Chapter 1The Billionaire Wants My Blood

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the starting line of the nightmare.

My brother, Brad, always had a twisted obsession with playing God. He lived for the aesthetic of the "perfect pair." To broadcast his whirlwind romance with Diana Blackwood—the city’s youngest tech billionaire—he didn't just stop at matching His and Hers bathrobes or synchronized calendars. He decided I was the final piece of his collection.

"It’s about symmetry, Nico," he’d said back then, his eyes gleaming with a manic sort of pride. "The billionaire and her protégé, and you—my brother—with her right-hand woman. It’s a match made in heaven."

In my past life, I folded. I let him push me into a marriage with Morgan.

For three years, she was the perfect wife. She was attentive, bordering on doting. She curated my life with such surgical precision that I actually let myself believe it was love. I believed the lie until the very end.

But when I was dying, lying in a sterile hospital bed and begging her over the phone to come sign the consent forms for a life-saving surgery, all I heard was a low, jagged laugh.

"You actually think you’re worth my signature?" Her voice had sliced through the line like a scalpel.

I remember the coldness that seeped into my marrow as she dismantled our entire three-year history with a few sentences. "You loved playing house with your brother’s little matching game, didn't you? But Cody is my only match. A man like you? You were only ever fit for the trashy girls I could pick up off the street for fifty bucks."

That was when the truth came out. On our wedding night, the woman in my bed hadn't been her. It had been a girl she’d hired from a dive bar to humiliate me before the marriage even began. She had spent three years weaving a web of fake affection just to destroy me, all to avenge some perceived slight against her "precious" Cody.

I died on that operating table, my heart heavy with a hatred so pure it brought me back.

* * *

Brad wouldn’t stop talking.

"Come on, Nico. What do you think of Morgan? Diana’s chief of staff."

He shoved a glossy photo toward me. "She’s brilliant, she’s gorgeous, and she’s Diana’s inner circle. You’re a catch, she’s a catch. It’s poetic!"

I stared at the photo, the phantom pain in my chest a sharp reminder that this was real. I was back. In my last life, I’d agreed to this because I valued "loyalty" and "friendship." I didn't want to rain on Brad’s parade.

Morgan was a master of the long game. She had played the part of the gentle, cultured woman so well I’d been fooled for over a thousand days.

The memory of her voice in that hospital room—the sheer, unadulterated disgust—made bile rise in my throat. I pushed the photo away so hard it skittered off the mahogany table.

"I’m not interested."

Brad blinked, his practiced smile faltering. "Wait, what? Nico, you usually go along with this stuff. Morgan is incredible. She’s exactly your type."

I looked him dead in the eye, my gaze cold enough to make him flinch. "If you’re so desperate to find a 'match,' go to a shelter and pair up some Labradors. I’m done being the accessory to your ego."

Brad’s face flushed a deep, embarrassed crimson. Sitting next to him, Diana Blackwood narrowed her eyes. "Nico, Brad is only trying to look out for you."

I grabbed my bag and stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. "I can look out for myself. I don't need his brand of 'charity'."

I threw open the door to the private lounge and nearly collided with a woman standing in the hallway.

The scent hit me first—sandalwood and something expensive. It was Morgan’s scent. The same eyes that had deceived me for years were now staring directly into mine.

"Leaving so soon, Mr. Vance?" she asked, her voice a low, melodic purr.

I couldn't help it; I recoiled. The physical urge to get away from her was visceral. "Move."

Morgan arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. My hostility clearly wasn't in her script. She took a step closer, invading my space. "You seem to have a very specific grievance with me, Nico. Have we met?"

I looked up, meeting her gaze with a sneer. "We haven't. But I know your type, and I don't like what I see."

She let out a soft, amused huff. "You’re quite the character. But don't you think snubbing Diana and Brad like this is a bit… short-sighted? They have your best interests at heart."

"My interests aren't up for public debate," I snapped, sidestepping her and walking toward the exit.

I could feel her eyes on my back, heavy and calculating, all the way to the elevator.

I went straight to my apartment and started packing. I needed to disappear, to put as much distance between myself and that woman as possible. But an hour later, the doorbell rang.

Morgan stood there, holding a leather-bound folder. "Nico, we need to talk."

I tried to slam the door, but she wedged her designer heel in the frame. Her expression shifted from polite to predatory. "It’s about your father’s estate. The venture capital firm he left you. Don't you want to know how deep in the red it actually is?"

I froze. That company was the only thing I had left of him. In my previous life, I’d handed the keys to her right after the honeymoon. She’d gutted it and used the assets as a "dowry" for Cody’s start-up.

I let her in, my face a mask of ice.

She tossed the folder onto my coffee table. "The credit lines are frozen. If you don't get an influx of at least five million in the next seventy-two hours, the bank begins liquidation. Your father's legacy becomes a footnote in a bankruptcy filing."

She leaned in, her eyes locking onto mine. "And I’m the only one who can write that check."

I actually laughed. It was a hollow, jagged sound. "And let me guess. There’s a catch."

Morgan moved closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Marry me."

"What could you possibly want with me, Morgan? Why this game?"

"I want you," she said, her voice dripping with a simulated sincerity that made my skin crawl.

I picked up the folder and, without breaking eye contact, tore the entire thing in half. Then I tore it again.

"Let it go bankrupt," I said, my voice steady. "I’d rather beg for change on the street than spend a single second bound to you."