Chapter 1

Julian shot down two roses that day — hers and mine, and I become his legal wife.

Selene, the illegitimate daughter of the Archer family, was the woman he actually wanted — but my family's name forced him to put a ring on my finger.

So he gave her one as well. Called it "equal."

It was never equal.

Because after the wedding, Julian gave Selene everything.

His time. His attention. His love.

"You got the title," he told me once, not even looking up from his phone.

"Selene's the one who suffered. You have the name, Vivienne. Stop fighting her for the rest."

So I wore the family ring. I managed the house. I handled the books, the staff, the events.

And I slept alone. Every single night.

I wasted away in that house. By the time my body finally gave out, I barely had the strength to ask him one question.

"If you never loved me — why did you marry me?"

Julian looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

"I was aiming for the red rose that day. Yours wasn't supposed to be anywhere near it. But you put your flower right next to hers so I'd hit both."

His jaw tightened.

"Your family forced my hand. I had to marry you because of the Ashworth name. Selene paid the price for years. And you still weren't satisfied?"

He exhaled. Slow. Relieved.

"Now that you're gone — it'll just be the two of us. Finally."

I died with those words ringing in my ears.

And then I opened my eyes.

The sun was blinding. The air smelled like gardenias.

I was standing on the Crane estate lawn, surrounded by a hundred guests in summer whites, and Julian Crane was raising a pistol toward a row of roses strung across a wire.

The Rose Ceremony. The Crane family tradition.

The heir shoots. The rose that falls decides his bride.

I'd lived this day before.

Last time, my white rose hung right next to Selene's red one. His bullet tore through both. Two roses fell. Two women married him. One was loved. One was buried.

Not this time.

I reached up, unclipped my white rose from the wire, and slipped it into my pocket.

The gunshot cracked through the air.

The red rose exploded off the wire and tumbled to the ground.

One rose. One bride.

The crowd erupted.

"Beautiful shot."

"Whose rose was that?"

"It has to be the Ashworth girl's, right? She and Julian grew up together — their families have been planning this match for years. Who else would he choose?"

"Jealous? Maybe you could ask the Cranes to take you on as a mistress."

"Oh, stop. Julian and the Ashworth girl are solid. He'd never do that to her."

A girl nudged my arm, grinning. "Vivienne, congratulations! You're about to be Mrs. Crane."

Across the lawn, I could see Selene Archer's face draining white. Her lower lip trembled. Her eyes glistened.

I said nothing.

Up on the terrace, Victoria — Julian's mother — smiled and waved me over. "Vivienne, sweetheart. Come here."

The women around her laughed. "Don't be shy, dear. He shot your rose — it's fate."

I smiled. Took one step forward. But I didn't go to them.

Instead, I curtsied — just enough to be polite — and said, "Victoria, I'm flattered. But that red rose isn't mine. I didn't put one up. I wonder which lucky girl caught your son's eye."

The lawn went dead silent.

Then the whispers broke out everywhere. "It's not hers? Then whose is it?"

"Mrs. Crane —" A soft voice cut through the noise. "The red rose is mine."

Selene Archer stepped forward.

White dress. Teary eyes. Fragile as glass — but stealing a glance at Julian like she'd already won.

Victoria's smile froze solid on her face.