Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 42: A Bad Romance

Chapter 42: A Bad Romance

FIONA GRAND

I heard Nathan’s voice before I saw him.

"Yeah, we already got the certificate."

My champagne flute froze halfway to my lips. The chatter of the party faded into a dull roar as I turned, slow and deliberate, toward the alcove where Nathan stood with his parents.

Certificate. The word slithered through me, cold and poisonous.

Vanessa wasn’t with him. Of course not. She was probably off preening somewhere, basking in the glow of my life, my future. But Nathan—Nathan looked radiant, his smile loose and happy as he leaned in to show his mother something on his phone.

Was it a picture of the marriage license?

My fingers tightened. Glass bit into my palm.

How dare they?

This wasn’t the plan. Nathan was supposed to waver. He was supposed to look at me the way he used to—like I was the only thing in the room worth seeing. Like I was everything.

But no.

Vanessa had sunk her claws in too deep.

A waiter passed by, and I set down my cracked glass. The cut on my hand stung, but the pain was good. It made me feel sharp. Focused.

Just like the plan forming in my mind.

I’d been patient. I’d played the role of Nathan’s friend, no his sister ... and for what? To watch Vanessa steal what was rightfully mine?

No.

This ended tonight.

I smoothed my dress and stepped into the shadows of the terrace. The cold air kissed my cheeks as I watched Vanessa through the glass doors—laughing, oblivious, happy.

My reflection grinned back at me in the dark.

Let her enjoy it while it lasts.

***|***|***|***|***

VANESSA BELMONT

The champagne bubbles burst against my tongue, crisp and bright, just like Nathan’s laugh as his fingers tangled with mine, warm and sure.

"You’re staring," I teased, bumping my hip against his.

"Can you blame me?" His thumb traced circles on my wrist, that familiar grin making my stomach flip. "My wife looks amazing."

The words sent a thrill through me. Wife. After everything—after fucking Fiona—it still felt surreal.

Then I felt a crawling sensation between my shoulder blades.

I didn’t need to look to know Fiona was watching. Again. Always.

Nathan’s smile dimmed as he followed my gaze. "Ignore her."

"I’m trying." But the room suddenly felt too hot, the laughter too loud. My engagement ring caught the light as I pressed a hand to my chest. "I just need air."

The balcony doors opened with a whisper of sound. Cold air rushed over me, a nice contrast to the stifling warmth inside. I gripped the railing, the stone soothing to my sweating palms.

I dragged in deep breaths.

Below me, the city pulsed with light—endless, indifferent.

She can’t ruin this.

The thought was a prayer. A lie.

Click-clack-click-clack-click-clack. I didn’t turn. I knew the rhythm of those heels, the hip-swinging walk that was Fiona’s signature.

"What do you want, Fiona?" I turned to face her.

Moonlight caught the edge of her smile—too wide, too bright. Her gaze was dark with fury, with jealousy.

I knew that smile.

My pulse spiked.

"Don’t," I whispered.

Her head tilted. "Don’t what?"

"Move," I said, trying to shove past her. She grabbed my shoulders and pinned me against the stone balustrade. The railing dug painfully into my spine.

"I’m sick of you," she said. "Nathan is mine. Mine."

"You’re crazy." Panic clawed up my throat. I should’ve run. Should’ve screamed. But my body locked in place, trapped in the horror of understanding.

This bitch was going to kill me again. "Stay the hell away from me!"

For a heartbeat, she looked almost hurt. Then she laughed.

And shoved me.

The world upended.

Wind screamed in my ears as the railing vanished.

Fiona leaned over the edge, her hair a dark curtain waving in the bitter wind.

"Sweet dreams," she called.

Then—

Impact.

Darkness.

***|***|***|***|***

VANESSA BELMONT

I woke up in my bedroom at the Belmont Estate.

The scent of jasmine from the garden drifted through the open window. Henry, my orange tabby, sprawled across my pillow, his fuzzy orange head resting against mine. His loud purr vibrated against my cheek. For a disorienting moment, I stared at the sunlight dappling the ceiling.

"This is such bullshit," I said. "Forget it, Henry. This engagement is over."

Henry didn’t move, which I took as his agreement that I needed to stay in bed for the rest of the day. No, week. No. Forever.

I was stuck in my own version of Groundhog Day. Here I was with another do-over and who the fuck cared? I couldn’t change my fate.

I texted my parents. "Cancel the engagement party. I’m sick."

Sick of dying. Sick of Fiona. Sick of everything.

The next thing I know, Mom and Dad are in my room, staring down at me.

"We can’t cancel the banquet," said Mom. If she was a regular Mom, she would check my forehead for fever and cook me chicken soup. But she wasn’t a regular Mom. She didn’t even furrow her brow in concern.

"The Jangs might have something to say about canceling tonight’s party," said Dad. "Nathan’s mother has been planning this soiree for months. You two are supposed to exchange rings."

"I’m not going," I said. "And I don’t want to marry Nathan Jang."

Mom and Dad shared a look. "I thought you were in love with him," said Mom. "You said last week you could survive anything as long as he was by your side."

"I lied."

"Irrelevant," said Dad. "Your marriage isn’t based on love, Vanessa. It’s based on a contract that your mother and I negotiated in good faith with the Jangs. You’re our only child, and your future needs to be secured."

"How romantic."

"You want romance, go to Italy and take a lover." Mom used her phone to point at me. "Other people marry for love. We marry for strategic alliances."

"And money," added Dad.

Mom chuckled. "Yes, and money."

"Well, you can’t pay me enough to go to that party tonight."

"Maybe you need more sleep," said Dad. "We’ll leave you to rest."

He ushered my mother out of the room.

I sighed.

"We’re in a bad romance," I told Henry. "One where the manic pixie dream girl is actually a serial killer. Well, since she’s only killing me, maybe she doesn’t fit the definition of a serial killer. More like a Vanessa murderer."

Henry yawned.

"Oh, pardon me for boring you, your highness."

The door burst open. Nathan stood there looking unfairly gorgeous for someone who’d presumably just sprinted through my house. His tie was crooked, and his usually perfect hair was mussed—like he’d been running his hands through it.

Nathan crossed the room in three strides and yanked me into a hug so tight I could feel his racing heartbeat against my ribs.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. This was a new development. Nathan just popping up at my house. I looked behind him. "Where’s your little tail?"

"What?"

"Fiona," I said.

"I ditched her," he said. "Why do your parents look like you set their money on fire?"

"I have threatened the family’s precious merger AKA our marriage." I flopped back onto the pillows. "Cancel the party. Burn the contract. I’m done." I looked at him more closely. "You look like hell."

He didn’t smile. "You died."

Not a question. A statement.

I went very still.

"Nathan..." I didn’t know how to ask if he remembered our past lives. Maybe it wasn’t even as deep as that. Maybe it was that he’d realized his so-called childhood sweetheart was a horrible, murderous human being.

His eyes were dark, haunted. "You fell off the balcony at the Echelon Hotel." His voice cracked. "The sound of you... I’ll hear it forever."

A chill ran down my spine. The sound. God, I knew exactly what he meant. That wet, final crunch. The one that came right before everything had gone black.

"It wasn’t the first time you died, either."

I sat up so fast my cat, Henry, shot me a judgmental look before stalking off. "You remember?"

"All of it. Every life."

I stared at him—really stared—and for the first time, I let myself see it. The shadows in his eyes.

He’d remembered.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I heard you scream. By the time I got to the balcony, you had already gone over the railing."

"And Fiona?" I asked.

"She was unconscious. When she woke up, she said she didn’t know how you’d fallen over the edge."

I reached for his hand, lacing our fingers together. His grip was warm, solid, real. "I don’t want to keep dying," I said.

"I know."

"Every time we get married, Fiona kills me. It’s so freaking irritating."

"I know." He leaned his forehead against mine. "I want to marry you, Vanessa. Not because of the contract or our parents or our business interests. This last time around, I realized I was in love with you."

"I’ve been in love with you since college," I said. "But I don’t know how we’re going to be together if Fiona keeps killing me."

"What if we kill Fiona first?"

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