The following week, I received an unexpected visitor at my office. Victoria Hayes arrived unannounced, impeccably dressed in a Chanel suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

"Mrs. Hayes," I greeted her, hiding my surprise. "This is unexpected."


"The best conversations often are," she replied, glancing around my office with an assessing eye. "You've created a lovely space here. Understated but distinctive—like your events."

"Thank you," I said, offering her a seat. "What brings you to Chelsea? I can't imagine there's much in this neighborhood that interests you."

Her smile was thin. "On the contrary. My interests are quite diverse, particularly when they involve my son's... associates."


The slight pause before the last word was deliberate—a reminder that she hadn't categorized me as anything more significant.

"Ethan and I have a professional relationship," I said neutrally. "His firm has been a valuable client."


"Come now, Ms. Reed. We both know my son's interest extends beyond your professional capabilities, impressive as they may be." She set her Hermès bag on the chair beside her. "I prefer directness in business matters, so let me be clear: I'm trying to understand your intentions."

In my previous life, this conversation had happened much later—after Ethan and I were already seriously involved. I'd been intimidated, eager to prove myself worthy of her son and her family name. This time, I felt only a cool detachment as I recognized her tactics.

"My intentions are to continue building my company and reputation," I replied evenly. "Ethan's friendship has been supportive of those goals."

"Friendship," she repeated with a knowing smile. "An interesting choice of words. My son doesn't typically invest this much attention in 'friends,' particularly those in service industries."

The deliberate slight—reducing my work to a "service industry"—was designed to establish hierarchy, to remind me of my place in her world.

"Perhaps that's why I find his attention excessive at times," I said, meeting her gaze directly. "I value my independence—professionally and personally."

Something flickered in her eyes—surprise, perhaps, at not encountering the eager-to-please young woman she'd expected.

"Independence is admirable," she said, echoing Ethan's words from the previous night so precisely that I wondered if they'd discussed their approach. "But in certain circles, alignment with established interests can be... advantageous."

"I've found that true success comes from creating value, not from associating with it," I countered.

She studied me for a long moment. "You're not what I expected, Ms. Reed."

"I get that a lot," I replied with a slight smile.

"My son is accustomed to getting what he wants," she continued, her tone conversational but her eyes sharp. "His persistence can be... intense. If your reluctance is a strategy to increase his interest, I assure you it's unnecessary. You've already captured his attention."

The implication was clear—she believed I was playing hard-to-get to secure a more advantageous position with Ethan.

"I don't employ strategies in my personal life, Mrs. Hayes," I said, allowing a hint of steel to enter my voice. "And I don't view relationships as transactions."

"Everyone employs strategies, my dear," she replied with a cold smile. "Some are simply more honest about it than others."

She stood to leave, smoothing her impeccable suit. "You've created quite a name for yourself in a short time. Impressive. I look forward to seeing what you do next."

The statement sounded supportive, but the underlying message was clear: she was watching me, assessing whether I would be an asset or liability to her family's interests.

As I showed her out, she paused at the door. "The Hayes Foundation is hosting a charity gala next month—supporting arts education in underserved communities. We'd like you to handle the planning."

This was unexpected. In my previous life, I'd never worked directly for the Hayes Foundation—that had come only after my engagement to Ethan.

"I'm honored by your consideration," I said carefully. "Though I'm surprised you'd entrust such a personal event to someone you're still evaluating."

Her laugh was genuine, if brief. "Perhaps that's precisely why. I believe in keeping potential complications within sight, Ms. Reed."

After she left, I sat at my desk, processing this new development. Victoria was accelerating the timeline, bringing me closer to the family's inner workings sooner than in my previous life. The question was why—was she hoping to control me through professional obligations? Or was she simply keeping me where she could monitor my influence on her son?

Either way, the Hayes Foundation gala presented both opportunity and risk. Declining would create unnecessary tension, but accepting meant working directly under Victoria's scrutiny. After careful consideration, I decided to accept—the professional benefits outweighed the personal complications, and keeping close to the Hayes family remained essential to my long-term plan.

That evening, I met James for dinner at a quiet restaurant in Tribeca—neutral territory, away from both our usual professional circles. Over the past months, our business relationship had evolved into something more personal, though still carefully bounded. We discussed books, architecture, travel—never directly addressing the subtle current of attraction between us.

"You seem preoccupied," he observed as we finished our main course. "Problem with a client?"

I hesitated, then decided on honesty—or as much honesty as my situation allowed. "Victoria Hayes visited my office today. She wants me to plan the Hayes Foundation gala."

His expression revealed nothing, though I knew he understood the implications. "A significant opportunity."

"And a complicated one," I added. "The Hayes family doesn't separate business from personal matters."

"Few powerful families do," he replied. "The question is whether the professional benefit outweighs the personal entanglement."

"I've already accepted," I said. "It would be foolish to decline such a high-profile event."

He nodded, studying me with those perceptive eyes that sometimes seemed to see more than I wanted to reveal. "Just be careful, Olivia. The Hayes family plays by different rules than most. They view talent as something to acquire and control, not nurture and respect."

"Speaking from experience?" I asked, curious about his history with them.

"Let's just say our business interests have occasionally intersected, not always harmoniously." He took a sip of wine. "Richard Hayes is brilliant but ruthless. Victoria is strategic and protective of family interests above all else. And Ethan..."

He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully.

"Ethan has his parents' ambition without their subtlety," he finished. "He pursues what he wants directly, sometimes regardless of consequences."

The assessment aligned perfectly with what I knew from my previous life—the Hayes family's calculated manipulation, Ethan's entitled persistence, the way they closed ranks against perceived threats to their interests.

"I can handle myself," I assured him, though I appreciated his concern.

"I don't doubt that," James replied with a slight smile. "You're one of the most capable people I've ever met. Just remember that not every opportunity is worth the strings attached."

As we parted ways that evening, he kissed my cheek—a gesture that had become our usual goodbye, friendly but with an undercurrent of something more. This time, however, he lingered a moment longer than usual, his hand lightly touching my waist.

"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "some of us value your independence as much as your talent."

The simple statement affected me more deeply than I expected. In my careful reconstruction of my life, I'd maintained emotional distance from everyone—necessary for my long-term plan, essential for my sanity. James Blackwood was becoming the one variable I hadn't fully accounted for—a potential complication to my carefully orchestrated revenge.

As I returned home that night, I received a text from Mia: "Heard you're doing the Hayes Foundation gala. Congrats! Dinner soon to catch up? Haven't seen you in ages."

The timing of her message—immediately after the news would have reached Ethan—confirmed my suspicions about their ongoing communication. In my previous life, I'd been oblivious to their connection until it was too late. This time, I was tracking every interaction, every "coincidence," building a map of their developing alliance.

I responded with casual friendliness, agreeing to dinner the following week while revealing nothing of significance. As I prepared for bed, I reviewed the day's developments—Victoria's unexpected visit, the Hayes Foundation opportunity, James's warning, Mia's calculated outreach.

The pieces were moving faster now, the game becoming more complex. But unlike my previous life, I wasn't a pawn being manipulated across the board. This time, I was the player, positioning each piece precisely where I needed it for the endgame I had planned.

An endgame still four years away, when the anniversary of my death would become not my ending, but my triumph.