Reborn To Claim My Billionaire

"Vivienne. Vivienne, wake up. You're going to be late for breakfast." I opened my eyes. The ceiling above me was the wrong ceiling. It was cream with a hairline crack running from the light fixture to the east wall, a crack I had stared at every morning for years before I moved out of this room. I knew that crack. I knew exactly where I was before I even sat up. My old bedroom. The Ashworth house. Three years ago. I sat up slowly and pressed both hands flat against the mattress. The sheets were the pale blue ones Margaret had chosen for this room. The curtains were half open the way I always left them. My old perfume was on the dressing table. My old university textbooks were stacked on the desk by the window. Everything was exactly where I had left it three years ago, before the small apartment, before the file, before Clarissa looked at me across the kitchen table with that patient unbothered expression and said she would take care of it. Two days after that conversation I was dead. Now I was here. The knock came again. "Vivienne. Margaret says breakfast is at eight." "I'm up," I said. My voice came out steady. That surprised me. The footsteps moved away from the door and I sat in the quiet and let the reality of it settle over me like cold water. I was back. I didn't know how and I didn't particularly care why. What I cared about was that I remembered everything, every document in that file, every forged date, every name on every piece of paperwork that had been used to erase me. I had spent three sleepless nights reading those documents in my first life. I had memorized them the way you memorize something when you understand that your life depends on it. My life had depended on it. It still did. I got up, washed my face, and stood in front of the mirror for a moment. Twenty-four years old. Same face, same eyes, same dark hair that Margaret always said would look better if I did something with it. I looked completely ordinary. That was fine. Ordinary had always been my cover. I got dressed and went downstairs. The breakfast room was exactly as I remembered it. Clarissa was already at the table in a silk robe, scrolling through her phone with one hand and reaching for her coffee with the other. Margaret was at the head of the table reading a property supplement. Nathaniel had already eaten and gone, his empty cup was still on the table. Nobody looked up when I walked in. "You look tired," Clarissa said without looking at me. "I slept fine," I said, and sat down. I looked at my sister across the table. She was beautiful in the effortless way that had always made rooms turn toward her. She had no idea what I knew. She had no idea that in another version of this life she had made a single phone call and arranged for me to never wake up. She looked completely relaxed, which was exactly how she always looked when she had already won something. She hadn't won anything yet. "Mother wants us both at the Harrington dinner on Thursday," Clarissa said. "You should wear something that doesn't look like you're going to a board meeting." "I'll keep that in mind," I said. Margaret looked up briefly. "Roman Steele will be there. Try to be presentable, both of you." That landed quietly. I reached for the coffee pot and poured myself a cup and said nothing. Roman Steele. In three years from now Clarissa would be wearing his ring. In the original contract signed by both our fathers I was the one who was supposed to be standing beside him. Margaret had told me Clarissa loved him and I had stepped aside without understanding what I was giving up, not just Roman but the legal protection that came with the Steele name, the one thing that would have made it harder for this family to erase me entirely. I was not stepping aside this time. I finished breakfast, went back upstairs, and sat at my desk with a blank notepad and a pen. I wrote for two hours. Every document I remembered from the file, laid out in precise order. The birth record lists Celeste Vane as my mother. The forged replacement. The witness signature that appeared on my certificate and nowhere else, the one that belonged to Victor Crane's father. The betrothal contract. The dates, the names, the paper trail that Margaret and Griffin Hale had spent twenty years burying. When I was finished I read through it once and then I wrote one name at the top of the page. Iris Lowe. I had found Iris in my first life too late. I had walked into her office with nothing left and she had taken my case anyway, and by then it didn't matter because Clarissa had already moved first. This time I was going to walk into her office before anyone in this house knew I had started moving. I folded the list, put it in my bag, and checked the time. Iris Lowe's office opened at nine. I had twenty minutes. I was at the front door with my coat on when Clarissa appeared at the top of the stairs. "Where are you going this early?" "Errands," I said. She studied me for a moment with that particular look she had, not suspicious exactly, just assessing the way she looked at everything to determine whether it was relevant to her. I had spent years shrinking under that look. I looked back at her now and felt nothing except a clean cold clarity that I hadn't expected. "You seem different this morning," she said. I opened the front door. "Do I." "Yes." She tilted her head slightly. "I can't decide if it suits you." I stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind me. She had no idea how different I was about to become. I was halfway down the front path when my phone rang. Unknown number. I almost ignored it. Something made me answer. "Miss Ashworth." The voice was calm, male, and completely unhurried. "My name is Roman Steele. I think it's time we met."