Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 49: My Soon-To-Be Wife

Chapter 49: My Soon-To-Be Wife

NATHAN JANG

"Nathan?"

The female voice was soft and insistent...and wrong. Not Vanessa’s voice. Someone else’s. A hand curled around my arm, warm and possessive, and suddenly, the world snapped back into focus.

Jazz music swirled through the grand ballroom, a sultry saxophone winding its way between murmured conversations and the clink of crystal glasses. Golden light spilled from chandeliers overhead, casting a honeyed glow over the sea of well-dressed guests—faces I recognized, faces I’d seen in lifetimes before.

I was at my engagement party. Where was Vanessa? I craned my neck to look around, but a scan of the ballroom produced no results.

And then there was Fiona.

She stood too close, her fingers gripping my sleeve like she had every right to be there. Her white lace dress was demure, almost virginal, but her eyes—cool and calculating—reflected her true colors.

"Nate?" she repeated, tilting her head. "You zoned out for a second."

I wrenched my arm free, stepping back. The scent of her cloying perfume polluted the air between us. "What are you doing?" I asked. "I’m engaged."

"Vanessa is just your parents’ choice, isn’t she?" Her fingers brushed my wrist, feather-light. "I’m your real love. Your childhood sweetheart."

Sweetheart? The word curdled in my stomach. Fiona had never been anything but a viper wrapped in silk. In every lifetime, she’d slithered her way into my periphery, convinced herself of a love story that didn’t exist.

Before I could respond, Kiki Moore—one of Fiona’s ever-loyal shadows—sidled up beside us, her smile razor-thin. "Oh, come on, Nathan. Everyone knows you’ve always had a thing for Fiona."

The others in our little circle nodded, murmurs of agreement weaving through the group. Even stoic, silent Malone nodded, too.

Jang, you’re such an asshole.

I turned my head, searching the room again. Finally, I found my soon-to-be wife.

She stood by the dessert table, considering the three-tiered chocolate fountain. Her white dress was simple, elegant, but nothing like the bold, daring gowns she’d worn in other lives. This was first-life Vanessa—quieter, more reserved, already retreating into herself.

Jack Hughes clapped me on the shoulder. "Vanessa looks like she’s about to bolt. You really know how to make a girl feel special at her own engagement party."

I clenched my jaw. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You didn’t arrive together," Jack said, raising a brow. "And Fiona’s been glued to your side all night. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was the one you were marrying."

Hanelle Fry giggled, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "It’s an arranged marriage, Jack. They don’t have to pretend to be in love."

Without another word, I shoved past them, cutting through the crowd toward Vanessa.

Vanessa didn’t look up as I approached. Instead, she stabbed her fork into a slice of chocolate torte with far more force than necessary, the prongs sinking deep into the rich layers.

I leaned against the table beside her, close enough that my sleeve brushed her bare arm. The scent of her perfume—subtle and sweet, like crisp apples and warm vanilla—wrapped around me.

"You’re too thin," I said, plucking a strawberry from a nearby platter. "You should eat more."

"Huh?" Vanessa’s lips parted and I took the opportunity to put the strawberry into her mouth. As she bit down, I leaned forward and ate the other half. For the briefest of moments, our lips met.

"What ... what are you doing?" she asked. Red juice stained her lips and I couldn’t help but to grasp her chin and lick away the sweetness.

"Nathan! What will people think?"

"That I’m a lucky man."

"Humph. What about Fiona?"

"What about her?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fiona’s about as subtle as a fireworks display."

A laugh escaped me. Second-life Vanessa had been bold, fearless—but this version hid her fire beneath that quiet mask. And I’d been too much of a fool to notice before.

I leaned in, my voice dropping to a murmur. "You could’ve rescued me."

"And miss out on this chocolate fountain? No way."

"Admit it." I stole the fork from her hand, taking a deliberate bite of her cake. "You like seeing me suffer."

Amusement flickered across her face. "Maybe a little."

The air between us crackled, charged with an electric feeling—attraction as exciting and bright as lightning. I wanted to chase that smirk off her lips, to taste her strawberry lips again.

"Nathan." Fiona appeared at my side, her fingers curling around my arm with practiced ease. "The photographer wants us for pictures."

Us. As if this was her engagement celebration.

Vanessa stiffened, her grip tightening around her champagne flute. I saw the exact moment she decided to retreat—chin lifting, shoulders squaring—the way she had backed off allowing Fiona to take the spotlight.

I caught her wrist, my fingers encircling the delicate bones. "Fiona," I said, my voice cold, "go away."

Fiona blinked, her smile faltering. "What?"

I peeled her fingers off my arm, one by one. "You’re embarrassing yourself."

A hush rippled through the nearby guests. Fiona’s face flushed, her lips trembling. "I’m your childhood sweetheart."

"How many times do I need to say this? You aren’t." I turned fully toward Vanessa, my hand settling at the small of her back. "Vanessa is my fiancée. She will be my only wife, my only love in every lifetime."

Fiona’s eyes welled with tears—real or fake, I didn’t care.

But Vanessa—Vanessa was staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

I didn’t give her time to overthink it.

I cupped her face and kissed her.

Not some polite peck for the crowd. A claim. Hungry enough to leave no doubt who I wanted.

Vanessa gasped against my mouth, her hands flying to my chest—not to push me away, but to pull me closer. The taste of champagne and chocolate lingered, and I swallowed her quiet moan like it was my last damn breath.

Fiona let out a choked sound.

When I finally pulled back, Vanessa’s lips were swollen, her pupils blown wide.

"That," I murmured, thumb brushing her cheekbone, "is how a man kisses the woman he’s actually in love with."

Her breath hitched. "You—you’re insane."

"For you?" I booped her adorable nose. "Absolutely."

The room erupted into whispers, but all I saw was the way Vanessa’s fingers tightened in my shirt, like she’d never let go.

The night should have ended there—with Fiona humiliated, with Vanessa in my arms, with everyone finally seeing the truth.

But fate had other plans.

As the party wound down, I saw Fiona corner Vanessa near the balcony doors. I got there just in time to hear Fiona say, "You think you’ve won? He’ll never love you."

Vanessa didn’t flinch. "Who are you trying to convince? Me? Or yourself?"

Fiona’s face twisted. And then—

A glint of silver.

A scream.

I moved without thinking, shoving Vanessa aside just as Fiona lunged—

The knife meant for Vanessa’s heart sank into mine instead.

Pain exploded through my chest. I stumbled back, my vision blurring as blood soaked through my shirt.

Vanessa’s scream tore through the night. "NATE!"

Fiona’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. "I—I didn’t mean—"

The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was Vanessa’s tear-streaked face, her hands pressing desperately against the wound.

And then—

Nothing.

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

NATHAN JANG

When consciousness returned, I was sitting in a chair next to Fiona. It took me a minute to realize I was at the charity auction. Vanessa sat across the aisle wedged between Oliver King and Carver Haynes.

That’s right.

Vanessa had imbibed five glasses of champagne.

I watched Vanessa. Her laughter rang a little too loud, her movements unsteady. She shouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach—not when I knew she’d barely eaten all day.

And yet, here she was, deliberately ignoring me. I felt my chest tighten. You deserve this, I reminded myself.

Fiona’s voice cut through my thoughts. "Brother Nathan, the auction is about to start."

I barely registered her words. My attention was fixed on my fiancee as she collapsed into the plush velvet chair beside Oliver, her dress riding up just enough to make me dig my fingers into the sides of my chair.

She caught me looking.

And then—she blew me a kiss.

I arched a brow, then crooked a finger. Come here.

She shook her head, defiance flashing in her eyes.

This was my fault. I’d let Fiona monopolize my attention all evening, when I should have been at Vanessa’s side. Now she was drunk, reckless, and—

Carver Haynes slid into the seat beside her. I knew Carver would never love anyone but Claire. And he’d been a good friend to me, but right now, he was getting on my nerves. I knew he was doing it on purpose.

He was too close, leaning in with that lazy smile of his, offering her a damn lollipop.

"Wanna lick?"

Vanessa laughed, swatting him away, but she didn’t scoot back. Didn’t put distance between them.

Fiona’s hand settled on my arm. "She’s just seeking attention. Don’t give in to her."

I pulled away from her grip without looking at her.

Because now Carver was tucking a strand of Vanessa’s hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering near Vanessa’s jaw. And she—tipsy, careless, mine—was letting him.

Oliver shot me a look, half-amused, half-warning.

Damn it. I’d allowed Fiona to plant herself between us. A weed in our lovers’ garden. Now the woman I loved was drunk and in the care of two other men. All because I hadn’t been where I was supposed to be.

The auctioneer’s voice crackled over the speakers, but I was already moving.

Vanessa’s gaze snapped to mine as I approached, her smile fading into uncertainty.

Carver leaned back. "Problem?"

I didn’t answer him.

Instead, I held out a hand to Vanessa. "We’re leaving."

She blinked. "What? Why?"

"Because you’re drunk," I said evenly. "Let’s go home so I can make you hangover soup."

Oliver snorted.

Vanessa scowled but let me pull her to her feet, swaying slightly as she stood.

Then, before she could protest, I scooped her into my arms. Carver grinned and gave me a thumbs-up, his expression saying: It’s about damn time, you idiot.

"What are you doing?" Vanessa wiggled, kicking her feet. "Put me down!"

"Not in a million years." I kissed her forehead, stalling her movements, and then headed toward the nearest exit.

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