The Hayes & Associates client appreciation event became my gateway into Manhattan's elite legal and business circles, just as it had in my previous life. The difference was that this time, I entered with my eyes wide open.

I transformed their traditionally stuffy cocktail reception into an interactive experience that showcased the firm's history while highlighting their forward-thinking approach. Senior partners who had initially resisted change were won over when they saw clients lingering for hours, engaged in meaningful conversations rather than making polite appearances before escaping.


Richard Hayes, Ethan's father, personally congratulated me at the end of the night. "My son said you were talented, Ms. Reed, but I'm impressed. We haven't seen this level of engagement in twenty years of hosting these events."

"Thank you, Mr. Hayes," I replied, noting how Ethan hovered nearby, clearly pleased with himself for "discovering" me. "I believe events should create connections, not just occupy space on a calendar."

"Indeed," the older man nodded. "I understand you're working with the Blackwood Hotel as well?"


"Yes, we have an ongoing partnership."

"James Blackwood is a shrewd businessman," he remarked. "Not one to waste resources on mediocrity. That speaks well of you."


I smiled, recognizing the backhanded compliment for what it was—an assessment of my value to his network. "I believe in quality over quantity when it comes to client relationships."

"A wise approach." He handed me his personal card. "We host several events throughout the year. I'd like you to handle them all."

In my previous life, this moment had felt like a coronation—acceptance into a world I'd been striving to enter. Now I recognized it as the first step in their plan to integrate me into their sphere of influence, where I could be useful to their ambitions.

"I'd be delighted," I said, accepting the card. "My assistant will contact your office to discuss the calendar."

As Richard moved away to speak with other guests, Ethan stepped closer. "I told you my father would be impressed," he said, his hand coming to rest possessively at the small of my back. "He doesn't give out his personal card often."

I subtly shifted away from his touch. "The event speaks for itself."

"Let me take you to dinner to celebrate," he suggested. "There's a new French place that just opened—very exclusive."

"Another time, perhaps," I replied. "I have an early meeting tomorrow with the Blackwood team."

His smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "You and Blackwood seem quite... close."

"We have a professional relationship," I said neutrally, though I noted his jealousy with interest. In my previous life, I'd never realized how possessive Ethan was, even before we were officially together. "As I do with all my clients."

"Including me?" he asked, stepping closer again.

"Especially you," I replied with a smile that revealed nothing.

Over the next few months, I carefully balanced my growing business with the complex web of relationships I was weaving. The Hayes firm events gave me access to wealthy clients and influential power brokers. My ongoing work with the Blackwood Hotel established my reputation for innovation and exclusivity. And my strategic investments—made with foreknowledge of market shifts—continued to build my financial security.

Through it all, I maintained a careful distance from Ethan, allowing him to pursue me without ever quite catching me. I accepted occasional dinners but always ended the evenings with professional courtesy rather than personal intimacy. His frustration was evident but only seemed to increase his determination.

Mia remained in my orbit, though I kept her at arm's length from my business. Her art-focused events were moderately successful, though not at the level of my own ventures. I could see the familiar envy growing in her eyes when we met for our now-monthly coffees.

"Your client list is incredible," she remarked during one such meeting, scrolling through photos of my recent gala for a luxury jewelry brand. "How did you land the Cartier anniversary? They never work with new planners."

"Right place, right time," I said vaguely, though in truth, I'd specifically targeted them knowing their event coordinator was leaving—information I had from my previous life.

"And you're still working with the Hayes firm?" she asked, a hint of something in her voice I now recognized as calculation. "Ethan Hayes is quite the catch. Half the women in Manhattan have tried to land him."

"We're strictly professional," I replied, though I knew she didn't believe me. In my previous life, I'd gushed to her about Ethan from our very first date, sharing every text, every gift, every milestone in our relationship. This time, I kept those details to myself.

"If you say so," she smirked. "Though I've heard he doesn't mix business with pleasure unless he's serious about someone."

I changed the subject, steering the conversation toward her upcoming gallery opening. As we parted ways, she hugged me tightly—too tightly.

"We should collaborate on something soon," she said. "Like we always planned. I miss working with you."

"Maybe someday," I replied noncommittally.

As I walked away, I felt her eyes on my back, assessing, calculating. The pieces were moving into position, just as they had before, but this time I controlled the board.

Nine months into my second life, I received the call I'd been expecting. The Henderson anniversary party—my first major success in my previous life—had generated significant buzz. Now the Astor Foundation, one of the city's most prestigious charitable organizations, wanted me to plan their annual gala.

In my previous timeline, this event had been the catalyst for my partnership with Mia. Overwhelmed by the scale and importance of the gala, I'd begged her to help, eventually offering her a stake in my company out of gratitude and friendship. That decision had been the beginning of the end.

This time, when the foundation's director called, I was prepared.

"We normally work with larger firms for this event," she explained, "but your work for the Hendersons was extraordinary. We're looking for something fresh this year."

"I'm honored by your interest," I replied. "The Astor Gala is legendary."

"Can your team handle something of this magnitude?" she asked. "It's quite different from a private anniversary party."

In my previous life, I'd hesitated, admitted my limitations, and ultimately brought in Mia. This time, I answered with confidence.

"Absolutely. I've been building my team specifically for events of this caliber." A slight exaggeration, but one I could fulfill quickly. "I'd be happy to present a comprehensive proposal next week."

After the call, I immediately began recruiting the freelance professionals I knew from my previous life—the ones who had been loyal, talented, and discreet. Within days, I had assembled a team capable of executing the gala flawlessly.

The proposal meeting went exactly as I'd expected—initial skepticism followed by growing enthusiasm as I outlined my vision for transforming their traditional gala into an immersive experience that would increase donations while honoring their heritage.

As I left the foundation offices with a signed contract, my phone buzzed with a text from Mia: "Drinks tonight? Big news to share!"

I met her at our usual wine bar, curious about what this "news" might be. In my previous timeline, around this time she had begun dating a gallery owner who would later provide an alibi for her when she was meeting Ethan behind my back.

"I got the Bergman Gallery account!" she announced as soon as I sat down. "Annual contract for all their events!"

"That's wonderful," I said, genuinely pleased that my strategy of redirecting her toward art venues was working. "The Bergman has an excellent reputation."

"And guess who recommended me?" she asked, eyes gleaming. "Ethan Hayes. Apparently, he was at a dinner with Marcus Bergman and mentioned my work."

I kept my expression neutral despite the alarm bells ringing in my head. Ethan had no reason to know Mia in this timeline—I'd never introduced them, never mentioned her to him. The fact that he had sought her out and promoted her services suggested he was already implementing the same strategy as before.

"How thoughtful of him," I said carefully. "I didn't realize you knew Ethan."

"We met at that charity auction last month—the one you couldn't attend because you were working on the Henderson event," she explained. "He recognized my name from your social media posts and introduced himself. He's quite charming."

And so it begins, I thought. In my previous life, I'd been delighted that my best friend and boyfriend got along so well. I'd never suspected their "coincidental" meeting had been orchestrated, or that their frequent "business lunches" were anything but innocent.

"He is charming," I agreed neutrally. "And well-connected. The Bergman account is a great opportunity for you."

"It could be for both of us," she suggested, leaning forward eagerly. "The Astor Gala is huge, Liv. Everyone's talking about how you landed it. I could help—you know my organizational skills would complement your creative vision perfectly."

Here it was—the moment that had altered the course of my life before. Her offer of help, made when I was overwhelmed and grateful for any support. The beginning of our business partnership and, ultimately, my destruction.

"That's sweet of you to offer," I said, taking a sip of wine. "But I've already assembled my team. The contracts are signed."

Her smile faltered slightly. "Oh. I just thought... given how we've always talked about working together..."

"And we will, on the right project," I assured her. "But the Astor Gala has specific requirements that need specialists in fundraising events. Your strength is in the art world—we should play to that."

I could see the disappointment and something darker flicker across her face before she masked it with understanding. "Of course. You're right. I just miss working with you sometimes."

"I miss it too," I lied smoothly. "But I'm so proud of how you're building your own brand. The Bergman account proves you don't need to be in my shadow."

The phrase was calculated—in my previous life, during our final confrontation, Mia had screamed that she was "tired of living in Olivia's shadow." Now I watched as the words hit their mark, her eyes widening slightly before narrowing.

"I was never in your shadow," she said, her tone light but with an edge.

"Of course not," I backpedaled slightly. "Poor choice of words. I just meant we each shine in our own areas now."

The tension dissipated, but something had shifted between us. I'd given her a glimpse of how I might see our relationship—her as the lesser partner—and planted the seed of resentment that had bloomed so destructively in my previous life. The difference was that this time, I was doing it deliberately.

As we parted ways that evening, her hug was a beat too long, her smile a touch too bright. "We should double date sometime," she suggested casually. "I'm seeing someone new—an art dealer I met through the Bergman. And you and Ethan would make such a gorgeous couple."

"Ethan and I aren't dating," I corrected her. "But I'd love to meet your new person sometime."

"Sure," she nodded, though I could see she didn't believe me about Ethan. "Soon."

I watched her walk away, mentally adding this interaction to my growing map of her motivations and vulnerabilities. In my previous life, I'd been blindsided by her betrayal because I'd never understood the depth of her envy or her capacity for deception. This time, I was cataloging every reaction, every micro-expression, building a comprehensive understanding of my enemy.

The next day, I received a delivery of peonies—my favorite flowers, though I hadn't mentioned that preference to anyone in this timeline. The card read simply: "Congratulations on the Astor Gala. Dinner tomorrow? – Ethan"

I texted a polite acceptance, curious about his next move now that he'd established contact with Mia. The game was evolving faster than I'd anticipated, but I was prepared. Every move they made brought them one step closer to the trap I was setting—a trap five years in the making.

That evening, as I reviewed the preliminary designs for the Astor Gala, my phone rang with a call from James Blackwood.

"I hear congratulations are in order," he said without preamble. "The Astor Foundation doesn't change planners lightly."

"News travels fast," I remarked, pleased but not surprised that he kept tabs on industry developments.

"In certain circles," he agreed. "I'm hosting a small dinner next week for some international investors. I'd like you to join us—not as the planner, as my guest."

The invitation took me by surprise. In my previous life, my relationship with James had never progressed beyond cordial business interactions. This was uncharted territory.

"That's not necessary," I said carefully. "Our business relationship is going well as it is."

"This isn't about business, Olivia," he replied, his deep voice matter-of-fact. "Or rather, not entirely. I enjoy your company. You see things others miss."

The simple observation struck me more powerfully than any flowery compliment could have. In my previous life, no one had truly seen me—not Ethan, who had viewed me as a means to an end; not Mia, who had seen me as competition to be eliminated; not even my clients, who had valued my services but not necessarily me.

"In that case," I found myself saying, "I'd be delighted to attend."

As I ended the call, I realized I was smiling—genuinely smiling, not the calculated expression I'd worn so often since my resurrection. It was a dangerous feeling, this unexpected connection with James. My plan required focus, detachment, strategic thinking. Genuine emotions could complicate everything.

And yet, as I returned to my work, the smile lingered. Perhaps this second life held possibilities I hadn't considered—paths that hadn't existed before. For now, though, my course was set. The Astor Gala would cement my professional reputation. My careful management of Ethan and Mia would advance my long-term strategy.

And in four years and three months, when the anniversary of my death arrived, I would be ready to deliver the justice that had been denied me in my previous life.