As we concluded the meeting, Richard pulled me aside. "Your attorney is quite... thorough," he remarked, his tone suggesting this wasn't entirely a compliment.

"I believe in proper representation," I replied simply. "As does your family."


He studied me for a moment, reassessing. "Indeed. It's good to know you understand the importance of protecting assets. Though I hope such measures prove unnecessary in the long run."

The implied threat—that my insistence on fair terms might be remembered unfavorably—was subtle but clear. In my previous life, such implications had frightened me into compliance. This time, I met his gaze steadily.

"I'm sure they will be," I agreed. "The best relationships are built on mutual respect, including respect for each other's independent achievements."


The third and most significant crack appeared six weeks before the wedding, when I discovered Ethan and Mia together at his apartment—not in a compromising position, but in a private meeting they had no legitimate reason to conceal.

In my previous life, a similar discovery had occurred much later—after the wedding—and I had accepted their explanation of discussing a surprise party for me. This time, I engineered the discovery deliberately, arriving unannounced at his apartment when I knew from my previous life they would be meeting.


The momentary panic on both their faces when I entered—using the key Ethan had given me—was revealing. They were seated at his dining table, papers spread between them, wine glasses half-empty.

"Olivia!" Mia exclaimed, her voice slightly too high. "What a surprise!"

"Indeed," I agreed calmly, noting how quickly Ethan gathered the papers into a folder. "I thought I'd surprise you with lunch, but I see you're already entertaining."

"Not entertaining," Ethan recovered smoothly, standing to kiss my cheek. "Working. Mia's helping with a special project."

"What project?" I asked, setting down the lunch bag I'd brought as a prop.

They exchanged a quick glance that confirmed coordination. "It's actually related to the wedding," Mia explained. "A surprise we've been planning for you."

"How thoughtful," I replied, though my tone suggested skepticism. "What kind of surprise requires legal documents?"

Ethan laughed, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Always the observant one. It's nothing sinister, darling. Just some paperwork for a wedding gift that requires certain arrangements."

In my previous life, I'd accepted this vague explanation, touched by the idea that they were collaborating on something special for me. This time, I noted the folder's label—barely visible but recognizable as belonging to the Hayes Development Corporation, not wedding-related at all.

"Well, don't let me interrupt," I said, maintaining a pleasant facade. "I should have called first. I'll leave you to your... surprise planning."

"No, stay!" Mia insisted too quickly. "We were just finishing up. I should get back to the gallery anyway."

The hasty departure, the meaningful look she exchanged with Ethan, the way he walked her to the door with his hand at the small of her back—all confirmed what I already knew from my previous life. Their alliance was developing exactly as before, though earlier in the timeline.

After she left, Ethan returned to me with practiced casualness. "That was thoughtful of you to bring lunch. I'm starving."

"What were you really discussing with Mia?" I asked directly, watching his reaction.

His expression flickered briefly before settling into innocent confusion. "I told you—a wedding surprise. Why would you question that?"

"Because the folder was labeled 'Hayes Development—Tribeca Project,'" I replied. "Not typically wedding-related material."

He sighed, shifting strategies smoothly. "You caught me. It's not just a wedding surprise—it's a business opportunity I'm considering offering Mia. A potential gallery space in our new development. I wanted her input on the location before presenting it formally."

The explanation was plausible but practiced—too smooth, too ready. In my previous life, I'd accepted such explanations without question, trusting him implicitly.

"And this required a private meeting rather than a professional one at your office?" I pressed.

His expression hardened slightly. "I didn't realize I needed to clear my schedule with you. Mia is your friend and my colleague. There's nothing inappropriate about us meeting."

The deflection—making my question seem controlling rather than legitimate—was a tactic I remembered well from my previous life. It had effectively silenced my concerns then, making me question my own perceptions rather than his behavior.

"Of course not," I replied, allowing him to believe his strategy had worked. "I was just surprised."

He relaxed visibly, pulling me into an embrace. "You work too hard, that's the problem. You're stressed about the wedding and projecting concerns where none exist."

The gaslighting was so familiar it was almost comical—suggesting my legitimate questions reflected my psychological state rather than his suspicious behavior. In my previous life, I'd accepted this framing, doubting my own instincts.

"You're probably right," I said, letting him believe he'd successfully managed the situation.

That evening, I contacted a private investigator—something I hadn't done in my previous life until after discovering financial discrepancies in our company accounts, far too late to prevent the worst of their betrayal. This time, I was being proactive, gathering evidence methodically while maintaining the appearance of trust.

The investigator—a former FBI agent with experience in financial crimes—began discreetly tracking Ethan and Mia's meetings, communications, and business activities. I provided specific dates and potential concerns based on my knowledge from my previous life, giving her a roadmap of what to look for without revealing how I knew.

As the wedding approached, I maintained my careful performance—the excited bride, occasionally overwhelmed but generally compliant with Hayes family expectations. I allowed Victoria to override most of my preferences, objecting only enough to appear to have some agency while actually conserving my energy for the battles that mattered.

The rehearsal dinner, held at an exclusive restaurant privatized for the occasion, brought together the key players in my carefully orchestrated drama. Victoria presided over the event with regal authority, Richard charmed important business associates, Ethan played the devoted fiancé, and Mia performed her role as supportive best friend—though I noted how often she disappeared for "phone calls" that coincided with Ethan's brief absences.

During one such interval, I found myself momentarily alone with James, who had been invited as a business associate despite Victoria's obvious disapproval. His presence was a concession Ethan had made to my insistence that key clients be included—a request that seemed reasonable on the surface while serving my deeper purpose of keeping James within my orbit.

"You look beautiful," he said quietly, his eyes conveying more than his words. "And completely unreachable."

The observation was painfully accurate. In preparing for this wedding—this necessary step in my long-term plan—I had indeed made myself unreachable, even to the one person who might truly understand if I could tell him everything.

"It's been a challenging few months," I replied, keeping my voice low. "Wedding planning is surprisingly political."

"Is it too late to ask if this is what you really want?" he asked, his concern evident despite his careful tone.

Before I could respond, Ethan appeared beside us, his hand possessively circling my waist. "Blackwood," he acknowledged with a tight smile. "Enjoying the evening?"

"Immensely," James replied smoothly. "You're a fortunate man."

"I'm well aware," Ethan said, his grip on my waist tightening slightly. "If you'll excuse us, I need to borrow my fiancée for a moment. My mother is asking for her."

As he guided me away, his displeasure was evident in the tension of his body. "I understand he's an important client," he said quietly, "but perhaps maintain some distance at our wedding events. People notice these things."

The possessive warning—disguised as concern for appearances—was exactly as I remembered from my previous life. Then, I'd been apologetic, afraid of causing tension or embarrassment. This time, I met his controlling behavior with calm resistance.

"James and I were having a professional conversation," I replied. "As I will with all our guests who are also clients."

"Of course," he agreed, though his expression suggested otherwise. "Just be mindful of how certain interactions might be perceived."

The evening concluded with traditional toasts—Richard praising the union of two exceptional young people, Victoria expressing measured approval of her son's choice, Mia delivering an emotional speech about our friendship that seemed genuine unless you noticed the calculation behind her eyes.

As guests departed, Ethan pulled me close, his lips brushing my ear. "Twenty-four hours from now, you'll be Mrs. Hayes," he murmured. "Everything changes tomorrow."

The proprietary satisfaction in his voice sent a chill through me—not because I feared becoming his wife, but because I remembered exactly how quickly "everything" had indeed changed after our wedding in my previous life. How rapidly my independence had eroded, my business had become entangled with Hayes family interests, and my supposed best friend had been positioned to replace me in every way that mattered.

This time, however, I was prepared. The trap I was walking into was one I had designed myself, a necessary step toward the justice I had returned to deliver.

That night, alone in my apartment for the last time before the wedding, I received a preliminary report from the private investigator. The findings confirmed what I already knew from my previous life but provided concrete evidence I hadn't possessed before: Ethan and Mia had been meeting regularly for months, their communications carefully concealed through secondary email accounts and a messaging app that deleted conversations automatically.

More significantly, the investigator had uncovered financial transactions suggesting the beginning of the embezzlement scheme that would eventually drain my company's accounts—small test transfers to offshore entities, corporate documents being prepared with subtle alterations to signature requirements, client contracts with hidden clauses that would later facilitate larger fraud.

They were laying the groundwork for my destruction, exactly as they had in my previous life, though more carefully this time—perhaps sensing in me a strength and awareness I hadn't possessed before.

I saved the report securely, adding it to the evidence I'd been methodically gathering. Unlike my previous life, where I'd discovered their betrayal too late and with too little proof to fight effectively, this time I was building an ironclad case—one that would not only expose their crimes but destroy them completely when the moment was right.

As I prepared for bed, my phone buzzed with a text from James: "Whatever tomorrow brings, remember you always have choices. And people who care about the real you."

The simple message—offering support without judgment—brought unexpected tears to my eyes. In constructing this second life around revenge, I hadn't accounted for genuine connection, for someone who might see beyond my carefully constructed facade to the wounded soul beneath.

For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine walking away—canceling the wedding, abandoning my revenge plan, choosing a different path with someone who valued me for myself rather than what I could provide. The temptation was powerful, a glimpse of a life built on honesty rather than calculated deception.

But the memory of my death—the betrayal, the pain, the absolute injustice of it—strengthened my resolve. I had not returned to this life to find happiness, but to deliver justice. The wedding was a necessary step toward that end, regardless of the personal cost.

Tomorrow, I would become Olivia Hayes, wife of the man who had watched me die without remorse. I would enter the heart of the family that had seen me as nothing but a useful tool. I would cement my friendship with the woman who had helped destroy me.

And I would continue building the case that would, in exactly one year and eight months, bring them all crashing down on the very anniversary of my death in my previous life.

The symmetry was perfect. The trap was set. All that remained was to spring it at precisely the right moment.