On the night of my fiancé's ninety-ninth proposal ceremony, his housekeeper humiliated me in front of everyone. "Maren," Isolde Locke said, grinding my carefully chosen diamond ring and bouquet beneath her heel, "you'd better give up. Callum is never going to marry you." I turned to Callum Vane. "And you're just going to stand there?" He was laughing with his friends over drinks, relaxed and unbothered. "Isolde's not wrong," he said. "I'm really not ready for marriage. She understands me better than anyone." Watching him indulge a servant like that, watching him dismiss everything I felt as though it meant nothing, I laughed. If Callum's face hadn't reminded me so much of Evan, my first love who was gone, I never would have humbled myself for him the way I did.

At the height of the company's annual gala, the grand prize—a luxury getaway for two to Isenveil—somehow ended up in my hands. Every colleague in the room turned to Ryan Jenner, Director of R&D, with knowing smiles. Everyone knew about our five-year secret office romance, and the teasing started immediately. "Honeymoon! Honeymoon!" "Mrs. Jenner has to take the grand prize!" Amid the cheers, Ryan was pushed toward me. My eyes burned as I waited for the words I had wanted to hear for five years. 'Let's go public.' Instead, he calmly took the gift box from my arms. Then he turned and handed it to Mia Linton, an intern who had joined the company only a month ago. "She's never seen the Northern Lights. She'll appreciate it more." Across the crowd, he gave me a reassuring look before sending a WhatsApp message. Ryan: [Be good. I'll take you there myself next time.] The spotlight followed the delighted intern as she walked away with the gift box. I watched her post about it on Instagram and smiled in relief. Ryan had no idea there would never be a next time. My resignation had already been approved, and my flight home for an arranged marriage was leaving tomorrow morning.

Suki Langford, a manipulative sweetheart, joined the restaurant as an apprentice. Knowing my father had a severe nut allergy, Suki still mixed almond flour into the gluten-free batter. He collapsed from anaphylactic shock in the middle of his birthday banquet and died before the ambulance even arrived.   I stood there frozen in horror. Before I could say a word, Suki had already burst into tears and thrown herself into my husband Derek Shaw's arms.   "Claire, I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I only added a little almond flour because I thought it would improve the texture…"   Derek immediately pulled her behind him and glared at me.   "Your father's health was his own responsibility," he snapped. "If he could die from a single bite of food, how is that Suki's fault?"   I nearly lost my mind.   During the argument that followed, Derek shoved me backward into the industrial oven behind me. My skin blistered instantly beneath the scorching heat. By the time the staff dragged me out, most of my body had already been badly burned.   After I was hospitalized, Suki volunteered to take care of me. She even brought what she claimed was a homemade burn remedy. What she never told anyone was that the ointment had been mixed with concentrated lemon extract.   By the next morning, my wounds had turned badly infected. I died of septicemia less than twenty-four hours later.   Right before I lost consciousness, I heard Suki crying softly in Derek's arms.   "It's all my fault," she whispered through tears. "If I hadn't prepared the ointment incorrectly, Claire wouldn't have died…"   Derek stroked her hair gently and lowered his voice to comfort her.   "Stop blaming yourself. Severe burns carry a high risk of infection to begin with. This had nothing to do with you."   In the end, thanks to Derek's connections and careful arrangements, both my father's death and mine were ruled tragic accidents.   When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the morning of my father's birthday banquet.