Reborn: Marrying My Ex's Comatose Uncle

A few days later, afternoon sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Ciel's Manhattan apartment.

Ciel sat at her glass desk. A thick stack of wedding documents lay open before her. Since Deacon was comatose, the ceremony had been reduced to a small, private event.

But anything involving the Chavez family still came with complications.

A soft knock sounded.

Holly Weaver, Ciel's newly hired personal assistant, entered with a silver clipboard.

"Miss Miller," Holly said carefully, "the main estate sent the proposed list for the groom's escort and groomsmen."

Ciel took the clipboard.

Her eyes landed on the first name printed in bold.

Harry Chavez.

Her brows tightened.

"Madam Eleonora insisted," Holly explained. "She said since General Deacon cannot attend in person, having the eldest grandson lead the escort is the most honorable arrangement for the family image."

Ciel gave a short, cold laugh.

She understood the calculation immediately.

Having her ex-fiancé escort her to her new husband was deliberate humiliation. It would make her look like an object passed between men before the New York elite.

Ciel picked up her Montblanc pen.

She pressed the nib to the paper and drew a thick black line through Harry's name.

"Call the head butler at the main estate," she said, handing the clipboard back. "Tell him Harry Chavez is banned from every logistical and ceremonial part of this wedding."

Holly's eyes widened.

"Miss Miller, rejecting Madam Eleonora's arrangement so directly may cause backlash from the main house."

Ciel closed the folder with a sharp snap.

"I am about to be Deacon's wife. I have the right to decide who escorts me into my husband's home."

Before Holly could respond, the apartment buzzer blared.

Heavy fists pounded against the front door.

Holly jumped and hurried to open it.

Harry shoved past her, his face dark with fury. He marched straight into the living area and locked his eyes on Ciel.

In his fist was a crumpled copy of the rejected itinerary.

He slammed it onto the glass desk so hard the surface rattled.

"Do you think crossing out my name with a pen erases the fact that you belonged to me?" he sneered.

Ciel did not look at the paper.

She picked up her porcelain coffee cup and took a slow sip.

"I just don't want to look at something that ruins my appetite on the most important day of my life."

Harry planted both hands on the desk and leaned forward.

"You're rushing to marry a vegetable," he mocked. "You don't even have a decent man to escort you. Tomorrow, the entire city will laugh at you."

Ciel set down her cup and leaned back, keeping distance between them.

"You may attend the dinner as a regular guest, Harry. But if you go near my escort fleet, I will call the police and have you arrested for harassment."

The word police struck his ego hard.

His face turned dark red.

He searched her eyes for any sign of a bluff, any trace of the desperate love she used to show him.

There was nothing.

Harry straightened, breathing hard.

"You ungrateful bitch," he hissed. "Let's see who is pathetic enough to escort you to a graveyard."

He turned and stormed out.

The front door slammed so hard the apartment walls shook.

Holly stood pale by the entryway.

Ciel did not blink.

She picked up her pen again and scanned the remaining names.

Her eyes stopped on one.

Julian Chavez.

A cousin.

Perfect.

She circled his name, securing a clean barrier against Harry.