Just Until Tomorrow, My Love

My fiancé, Griffin Vanderwood, fell for his social media intern, Skylar Jones, and tried to call off our engagement right before our companies' joint IPO.

I urged him to be discreet, to protect our shared business interests.

But then, Skylar faked her "accidental" drowning at a yacht party and framed me for her death.

Five years later, Griffin, now the CEO of the Vanderwood Group, came for his revenge. He used every dirty trick in the book to destroy my family's company, leaving us bankrupt and broken.

"This is for Skylar," he'd told me. "You owe her a debt."

When I opened my eyes again, I was back. It was the night of my twenty-second birthday party at the Guggenheim Museum.

Griffin's grandfather, Augustus Vanderwood, asked me for my birthday wish.

"I wish for Griffin and Miss Jones a lifetime of happiness together."

I gave a slight bow.

"Mr. Vanderwood, I'm here to request your permission to formally dissolve my engagement to Griffin."

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1

I died on a rainy night.

I was supposed to have lived to see Vermont’s mountainsides ablaze with red maples, but Griffin couldn't wait.

I tumbled down the spiral staircase of our Hamptons villa, step after agonizing step, as blood pooled beneath me.

It seemed that wasn't enough for him.

Again and again, he shoved me back down.

The pain was so excruciating I could barely make a sound, but I forced out a single word. "Why?"

I didn't understand.

Our families were old friends. We grew up together.

For over a decade, my family had invested everything in helping Griffin secure his place in the Vanderwood family, solidifying his claim as the heir.

In return, he lured my father into a financial trap that destroyed our family's company, and the shock of it triggered the heart attack that killed him.

"Why, Griffin?" I pleaded, desperately clutching his sleeve.

His face was a terrifying shade of pale. He was the one who had destroyed everything I held dear, yet he looked at me as if I were the traitor.

"This is for Skylar."

He spat the words through gritted teeth.

Skylar?

Skylar Jones?

The name was so distant, it took me a moment to place it.

Then I remembered the innocent, delicate face that went with the name.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

Five years.

For five whole years, he had never forgotten her.

He blamed her death on me, on my entire family, on the Sterling Group.

Griffin, you absolute...

A fool.

Before I could voice the last word, his hand closed around my throat.

He squeezed the air from my lungs, bit by bit.

Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth.

The same brilliant red as the autumn leaves on the mountainside.

...

"Rebecca, is your head hurting again?"

The cold rain vanished.

The hard floor beneath me was gone.

It was a perfect autumn day, and the Guggenheim Museum was bustling with guests.

It was my twenty-second birthday party—what was meant to be my engagement party to Griffin.

It felt as if fate, in some strange act of mercy, had granted me a second chance. I had been reborn.

Not only had I survived, but I was twenty-two again.

In this year, the Sterling Group was at its zenith. My father was one of the top ten billionaires on the Forbes list.

And Griffin and I were not yet officially engaged.

"You shouldn't have a headache," a voice snickered from behind me. "I just saw a TikTok of Griffin making out with his new intern on a yacht."

My best friend turned to snap back at her, but I put a hand on her arm, stopping her.

This wasn't a one-time thing.

Three months ago, Griffin went to Miami on a business trip and hooked up with Skylar.

That night, he decided she was his one true love. He wanted to marry her, to make it official.

This was the third time the tabloids had caught them, with the latest scandal breaking just yesterday.

"Rebecca, don't listen to them. You and Griffin grew up together, all that history..."

I just looked at my best friend and shook my head.

She fell silent.

Of course, she knew what I was thinking.

I had woken up in this new reality a week ago.

A week was more than enough time to process everything that had happened in the five years before my death.

"Rebecca," my best friend suddenly whispered, her voice tight, "Griffin's here."

...

I looked up and saw him walking toward me, the crowd parting around him like the sea.

The murmurs in the room immediately died down.

Griffin and I grew up together.

Our engagement had been arranged by our grandfathers when we were children.

If anyone bullied me, he was the first to my defense. If he was punished, I was the first to plead his case.

Until this very moment, no one had ever doubted that I was the one destined to be by Griffin's side.

And yet, here he was, at my twenty-second birthday party, with another woman on his arm.

Skylar, draped in a cheap white dress wholly unfit for the occasion, clung to his arm like a wilting flower.

Griffin smiled, leaning down to whisper something in her ear.

Skylar’s head snapped toward me, a flicker of panic in her eyes. Then, she hurried forward.

Her voice trembling, she launched into a public apology.