in the window.

White dress—custom-made. Hair styled to perfection. Tight waist, long legs, chest all dolled up.

I looked like one of those drama queens in TV romances. The ones who get dream proposals and perfect endings.

I looked like a grown-up.

Like a woman.

Last time around? His laptop screensaver was a shot of Mia.

He'd stare at it like it held the secrets of the universe—chest heaving.

They said that's how a man looks at a woman.

The way he looked at me? Same way he looked at his niece when she whined for candy.

I gripped the hem of my dress. I was ready to say it—this time, I really didn't want to marry him.

Then his phone rang.

Mia's custom ringtone.

Hugh lit up, instantly pulling it out. His voice went soft, syrupy.

"Mia? You're here? Something came up on my end, but I'll fix it soon. Stay put—I'll come get you."

I just stood there, listening to his voice melt for her.

Same as before.

Even on Bowie's birthday, he'd drop everything if Mia called—freaking out over delayed flights or her luggage.

And Bowie? My kid I nearly died bringing into the world? He'd mimic Hugh's voice to a tee: "Mom, you're so useless. You mess up everything. I wish Aunt Mia were here."

Hugh hung up, didn't even wait for my answer. Just shoved the ring box into my hand and patted my head.

"Be good, Wenna. Go home with Patrick first. I'll bring you candy tonight, okay?"

Then he turned to his assistant, all business. "Patrick, take care of Wenna. Keep the press quiet—don't let anything slip about her condition."

Patrick gave a nod.

Hugh walked off.

Didn't even look back.

And around me? It was open season.

Whispers, laughs, none of it subtle.

"Told you. A diplomat proposing to a retard? Total PR stunt. Now that Mia's back in Carmoria, he's already ditching her."

"He's always been in love with his foster sister. Poor thing doesn't even get it. If she feels this bad now, wait till they're married."

I stood there, dead center of this made-for-TV proposal scene—flowers, fairy lights, all of it.

The ring box in my hand was like a brick.

Everyone was laughing.

And yeah—I was the punchline.

Patrick looked over, voice flat. "Ms. Wade, let's head back."

I shook my head. "I'll go on my own."

He blinked. Didn't expect that.

I grabbed my dress, heels digging into my already wrecked feet, and walked toward the exit.

I knew the way.

Hugh once taught me the roads, in case I got lost.

But Mia was back now.

The real lady of the house.

So no—I wasn't going back.

I walked away. One steady step at a time.

In the opposite direction.

***

I had no money. But hey—they said if you worked, you wouldn't starve.

Six hours straight, I job-hunted. Nothing. I was wiped, starving, and dehydrated when I wandered into a bar... and bam.

Hugh.

With Mia.

They were swarmed.

Mia clung to Hugh's side, giggling, eyes crinkled, totally glued to him.

And Hugh? Smiling like a goon, head tilted like she was telling him the secrets of life. That look? Straight out of some cheesy drama where the guy's obviously whipped.

I ducked back.

Too slow.

Mia's snake eyes caught mine.

She leaned in, whispered something, and boom—Hugh's whole face shifted. Storm cloud mode.

He stalked over.

"Didn't I tell Patrick to take you home?" Voice tight. Jaw tighter. "Why are you wandering around alone?"

Couldn't tell if he was mad because I was "unsafe" or because I crashed his Mia-fest.

I stared down at my blistered heels.

"I wasn't looking for you. Just passing through. I'll leave."

Turned to go.

He grabbed my wrist.

Cue the dramatic sigh as he pulled me toward the bar. "I'm right here—where else would you go? You came out 'cause I didn't come home, right? It's not safe for you to be alone. Don't do this again."

I wanted to say something. Set him straight. But he'd already decided the whole story in his head.

So I bit my lip. Said nothing. What was the point?

The bar reeked—smoke, booze, noise cranked to full blast.

Random strangers lounged on couches, laughing.

One guy clocked Hugh dragging me in. "Who's the cutie? Haven't seen her before."

Hugh's grip tightened. "She's a neighbor. Grew up with me. Bit slow—kind of a fool. Don't mind her."

I snapped my head up.

Seriously?

Wouldn't even look at me. Like saying my name might mess up his image.

So yeah, I dropped my gaze again.

Old story. Every event, every intro. You'd think I'd be numb by now.

I wasn't.

Not tonight.

Some fat guy laughed, eyes crawling all over me. "What a waste. Pretty face, empty upstairs."

Mia smirked, eyes flicking over me with disdain. Then she tugged Hugh's sleeve. "Hugh, it's our turn. Come on."

"Stay here, Wenna. I'll take you home later," Hugh said, letting go of my hand.

He sat down beside her. Their shoulders touched.

The guy leered again. "Hey, little fool, don't just stand there. Sit with me, yeah?"

I dodged his grab and slid into a far-off corner seat.

He shot me one last look, then dropped it.

Everyone else? Too busy screaming over truth or dare, throwing shots, dying of laughter.

Not one glanced my way.

I eyed the rainbow-colored drinks on the table. Grabbed one. Chugged.

Instant regret.

It burned going down, like my chest caught fire from the inside.

I doubled over, coughing.

Hugh? Oblivious.

The guy who used to hover like I'd break? Gone.

Am I shocked?

Nah.

With Mia in the room, I might as well not exist.

Thought about dipping.

But my body felt like a sandbag. Starving. Wrecked.

Maybe just sit for a sec—

Then she spoke. That sugary, fake-soft voice—