Chapter three

I barely slept that night.

My mind kept returning to the same name.

Damian Rourke.

In my previous life, he had been one of the few powerful men who showed genuine interest in my paintings. I remembered receiving a message from him when my life was falling apart, offering his assistance.

I had ignored him because I was too busy trusting James.

By the time I realised my mistake, it was too late.

But this time, things would be different.

At exactly seven in the morning, I was already sitting in front of my dressing table.

A soft knock sounded.

“Miss Chloe?”

“Come in.”

Mrs. Bennett entered carrying a freshly pressed cream-coloured dress.

“I thought you might like this one today.”

I smiled.

“Thank you.”

She placed it on the bed before studying my face.

“May I ask where you're going?”

“An appointment.”

“With whom?”

“Damian Rourke.”

Her eyes widened.

“Mr. Rourke? The businessman?”

“You know him?”

“Everyone knows him, Miss Chloe. He's a very powerful man.”

“I know.”

She hesitated.

“Should I be worried?”

I smiled reassuringly.

“No, Mrs. Bennett. I can take care of myself.”

After she left, I looked at my reflection.

Today, I wasn't going to meet Damian as a helpless woman seeking rescue. I was going to negotiate a partnership.

And I intended to leave with an agreement.

---

At nine forty-five, my car stopped in front of Rourke Global Holdings.

The building was enormous, with a glass exterior that reflected the morning sunlight. Employees hurried through the entrance, while security personnel stood beside the revolving doors.

I stepped out and adjusted my handbag.

In my previous life, I had visited this building once for an art exhibition. I remembered seeing Damian standing quietly at the back of the gallery, observing my paintings.

I had barely noticed him.

How foolish I had been.

Inside, I approached the reception desk.

“Good morning. I have an appointment with Mr. Damian Rourke.”

“Your name, please?”

“Chloe Summers.”

The receptionist checked her computer before making a phone call.

A moment later, she smiled.

“Mr. Rourke is expecting you. Please take the private elevator to the forty-second floor.”

“Thank you.”

When the elevator opened, a tall man in a charcoal suit approached me.

“Miss Summers?”

“Yes.”

“I'm Ethan Cole, Mr. Rourke's assistant. Please follow me.”

He led me down a quiet corridor and stopped before a large black door.

“Mr. Rourke is inside.”

I nodded and entered.

Damian stood beside the floor-to-ceiling window, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his expression was unreadable.

He turned when he heard the door.

“Miss Summers.”

“Mr. Rourke.”

He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.

“Sit.”

I sat down, placing my handbag beside me.

“You're younger than I expected,” he remarked.

“Is that a problem?”

“Not necessarily.”

He returned to his desk.

“Now, let's discuss your unusual proposal.”

I straightened.

“I'm listening.”

“Why do you want to marry me?”

I had prepared for the question.

“I want a marriage of convenience. I don't expect romance, and I won't demand that you change your lifestyle for me. I want a legal marriage built on mutual respect and clearly defined boundaries.”

He leaned back.

“And what do you bring to this arrangement?”

“I'm a Summers. My family has business connections and social influence.”

“I already know your family. I don't need them to gain influence.”

“I understand. But perhaps what I offer is something you cannot obtain through a business transaction.”

“And what is that?”

“Freedom from the constant expectations surrounding your personal life. You won't have to entertain women your family chooses for you or explain why you aren't interested in getting married.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“You've been observing my life?”

“Only what the newspapers report.”

“Newspapers know very little about me.”

“Then perhaps this arrangement will give us an opportunity to learn more about each other.”

He studied me.

“Are you always this confident?”

“Only when I know what I want.”

He picked up a pen.

“Very well. Let's discuss the conditions.”

---

Damian began listing his terms.

“First, neither of us will interfere with the other's professional responsibilities.”

“Agreed.”

“Second, we'll maintain separate personal spaces within the residence.”

“Agreed.”

“Third, the public won't be informed that this marriage began as a business arrangement.”

I considered it.

“Fine, provided neither of us is forced to lie about anything that affects our legal rights or personal safety.”

He nodded.

“Fourth, neither of us will pursue another romantic relationship while the marriage remains in effect.”

I looked at him carefully.

“Are you expecting to have other women?”

“I'm establishing boundaries.”

“Then let me establish mine. I won't accept humiliation. I may not be asking for love, but I won't share my husband with another woman.”

He studied me for a moment.

“Fair enough.”

“Finally,” he continued, “you'll have access to an agreed household account for shared expenses.”

“I don't want an allowance.”

His eyebrows rose.

“Everyone has a price, Miss Summers.”

“Then you've misunderstood me. I don't want to become financially dependent on you. I intend to work, earn money, and build my own career.”

“What career?”

“Painting.”

“Are you a professional artist?”

“Not publicly.”

“Are you good?”

I smiled.

“I believe my work speaks for itself.”

He seemed interested.

“Do you have any paintings I can see?”

“Not with me today.”

“Then I'll have to take your word for it.”

I nodded.

He closed the folder.

“My legal team will prepare a preliminary agreement. I want you to have your own lawyer review it before signing anything.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Don't mistake basic fairness for kindness.”

“I won't.”

He stood and walked toward the window.

“One more question. Why me, Miss Summers?”

I thought about the man who had once offered me help when everyone else abandoned me.

“Because I believe you're a man who understands power and respects people who know what they want.”

He turned toward me.

“And you think I respect you?”

“I think you're considering it.”

For the first time, he smiled.

“Perhaps I am.”

---

A knock interrupted us.

Ethan entered.

“Sir, your eleven o'clock meeting has arrived.”

“Reschedule it.”

Ethan looked surprised.

“Certainly, sir.”

After he left, Damian returned his attention to me.

“There's something else.”

“What is it?”

“My grandmother wants to meet you.”

I blinked.

“Already?”

“She heard about our meeting and is curious.”

I smiled faintly.

“Does she know about the proposal?”

“She knows enough.”

“When would she like to meet me?”

“Tomorrow evening. Dinner at my residence.”

I hesitated.

“Will you be there?”

“Obviously.”

I laughed softly.

“Then I'll come.”

Damian handed me a document.

“Read this carefully. Don't rush into anything.”

I accepted it.

“I won't.”

He stood, signalling that our meeting was over.

“Ethan will escort you out.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rourke.”

“Don't thank me yet, Miss Summers. I haven't agreed to marry you.”

I smiled.

“Then I'll give you a reason to.”

His eyes followed me as I walked toward the door.

---

Ethan escorted me to the elevator.

“Miss Summers,” he said politely, “Mr. Rourke doesn't usually entertain unusual proposals.”

I smiled.

“I'm beginning to notice that.”

“Whatever happens, I hope your meeting goes well.”

“Thank you, Ethan.”

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside.

Just as I reached the ground floor, my phone vibrated.

An unfamiliar number appeared.

Unknown: I hope your meeting with Mr. Rourke went well.

I frowned.

Who was this?

Another message arrived.

Unknown: Your father would be very interested to know where you spent your morning.

My blood ran cold.

Someone had been watching me.

I immediately typed a reply.

Chloe: Who is this?

There was no response.

I tried calling the number, but it was unavailable.

I slipped the phone into my handbag.

Something was wrong.

This wasn't part of what I remembered from my previous life.

Had I already attracted someone's attention?

---

When I returned to the Summers estate, my mother was waiting in the sitting room.

“Where have you been?” she demanded.

“Out.”

“Don't be clever with me, Chloe. Your father has been trying to reach you.”

“I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Taking care of something important.”

She stood.

“James came here this morning.”

I sighed.

“And?”

“He was very upset. How could you reject a man who has treated you so well?”

I stared at her.

“Has he?”

“Of course! He has always been respectful.”

I almost laughed.

My mother had no idea who James really was.

Or perhaps she simply didn't care.

“Mother, I don't want to marry him.”

“Why? Is there someone else?”

I said nothing.

Her expression changed.

“Chloe, are you involved with another man?”

“My personal life is none of your business.”

“Your personal life affects this family!”

“Then perhaps this family should have treated me like a person instead of an investment.”

Her mouth fell open.

I walked toward the staircase.

“Chloe Summers!”

I ignored her.

I had no intention of defending my decisions to people who had never respected them.

---

That evening, Pearl knocked on my bedroom door.

“Come in.”

She entered and sat on the edge of my bed.

“Chloe, can we talk?”

“About what?”

“James.”

I closed my notebook.

“What about him?”

“He's been asking me what happened between you two.”

“Then perhaps you should tell him.”

She frowned.

“Why are you being so difficult? You know he loves you.”

I stared at her.

The audacity was unbelievable.

“Pearl, let me ask you something.”

She looked up.

“Have you ever wanted something so badly that you were willing to hurt someone to get it?”

Her smile faltered.

“What kind of question is that?”

“Just answer.”

“Of course not! Why would I hurt someone?”

I smiled.

“No reason.”

She stood.

“You've been acting strangely lately.”

“Perhaps you've never really known me.”

Pearl stared at me before finally leaving.

I waited until her footsteps disappeared.

Then I reopened my notebook and wrote:

Pearl Summers — Never underestimate her.

---

My phone rang a few minutes later.

The caller ID displayed Damian Rourke.

I answered immediately.

“Hello, Mr. Rourke.”

“Miss Summers. Have you reviewed the preliminary agreement?”

“Yes. I'll have my lawyer examine it.”

“Good.”

There was a brief pause.

“My grandmother expects you tomorrow evening.”

“I remember. I'll be there.”

“Good. She doesn't like surprises, and neither do I.”

I smiled.

“Then I hope I make a good first impression.”

“I'm sure she'll decide that for herself.”

He paused.

“There's something else I want you to know.”

“What is it?”

“I haven't made my final decision about the marriage.”

“I understand.”

“But I'm interested in the arrangement. I want to know more about you before I agree.”

A small smile spread across my face.

“Then tomorrow evening should be a good start.”

“Indeed. Goodnight, Miss Summers.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Rourke.”

The call ended.

I placed my phone on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Damian was interested.

It wasn't a promise, but it was progress.

I walked to my desk and opened my notebook again.

My eyes moved over the names I had written earlier.

Pearl Summers.

James Thornton.

Richard and Eleanor Summers.

These were the people who had destroyed my first life.

But now I had another chance.

I would reclaim my identity as A-Star. I would protect my paintings, expose Pearl's lies, and make James regret ever betraying me.

And perhaps Damian Rourke would become the unexpected ally I needed.

Still, the anonymous messages troubled me.

Someone knew about my meeting.

Someone was watching me.

I looked toward the window, where the evening sky was slowly darkening.

Tomorrow, I would meet Damian's grandmother.

And perhaps I would finally discover whether the most dangerous decision of my new life would also become my greatest advantage.

I closed the notebook.

This time, I would write my own destiny.

And nobody—not even the people who shared my blood—would take that away from me.