"Hello, Mrs. Robert. My name is Violet, Mr. Robert's assistant."

Her voice was smooth and self-assured, a honeyed facade that only deepened my disdain. I didn't even glance at her, keeping my eyes locked on Jonah. His posture was rigid, his jaw clenched, as if bracing for my next move.

"Hurry up and sign the papers," I said, my tone cold and detached. "Before coming here, I've packed my things and moved out of the house. My lawyer will handle the rest."

Each word was delivered with finality and I watched as Jonah's expression shifted from disbelief to simmering rage. Without waiting for his response, I turned on my heel, ready to leave the suffocating office.

But Jonah's hand shot out, gripping my wrist tightly. His strength caught me off guard and I stumbled slightly as he blocked my path. "Sasha," he growled, his voice low and threatening, "what on earth has gotten into you? If you want a divorce, at least give me a reason! Haven't I treated you well enough? Do you even realize how many women would kill to be Mrs. Robert?"

I yanked my arm free with a sharp motion, the sting of his grip lingering on my skin. The fire that had been burning inside me erupted as I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the office, silencing even the subdued hum of the city outside.

Jonah staggered back slightly, his cheek reddening with the imprint of my hand. His eyes widened in shock, more at my audacity than the pain. I met his gaze, my voice trembling with anger but steady in its resolve.

"Jonah, you've got no shame. Do you really need me to spell it out for you? For the past year and a half, who is this Rosa you keep calling out for? And who is the rose tattoo on your chest really meant for?"

The corner of his lip curled into a sneer as he tilted his head, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. "So you know?" he said, a mocking lilt in his voice. "I was wondering what this was all about. Sasha, let me tell you something—being a stand-in for Rosa is a blessing. You should be grateful! Otherwise, who do you think you are? How could you ever compare to her?"

If I had heard these words before I was reborn, they would have broken me. But after everything I had witnessed—the lies, the betrayal and the humiliation—they now only fueled my resolve. I let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking my head at his audacity.

Without another word, I turned to leave. The anger emanating from Jonah was palpable, but I didn't care. As I reached the doorway, I paused, an idea forming in my mind. Slowly, I turned back to face him, my lips curling into a cold smile.

"Jonah, do you know what makes you truly revolting? You think Rosa would be moved by your devotion, but it's nothing more than a play you direct and act out for your own gratification. Do you think she, up in heaven, would enjoy watching you degrade yourself with another woman?"

His expression darkened, his body tense as if ready to retaliate, but I didn't wait for his response. I walked out, letting the door close behind me with a soft but resolute click.

Barely a few steps down the hall, I heard the sound of glass shattering inside the office, followed by an enraged yell. I smirked to myself, though the satisfaction was fleeting. Men like Jonah were all the same—proud, entitled and blind to their own flaws.

***

Jonah's one redeeming quality was his efficiency. After the mandatory cooling-off period, we finalized the divorce without any further drama. The ink on the papers had barely dried when I boarded a plane to the United States, leaving Brookside and its painful memories behind.

In my past life, I had let myself be swept up in Jonah's whirlwind romance, dropping out of school and sacrificing my dreams to become his dutiful wife. This time, I wasn't making the same mistake. I had a second chance and I intended to live it for myself.

***

Five years passed in the blink of an eye. During that time, I immersed myself in my studies, earning degrees and certifications that I once thought were out of reach. Staying in the United States after graduation was an easy decision, as the opportunities here were boundless.

With the foresight granted by my second life and a sharp eye for investments, I quickly established my own company. My experience from two lifetimes allowed me to navigate Wall Street with unparalleled precision, picking winning ventures with almost supernatural accuracy. Soon, my name became synonymous with success, my firm a formidable presence in the financial world.

Despite the long hours and cutthroat competition, I found myself at peace. For the first time in decades, I was truly free—free from expectations, free from betrayal and free to define my own happiness.

I thought my life would continue this way, a steady climb of success uninterrupted by the past.

That was until I received an email from Brookside Business Association. The message was polite yet persistent, inviting me to return to England to support local enterprises through investment.

Brookside. A place I once vowed never to return to. Yet as the grievances of my past life replayed in my mind, I found myself boarding a plane back to my England.

"It's been five years," I murmured to myself, "let's see how much things changed."

***

The chairman of Brookside Business Association, Victor Stone, had organized a lavish welcome banquet to mark my return, inviting the city's prominent enterprises. After all, my investments were expected to breathe new life into Brookside's economy. Such a grand affair made sense.

But things didn't go smoothly. On the way to the hotel, the car sent to pick me up broke down unexpectedly. I stood by the roadside, the evening air heavy with the faint scent of rain-soaked pavement, trying to suppress my irritation. Time was running out. I hailed a taxi instead, brushing aside the driver's anxious apologies.

Just as I reached for the cab door, a speeding motorcycle swerved too close to the curb, splashing a wave of muddy water all over me. Cold, murky droplets soaked through my tailored dress, clinging to my skin and leaving unsightly streaks.

The driver paled. "Ms. Gray, I'm so sorry! This is entirely my fault—"

I raised a hand to stop his stammering. "It's fine," I said curtly, brushing off as much water as I could. "I'll change once we get to the banquet. No need to panic."

When we finally arrived at the hotel, I stepped out of the cab, my dress stained and damp. A liaison, a young man with sharp features and a nervous demeanor, was already waiting at the entrance. Spotting me, his eyes widened in alarm before he composed himself.

"Ms. Gray, welcome. My deepest apologies—I'm Ethan and I've been informed about the mishap. I've arranged for a gown to be sent to the lounge upstairs for you. The chairman will arrive shortly, but please allow me to take you inside first."

I offered him a polite smile, masking my frustration. "Thank you, Ethan. I appreciate your quick response."

He led me through the grand marble foyer into the banquet hall. The chandeliers above cast a warm, golden light, their brilliance reflecting off polished floors and glittering jewelry. The hum of conversation and soft strains of a live quartet filled the air.

As we reached the entrance, Ethan's phone buzzed. He answered quickly, his tone clipped and professional. After ending the call, he turned to me with an apologetic smile.

"Ms. Gray, I'll fetch your gown personally. It's already waiting in the second-floor lounge. Please feel free to head upstairs—I'll bring it to you shortly."

I nodded and stepped into the hall, intending to make my way to the lounge. But as soon as I passed through the doors, a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Well, if it isn't my oh-so-principled ex-wife. What's with your outfit? Did you go dumpster diving on the way here? Or have things been so hard for you since the divorce that you're scavenging trash to make ends meet?"

The voice, smooth yet dripping with mockery, sent an icy chill down my spine. I hadn't heard it in five years, but I recognized it instantly. Jonah.

I turned toward the sound, my gaze locking onto him. He stood near the bar, clad in a tailored suit that screamed wealth and arrogance, a glass of red wine in hand. His smug expression and the gleam in his eyes told me he was reveling in this moment.

Beside him stood Violet, her perfectly styled hair and designer dress complementing her air of superiority. Her arm rested on Jonah's, a show of possession that was as calculated as her words.

"Ms. Gray," she chimed in, her tone syrupy sweet but laced with derision. "What happened to you? How did you end up looking like this? But, more importantly, why are you here tonight? This is the chairman's banquet—surely you're not trying to sneak in and cause trouble, are you?"

Their laughter rang out, loud enough to draw attention. Heads turned in my direction, curious eyes appraising me from head to toe. The murmur of conversations shifted focus, whispers floating through the air like venom.

"Isn't that Rosa? Mr. Robert's ex-wife."

"Yes, they divorced years ago. What's she doing here?"

"Maybe she couldn't survive on her own after the divorce and is trying to win him back?"

A group of elegantly dressed socialites nearby burst into laughter, their voices carrying.

"Just look at what she's wearing. She looks like a beggar who wandered in off the street."

"Women like her never know when to quit. Mr. Robert treated her so well and yet she insisted on leaving him. Serves her right if she's struggling now."

Listening to the chatter swelling around us, Jonah's smug grin grew wider, his confidence swelling with each snide remark from the banquet guests. He swirled the wine in his glass, the liquid catching the chandelier's glow like molten rubies.

"Look," he began, his voice tinged with condescension. "If you want me to take you back, just say so. There's no need to chase me all the way here and cause a scene. Apologize and I might be generous enough to forgive you."

He stepped closer, reaching out as if to take my hand. His movements were deliberate, as though the simple act of touching me would cement his dominance.

I sidestepped smoothly, the fabric of my damp dress brushing against his outstretched hand as I moved away. Fixing him with a cold glare, I said sharply, "Mr. Robert, please have some respect. Your companion is standing right beside you, after all."

Jonah faltered for a fraction of a second, but his smirk quickly returned, his confidence unshaken.

"I'm not here to reminisce and certainly not for you," I continued. My voice was steady, each word cutting through the growing murmurs of the crowd. "I'm here on official business, invited personally by Mr. Stone. You should think carefully before speaking further."

For a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed Jonah's face. But before he could respond, Violet broke into a fit of shrill laughter, her voice ringing out like nails against glass.

"Mr. Stone invited you?" she sneered, clutching Jonah's arm as if drawing strength from his presence. "Oh, please! If you're going to lie, at least try to make it believable."

She tilted her head, her carefully styled hair catching the light as she regarded me with a look of mock pity. "Do you even know who's attending this banquet? These are all renowned entrepreneurs, people with real influence. So, tell us, which company are you the head of? Or"—she paused dramatically, her voice dripping with sarcasm—"have you latched onto some big shot over the past five years? Whose companion are you tonight?"

The crowd, emboldened by her audacity, joined in.

"Exactly! How could Mr. Stone possibly invite her?"

"Isn't she just some divorced housewife? What does she even know about business?"

"Come on, if you're claiming Mr. Stone invited you, where's your invitation? Prove it!"

Their laughter was like the clinking of champagne glasses—superficial, hollow and yet sharp enough to cut. High-society circles were predictable this way: quick to fawn over power and quicker still to trample those perceived as weak.

I crossed my arms, the motion deliberated and scanned the room with a slow, icy gaze. "An invitation?" I repeated, my voice calm but loud enough to command attention. "I don't have one. And do you know why?"

The crowd stilled, their whispers falling silent as I took a measured step forward.

"Because this banquet was arranged for me."

I let my words sink in, savoring the shift in their expressions—mockery giving way to uncertainty. "All of you know exactly why you're here tonight," I continued, my tone sharper now, "so I suggest you choose your words carefully."

Lowering my arms, I straightened my posture and declared, "Allow me to reintroduce myself: I'm Rosa Gray, today's investor."