His face, cold and impassive, as he slid the divorce papers across a mahogany desk. The sharp edge of the paper hitting her cheek when she refused to take them.
Amina Rowe, nestled in Julius's arms, a triumphant, mocking smile on her lips. A smile that felt like a poisoned blade twisting in Candice's gut.
Her father, Silas Luna. His hair, once dark and full of life, now thin and shockingly white. His silhouette against the skyline, standing on the rooftop of the bankrupt Luna Group building, just before he stepped off.
The whispers and pointed fingers on Wall Street. The humiliation of being demoted from wife to mistress in the eyes of the world.
"No."
The word was a choked sob, a desperate plea. She clawed at the hospital sheets, her knuckles turning white, the starched cotton twisting into ropes in her fists. A raw, guttural scream tore from her throat, the sound of an animal caught in a trap.
A nurse rushed in, her soft-soled shoes squeaking on the polished floor. "Miss Luna, calm down. Let me check your blood pressure."
The nurse's hand was cool on her arm, but Candice flinched as if burned. She shoved the hand away, a wild, instinctual rejection.
"Miss Luna, you were in a car accident. You've been unconscious," the nurse said, her voice a mix of surprise and professional calm.
The words cut through the storm in her head. Car accident.
Candice froze. Her breathing was still ragged, but her eyes started to focus. She slowly, hesitantly, lowered her gaze to her own hands.
They were pale, with long, slender fingers. But they were unmarred. No scars from that broken wine glass. The skin was smooth, young.
Her eyes darted around the room, landing on a digital clock on the bedside table. It displayed the date. A date from three years ago.
Three years before the wedding. Before the bankruptcy. Before her father's death.
She was twenty-two again.
The realization hit her not with joy, but with a violent, full-body tremor. It was real. This wasn't a memory or a dream. It was a second chance. A wave of relief so powerful it felt like nausea washed over her.
Just then, the handle of the hospital room door turned.
A man in a tailored suit stepped inside. Julius Hansen's personal assistant. He held a bouquet of blue roses, the same impossible, genetically engineered shade that Julius had used for his proposal.
The sight of them made Candice's stomach clench. In her memory, Julius had once filled her apartment with these flowers, only to later tell her they were as artificial and empty as his feelings for her.
The assistant offered a polite, perfectly meaningless smile. "Miss Luna. Mr. Hansen sends his regards. He was relieved to hear you've awakened." His tone was impeccably courteous, but Candice saw the cold appraisal in his eyes, the subtle condescension in the tilt of his head, as if he were assessing a piece of property his boss was about to acquire. "He trusts the merger discussions can continue as planned."
Candice's chest rose and fell in sharp, shallow breaths. The humiliation of her past life-her future life-boiled up, turning into a cold, hard hatred. Her eyes, which moments ago were wide with confusion, narrowed into slits of ice.
She would not be their stepping stone. Not again.
The assistant moved closer, intending to place the flowers in the empty vase on her bedside table. The gesture was proprietary, as if he were merely arranging furniture in a room that already belonged to them.
Candice's hand shot out, grabbing the glass of water on her nightstand.
Without a word, without a moment's hesitation, she flung the cold water directly into his face.
The assistant sputtered, stumbling back, shock wiping the smugness from his features. Water dripped from his perfectly styled hair onto the lapel of his expensive suit. The blue roses fell from his grasp, scattering across the floor in a splash of vibrant, mocking color.
"Get out," Candice said. Her voice was hoarse, but it carried a weight that made the air in the room feel heavy. She pushed herself up, her body screaming in protest, every muscle aching.
The assistant, wiping his face with a silk pocket square, regained some of his composure. "Miss Luna, I suggest you remember the engagement between your two families-"
"Engagement?" The word was gasoline on a fire.
She lunged for the fallen roses, grabbing the entire bouquet. With a surge of adrenaline, she hurled them at him.
Petals and water droplets flew through the air. The assistant flinched back, stunned by her ferocity. He had expected a docile heiress, not this cornered, feral creature.
Candice pointed a trembling finger at the door. "Tell Julius Hansen to never, ever send his dogs to my door again. Now get out."
He stared at her, his mouth opening and closing, before finally snapping it shut. He gave a curt, angry nod. "Mr. Hansen will hear about this. He'll deal with you himself."
He turned and left, slamming the door behind him.
The moment the latch clicked, the strength drained from Candice's body. She collapsed back against the pillows, her limbs feeling like lead.
She stared at the closed door, her heart hammering against her ribs. There was no fear in her eyes. Only the flickering, dangerous light of a fire just getting started.
With a groan, she forced herself out of bed. Her legs were unsteady, but she stumbled to the window and yanked the heavy blackout curtains closed, plunging the room into darkness.
In the sudden gloom, she ran a finger over the bare skin of her ring finger. There was no indentation, no ghost of a wedding band.
Not yet. And this time, there never would be.
This time, the Hansen family would pay for everything.
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