They poured the gasoline while I was still breathing. My husband held the match. My sister held my hand — so I couldn't run. I died in that fire, listening to them laugh about the inheritance my father left me. Then I opened my eyes. Three years earlier. The morning of the engagement gala. Everyone I love and everyone who killed me — still alive, still smiling, still thinking I'm the fool who'll sign her fortune away for love. This time, I know how the story ends. This time, I'll be the one holding the match. But there's a man across the ballroom watching me like he's seen a ghost — the one man I rejected in my first life. The one man who shouldn't know I died. So why is he looking at me like he's been waiting three years for me to come back?