Chapter 1
I screamed as I burned to death while Julian ran past me to save Emma.
His first love. The girl he'd never let go of.
Eight years I spent being the understanding fiancée. The one who smiled through her endless crises. The one who died alone because he chose her panic over my screams.
When I opened my eyes again, I was standing at the altar of St. Patrick's Cathedral. Julian was leaning in, voice low—we needed to pause the ceremony. Emma was having a panic attack at the airport.
Last time, I'd said yes.
Not this time.
I looked at the man I'd died for and smiled.
Then I threw my bouquet at his face.
I turned and walked straight to the man who made Wall Street sweat. Julian's worst enemy.
Victor Kane.
"Go save her," I said. "I need a new groom."
Serena's POV
I smelled smoke.
That feeling—lungs choked with it, skin burning inch by fucking inch—still lived in every cell of my body.
I jerked awake, gasping like I was drowning, cold sweat soaking straight through my back.
No flames.
No Emma's screaming.
No Julian's back walking away from me.
Instead, I stared up at St. Patrick's Cathedral's soaring dome. Sunlight poured through stained glass onto a red carpet lined with white Bulgarian roses.
"Serena, are you even LISTENING to me?"
Julian's voice snapped me back.
I turned to look at him in his custom tux. That face I'd once loved beyond reason now showed nothing but impatience and that look—like I was being unreasonable just by existing.
I glanced down at my wedding gown.
Shit.
I was back.
Early fall 2024. My and Julian's "wedding of the century."
Last time, right here at the altar, right before the vows, Julian got Emma's call. Panic attack at JFK. Life or death, apparently.
He'd walked out without a second thought, turning the Astors into New York's punchline.
And I'd begged. Actually begged, clutching his sleeve like some desperate fool.
What did he say?
"Serena, stop being so damn SELFISH. Emma will literally die without me. You're just losing a ceremony."
And what happened after?
After, in that warehouse at the docks, when those bastards lit the gasoline, Julian crashed through. He could've grabbed me first. Instead, he scooped up Emma—who had maybe a scratch—and ran, leaving me to burn alive.
"SERENA!" Julian's jaw tightened. "Look, Emma's alone at the airport, scared out of her mind. Her depression's bad again, she's been sobbing on the phone. I need to go check on her. We'll push the ceremony back two hours. Just—have the priest wait, tell the guests something came up, okay?"
Not asking.
Telling.
Like making me stand here in white while all of New York watched me get abandoned was just... fine.
I looked at him, and I actually laughed.
"Julian, I'm serious right now." His anger flashed. "Emma's my mother's best friend's daughter. I can't just let something happen to her!"
I bit back the urge to claw his eyes out and smiled instead. Cold as ice.
I reached up and straightened his crooked bow tie, soft and gentle. It made him pause.
"Oh, I know you're serious, Julian." My voice carried through the cathedral mic, crystal clear. "That's exactly why I think you should go to her. Not just today. Every. Single. Day. For the rest of your life."
Julian's face drained of color.
His hand shot out for my wrist. "Serena, don't—not here, not in front of everyone—"
"I'm not doing anything." I yanked free and stepped back.
Then I turned to face the crowd. Hundreds of Manhattan's most powerful people. Wall Street sharks. Society royalty. And those reporters in the back with their cameras already rolling.
I raised the microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen, sorry you all had to witness this. Mr. Vance just informed me that his childhood sweetheart, Miss Emma Jenkins, is having a panic attack at the airport. She needs him. Right now. Apparently."
The room ERUPTED.
Gasps, whispers, shocked stares—all aimed at Julian like spotlights.
He looked at me like I'd grown a second head. Like obedient, understanding Serena had just pulled a knife.
"Serena, have you lost your MIND?!" He hissed, lunging for the mic.
"So here's what's happening." I sidestepped him smoothly. "Julian Vance, you're out. Done. This wedding? Consider yourself fired as the groom."
The murmurs turned into chaos.
Vance family elders shot to their feet. Julian's panic broke through his anger. "You think this—this tantrum—will make me stay? Jesus, Serena, you've ruined EVERYTHING. Not just the wedding. The Astor-Vance deal, the partnership—do you have ANY idea what you just did?!"
"Partnership?" I laughed in his face. "You think Vance Group landed that Lower Manhattan project on your own merit?"
Beat of silence.
"Julian, take your precious Emma and get out of my cathedral."
Before he could explode, the heavy cathedral doors slammed open.
A figure walked in, backlit and imposing.
Black suit, tailored perfectly. Sharp features that could cut glass. Cold gray-blue eyes that seemed to see straight through bullshit.
Victor Kane.
Wall Street's nightmare. The Kane empire's iron fist.
Technically, Julian should probably call him "sir."
Every conversation died. People barely breathed.
Victor walked down that red carpet like he owned it—which, let's be honest, he probably did—and came straight for me.
He didn't spare Julian a single glance. Those intense eyes locked on mine.
"Heard someone's giving you trouble." His voice was low, rough around the edges. Almost... protective.
He leaned in close enough that only I could hear. "How about you upgrade? New groom, better deal."
I looked up at him, and something in my chest cracked.
Last life, after I burned, I'd watched this ruthless bastard kneel at my grave and sob like his world had ended.
He'd destroyed Vance Group piece by piece for me. Then put a bullet in his own head at my tombstone.
I owed him everything.
I took a breath, and right there in front of Julian and every power player in New York, I slipped my hand into Victor's.
"Deal, Victor." I smiled up at him. "You're brave enough to marry me? I'm damn sure brave enough to say yes."
