Chapter 1

The Paris atelier delivered three limited-edition handmade lace gowns.

The butler came to ask my godfather-fiancé how the dresses should be distributed between the lady of the house and Miss Ophelia.

Silas was helping Ophelia try on a pigeon-blood ruby ring.

"One goes into my private collection. The other two are for Ophelia—she can alternate them at next month's family cocktail."

The butler hesitated, then lowered his voice. "Sir, the madam still doesn't have a gown for the tenth anniversary."

Silas's hands stilled for a fraction of a second, as if only now remembering I existed.

"Cut a scrap of leftover lace from one of Ophelia's skirts. Make her a veil or something."

A scrap of leftover fabric.

That was the only dignity I'd been granted in ten years of marriage into House Costa.

He blamed me for not giving up my spot in the Milan program all those years ago.

Ophelia had missed what he called her springboard into the fashion world because of it.

So he'd parked me in the farthest wing of the estate, like something too useless to keep but too much trouble to throw away.

Later, he was shot in an ambush by a rival family. On his deathbed, he gripped my wrist and asked if I regretted all those years with him.

Outside the hospital room, the season's couture delivery arrived.

As always—one piece for his vault, two for Ophelia.

What they left me was a discarded ribbon the tailor had trimmed off.

I closed my eyes and didn't answer him.

When I opened them again, I was back ten years in the past.

House Costa's engagement banquet—the one that shook the entire New York underground.

The emcee held up the pigeon-blood ruby ring, gestured toward the dark, frozen lake, and smiled.

"Whoever dives down and retrieves the key will become the future Mrs. Costa."

In my last life, I nearly drowned in that lake, all to make him look at me.

This time, I stepped back half a pace and watched the ring sink silently into the abyss.

As it dropped, the lake's surface barely rippled—one faint dark ring, and nothing more.

The cheering on the shore died instantly.

The emcee stood with his microphone raised, smile frozen on his face, then turned toward the control booth.

A woman's voice leaked through the backup monitor feed.

"Get her to move forward a little—the camera can't catch her face."

The voice was soft.

But the control booth was half a step behind me.

I heard every word.

Ophelia.

In my last life, I hadn't caught that line.

All I'd heard was the crowd screaming.

"Jump! Evelyn, you've chased him for years—don't tell me you're chickening out now!"

That night the lake water flooded my nose and mouth. I clawed the key off the bottom and dragged myself ashore with three fingernails torn clean off.

Silas draped his coat over Ophelia's shoulders and said she'd been frightened.

Now the wind cut across the ice toward me. I stood on the bank and didn't move.

Silas finally looked my way.

Black three-piece suit. Silver cufflinks.

Those cufflinks were the anniversary gift I'd given him last year.

He'd called them too plain. Never worn them once.

Tonight he'd put them on only because Ophelia had tossed out an offhand compliment—"Those actually suit you."

"Evelyn."

When he said my name, his tone was low and flat, like someone reminding a disobedient dog not to embarrass him in public.

Ophelia stood wrapped in a white fur stole, the corners of her eyes reddened just so—perfectly calibrated distress.

"Evelyn, are you afraid of water? If you are, it's fine—Silas won't blame you."

As she finished, her fingers settled lightly on Silas's cuff.

He didn't pull away. He just looked at me with that detached indifference, voice as casual as if he were deciding tonight's dinner.

"It's just a game. Don't be a killjoy."

Just a game.

A frozen lake, a key, a human life—all to prove whether I deserved to stand beside him.

I stepped back half a pace.

My heel crushed a thin shell of ice. The sound was barely there.

The emcee scrambled to smooth things over.

"Miss Evelyn, the divers are standing by—Silas just wanted to give you an unforgettable proposal."

Another sound leaked from the monitor.

"Keep the divers back. It looks better if she gets it herself."

I turned toward the control booth.

A backup camera sat there, its red recording light glowing, aimed squarely at the lakeshore.

So in my last life, while I was thrashing in that water, someone onshore had already dialed in the focus.

Silas glanced at his watch.

"Ten minutes."

Ophelia gave a delicate little cough.

Silas immediately shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

I stood in the lake wind, shoulders bare, the hem of my gown soaked through with snowmelt, ankles numb with cold.

A server approached with a blanket—and was stopped dead by a single look from Silas.

"She chose this herself."

I'd heard that line for ten years.

When I fell ill from the cold—I'd chosen it myself.

When I took the blame meant for Ophelia—I'd chosen it myself.

When I spent a decade waiting in an empty house—that was my choice too.

This time, I turned and walked toward the banquet hall.

Behind me, Silas's voice finally carried a blade of frost. "Evelyn, if you walk out of here today, don't come crawling back."

A server caught up to me, pressing a glass of hot mulled wine into my hands and whispering, "Ma'am, the master had the kitchen prepare this for you."

My fingers paused.

The next moment, another server rushed past carrying a silver tray—hot mulled wine, a cashmere throw, a thermometer, a hand warmer.

"Hurry. Miss Ophelia had a fright. The master wants to feed her the wine himself."

I looked down at the crystal glass in my hand.

So even his concern came in tiers.

I set the mulled wine back on the tray. I didn't drink it.

Outside the estate, the frozen lake lay dark and still.

That diamond ring rested at the bottom, just like me in my last life.

But this time around, no one could force me to dive down and fetch it.