Chapter two

The first thing I did after leaving my bedroom was head straight to my art studio.

I needed to see it.

I needed to know that at least one thing from my former life remained untouched.

The studio was tucked away at the far end of the east wing, behind a narrow corridor lined with family portraits. My father rarely entered it, and my mother considered it a waste of space. To them, painting was nothing more than an expensive hobby that distracted me from becoming the perfect Summers daughter.

To me, it was everything.

I pushed open the door.

The familiar scent of oil paints and turpentine greeted me. Canvases stood against the walls, brushes filled glass jars, and unfinished sketches lay scattered across the long wooden table.

My eyes immediately found the painting beside the window.

The Last Dawn.

My breath caught.

It was one of the most important paintings I had ever created. The canvas showed a woman standing at the edge of a cliff, watching the first light of dawn break through a stormy sky. Her face was hidden, but the sorrow in her posture told a story I had never been able to explain.

In my first life, Pearl had stolen this painting.

She had presented it at a private exhibition, claiming she had spent months creating it. Critics praised her extraordinary talent, and collectors competed to acquire her work.

That painting had been the beginning of her rise as A-Star.

My rise.

I approached it slowly, afraid that touching it might somehow make it disappear.

My fingers brushed the wooden frame.

It was real.

The painting was still here.

A shaky breath escaped me, and I closed my eyes.

“Not this time,” I whispered.

I would not allow Pearl to steal another piece of me.

I retrieved my phone and photographed the painting from several angles. Then I photographed the unfinished canvases, my sketches, and the pages of my notebook filled with dates, ideas, and preliminary drawings.

I wasn't taking chances.

After documenting everything, I opened my email and created a new account that Pearl couldn't easily access. I uploaded the photographs and sent copies to myself. I also began compiling a digital record of my work, including the dates and descriptions of each painting.

It was a small beginning, but every battle required preparation.

My gaze moved to the locked drawer beneath the table.

Inside were my oldest sketchbooks and a collection of letters I had written to myself during difficult moments. In my first life, I had neglected those things, believing that the people closest to me would never steal from me.

Now I knew better.

I locked the drawer again and slipped the key into my pocket.

A knock sounded at the studio door.

I turned sharply.

“Chloe?”

Pearl.

Of course.

I stared at the door, and for a moment, I could almost see her standing in the rain beside James, smiling as I died.

My fingers curled into fists.

Then I forced them to relax.

I would not let her know that anything had changed.

“Come in,” I called.

The door opened, and Pearl stepped inside wearing a pale-pink dress. Her long hair fell over her shoulders, and her face carried the innocent smile that had fooled everyone for years.

“Good morning, Chloe!” she chirped. “I've been looking everywhere for you.”

Her eyes wandered around the studio.

Then they settled on The Last Dawn.

I saw the interest flicker across her face.

In my previous life, I had mistaken that expression for admiration.

Now I knew it was greed.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

Pearl laughed lightly. “Must I have a reason to visit my sister?”

She moved closer to the painting.

“This is beautiful. Is it new?”

I stepped between her and the canvas.

“It's mine.”

Her smile faltered for half a second.

“I know that. I was only asking.”

“Then you've received your answer.”

Silence settled between us.

Pearl studied me, probably wondering why I wasn't behaving as I usually did. The old Chloe would have smiled, explained the inspiration behind the painting, and perhaps even allowed Pearl to borrow it.

The old Chloe would have handed her the knife and thanked her for holding it.

That Chloe was dead.

Pearl clasped her hands together.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something. I've been thinking about taking my painting more seriously. You know how talented you are, and I thought perhaps you could teach me a few things.”

I almost laughed.

She had never been interested in learning from me. She had always wanted what I possessed without enduring the years of practice, sacrifice, and loneliness it took to create it.

But I gave her a calm smile.

“I'm afraid I won't have time.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“Why not?”

“Because I'll be working on my own career.”

Pearl blinked.

Then she recovered, laughing as though I had made a joke.

“Your career? Chloe, you know how Father feels about painting. He wants you to focus on something more practical.”

“My father doesn't get to decide what I do with my talent.”

The words escaped before I could soften them.

Pearl stared at me.

I stared back.

For the first time, I saw uncertainty in her eyes.

Good.

Let her wonder.

Let her worry.

Let her spend the rest of the day trying to understand why her obedient older sister had suddenly grown a spine.

“I should get ready for breakfast,” Pearl said eventually.

She turned toward the door, but paused before leaving.

“By the way, James is coming over today. He has something important to discuss with you.”

My stomach tightened.

James.

In my first life, this was the day he had proposed to me.

I remembered the flowers, the expensive ring, and the charming smile that had made my heart race. I remembered how he had knelt before me and promised to spend the rest of his life making me happy.

I had believed every word.

That proposal had been the beginning of my destruction.

I lifted my chin.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Pearl smiled.

“You're welcome.”

She left the studio, closing the door behind her.

The moment she was gone, my smile disappeared.

“James Thornton,” I whispered.

This time, I would not marry him.

By the time I entered the dining room, the entire Summers family had gathered around the breakfast table.

My father sat at the head, reading something on his tablet. My mother, Eleanor, was speaking to Pearl about an upcoming charity event.

James sat beside Pearl.

The sight of him made my stomach turn.

He wore a tailored navy suit, his dark hair neatly styled. He looked exactly as he had on the day he proposed to me in my first life.

He looked like the perfect man.

I knew what he was beneath the surface.

“Chloe, there you are,” my mother said without looking up. “You're late.”

I glanced at the clock.

I was three minutes late.

“Good morning to you too, Mother.”

Her eyes lifted sharply.

“What did you say?”

“I said good morning.”

She studied me as though I had spoken a foreign language.

I took my seat and reached for a glass of water.

My father lowered his tablet.

“James has something important to discuss with you.”

“I heard.”

James smiled at me.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

I looked directly into his eyes.

“Don't call me that.”

The table fell silent.

Pearl's fork stopped halfway to her mouth.

My mother stared at me in disbelief.

James gave a small, awkward laugh.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Then why are you behaving this way?”

I set down my glass.

“Perhaps I'm simply tired of pretending that everything is fine.”

My father's expression darkened.

“Chloe, watch your tone.”

There it was.

The familiar warning.

In my first life, those words had been enough to silence me. I had spent years trying to earn my father's approval, convincing myself that if I behaved well enough, achieved enough, and sacrificed enough, he would eventually see me.

He never did.

And I would never waste another lifetime begging him to.

“I am speaking respectfully,” I replied. “If you find honesty disrespectful, that isn't my responsibility.”

My mother gasped.

“Richard, did you hear that?”

“I heard her,” my father snapped. “And I will not tolerate this attitude at my table.”

I looked around the room.

Pearl was pretending to be concerned, but I caught the satisfaction in her eyes. James was watching me with irritation. My mother looked offended, and my father seemed ready to lecture me.

Nothing had changed.

They were the same people who had once watched me fall apart and blamed me for the pieces.

I rose from my chair.

“If there's nothing else, I'd like to finish breakfast elsewhere.”

“Sit down!” my father ordered.

I paused.

Then I slowly turned toward him.

“No.”

One word.

Simple.

Quiet.

But it seemed to shake the entire room.

My father's face reddened.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

I picked up my phone and walked toward the door.

“Chloe!” my mother called. “You cannot simply walk away from your family!”

I stopped without turning around.

“Watch me.”

Then I left.

My heart was pounding, but for the first time in years, the feeling wasn't fear.

It was freedom.

I was halfway up the staircase when James caught up with me.

“Chloe, wait!”

I kept walking.

He reached for my arm.

I pulled away immediately.

“Don't touch me.”

His expression hardened before he forced another charming smile.

“What is going on with you today? You've been acting strangely since this morning.”

“Perhaps I'm finally seeing things clearly.”

He frowned.

“Can we talk privately?”

“No.”

“Chloe, please. This is important.”

I turned to face him.

In my first life, I would have softened at the sound of his pleading voice. I would have worried that I was hurting his feelings. I would have apologized for being difficult.

Now I simply waited.

James took a breath.

“I've been thinking about us.”

“How unfortunate.”

His jaw tightened.

“Can you stop making this difficult for one minute?”

“I'm not the one making it difficult.”

He glanced toward the staircase, checking whether anyone was listening.

Then he reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small velvet box.

My heart didn't flutter.

My hands didn't tremble.

I felt nothing except a cold, distant certainty.

James opened the box.

Inside lay a diamond ring.

“Chloe Summers,” he began, dropping to one knee, “you've been the most important person in my life. I want us to build a future together. I want to wake up beside you every morning and spend the rest of my life making you happy.”

He looked up at me.

“Will you marry me?”

For a moment, I simply stared at him.

I remembered how desperately I had wanted this moment in my first life. I remembered the tears of happiness that had filled my eyes when he placed that ring on my finger.

I remembered calling Pearl immediately afterward, excited to share the news.

She had hugged me and told me she was happy for me.

All the while, she had already been planning to steal my husband.

I looked down at James.

“No.”

His smile froze.

“What?”

“I said no.”

He slowly rose to his feet, closing the ring box.

“Chloe, don't joke about something like this.”

“I'm not joking.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want to marry you.”

His expression changed.

“But you love me.”

The confidence in his voice was almost amusing.

He genuinely believed my feelings belonged to him. He believed that because I had loved him once, I would continue loving him regardless of how he treated me.

“You were right about one thing,” I said quietly. “I did love you.”

Relief crossed his face.

Then I continued.

“But loving you was a mistake, and I'm not interested in repeating it.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Has someone been talking to you?”

“No.”

“Is this about Pearl?”

I almost smiled.

Even now, he was ready to use her name as a shield.

“This has nothing to do with Pearl.”

“Then explain yourself!”

I stepped closer.

“You want an explanation? Fine. I don't want to marry a man simply because he believes I'm supposed to. I don't want a future built on promises I don't trust. And I certainly don't want to spend my life with someone who thinks my answer can be changed by a diamond ring.”

He stared at me as though he had never seen me before.

Perhaps he hadn't.

The woman he knew had died three years in the future.

“You'll regret this,” he said.

I held his gaze.

“Perhaps. But I'd rather regret refusing you than regret marrying you.”

I walked past him.

This time, he didn't try to stop me.

I spent the next hour in my bedroom, reviewing everything I could remember about the coming years.

The paintings Pearl would steal.

The lies James would tell.

The business dealings that would eventually ruin my father's company.

The names of people who would turn against me.

And one man whose name kept returning to my thoughts.

Damian Rourke.

He was one of the most powerful businessmen in the country, the chairman of Rourke Global Holdings. His reputation was intimidating, his business instincts ruthless, and his private life a mystery.

In my first life, I had barely spoken to him.

I knew him only as a collector who admired my work and a man who had once offered to help me.

I had ignored his message because I was too busy trusting James.

By the time I understood the truth, Damian had been one of the few people willing to stand beside me.

But it had been too late.

I picked up my phone and searched for his contact information.

I still had his business card from an art exhibition.

His number was printed beneath his name.

I stared at it for a long moment.

What could I possibly say to a man like Damian Rourke?

Hello, Mr. Rourke. I died in another life, and now I've returned to change my future.

He would think I was insane.

No. I needed a reason he could understand.

Something practical.

Something that would make him listen.

I opened a message.

Chloe Summers: Mr. Rourke, my name is Chloe Summers. I believe we may be able to help each other. I'd like to discuss a possible arrangement with you.

I hesitated before pressing send.

Then I did.

The message showed as delivered.

I set the phone down and waited.

One minute passed.

Then two.

I told myself he was busy. A man like Damian probably received hundreds of messages every day.

I was about to put my phone away when it vibrated.

Damian Rourke: What kind of arrangement?

I stared at the screen.

My fingers hovered above the keyboard.

There was no point in being timid now.

Chloe Summers: A marriage arrangement.

The reply did not come immediately.

For several seconds, I wondered whether I had ruined everything.

Then my phone rang.

An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen.

I answered.

“Hello?”

“Miss Summers.”

His voice was deep, smooth, and unmistakably authoritative.

I sat straighter.

“Mr. Rourke.”

“You have my attention,” he said. “Now explain why a woman I've barely spoken to wants to marry me.”

I swallowed.

“Because I believe we can both benefit from it.”

“That's a business answer. I asked why you want to marry me.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

I needed to be careful.

“I'm looking for a husband who values a partnership rather than a woman he can control. Someone who understands that marriage doesn't have to be built on romantic promises.”

“And you believe I'm that man?”

“I believe you're the kind of man who understands the value of a clear agreement.”

A pause followed.

Then he gave a quiet, humourless laugh.

“You've done your research.”

“Enough to know that you don't waste time on things you don't want.”

“And what do you want, Miss Summers?”

I looked at my reflection in the dark window.

For a moment, I saw the woman who had died in the rain.

Then I saw the woman I had become.

“Independence,” I answered. “Protection for my future. And a chance to build a life that belongs to me.”

“Those are broad terms.”

“Then we can discuss the details in person.”

“Tomorrow. Ten o'clock. My office.”

I released a breath I hadn't realised I was holding.

“Thank you, Mr. Rourke.”

“Don't thank me yet. I haven't agreed to anything.”

“I understand.”

“One more question, Miss Summers.”

“Yes?”

“Does your family know you're proposing marriage to a man you've barely met?”

I glanced toward the bedroom door.

“No.”

“Interesting.”

I could almost hear the amusement in his voice.

“Then I suggest you prepare a convincing explanation.”

“I'll manage.”

“We'll see.”

The call ended.

I lowered my phone slowly.

Tomorrow, I would meet Damian Rourke.

I didn't know whether he would accept my proposal, whether our arrangement would work, or whether I was walking into another kind of danger.

But I knew one thing.

I would no longer allow other people to write my future.

I walked to my desk and opened a fresh notebook.

On the first page, I wrote three names.

Pearl Summers.

James Thornton.

Richard and Eleanor Summers.

I paused, then added another.

Damian Rourke.

The first three represented the past I intended to confront.

The fourth represented a future I had yet to understand.

I closed the notebook.

Outside, the afternoon sun shone over the Summers estate, bright and deceptively peaceful.

My family still believed I would eventually return to my old habits. James probably thought I was simply upset. Pearl was likely already wondering how to regain my trust.

Let them believe whatever they wanted.

They had no idea what I was planning.

I had lost one life because I trusted the wrong people.

I wouldn't lose this one.

Tomorrow, I would sit across from Damian Rourke and offer him a marriage neither of us had planned.

And once the agreement was made, the world would begin to change.

I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled.

“Enjoy your peace while you can,” I whispered to the people who had betrayed me.

“Because Chloe Summers is back.”

And this time, I would write the ending myself.