Reborn to Give Him up

The news reached Boston faster than I'd anticipated.

I was reviewing quarterly reports in my study when Eleanor called, her voice tight with controlled urgency. "Miss Bennett, the announcement has been picked up by the financial press. It's spreading through social media now."

I set down my pen, feeling a strange mix of satisfaction and dread. "Any immediate reactions?"

"Several. But there's something you should know—Mr. Hawthorne was photographed at dinner in Boston tonight. The photographer caught his reaction when someone showed him the news on their phone."

My stomach clenched. "And?"

"He laughed, Miss Bennett. Quite loudly, according to the caption."

Of course he did. Even in this new timeline, Dom's arrogance remained unchanged. I thanked Eleanor and hung up, but sleep eluded me that night. Instead, I found myself pacing the length of my bedroom, replaying memories that shouldn't exist yet.

By morning, the whispers had already begun.

I first noticed them at the coffee shop near my office—two women in designer coats, their voices pitched just loud enough to be overheard.

"Did you see? Theo Bennett's engaged to that reclusive Easton heir."

"After throwing herself at Dominic Hawthorne for years? Please. She changes men faster than news cycles."

Their laughter followed me to the counter, sharp as breaking glass. I ordered my usual cappuccino with steady hands, but inside, familiar panic clawed at my chest. This was how it started last time—the whispers, the judgment, the slow erosion of credibility that made me vulnerable to Dom's manipulations.

But I wasn't that girl anymore.

At the office, I threw myself into work with methodical precision. The Bennett Group's quarterly board meeting was next week, and I needed every detail perfect. I reviewed contracts, analyzed market projections, and prepared presentations until my eyes burned.

It was during my lunch break that Eleanor delivered the news I'd been dreading.

"Miss Bennett, I've confirmed Mr. Easton's location. He's in London, overseeing the acquisition of Thornfield Industries. His assistant estimates he won't return for at least three weeks."

Three weeks. Twenty-one days to prove I wasn't the same desperate girl who'd once begged for Dom's attention. Twenty-one days to rebuild my reputation before my mysterious fiancé returned to evaluate what kind of alliance he'd inherited.

I should have felt overwhelmed. Instead, I felt oddly relieved. At least I knew the battlefield's dimensions.

The first real test came that Friday night.

The Whitmore Foundation's annual gala was Manhattan society's unofficial start to the fall season. Everyone who mattered would be there, which meant avoiding it would only fuel more speculation about my mental state.

I chose my armor carefully—a midnight blue Valentino gown that hugged my curves without being provocative, paired with my grandmother's diamond necklace. In the mirror, I looked poised, untouchable. Nothing like the girl who'd once shown up to parties in desperate hope of catching Dom's eye.

The Plaza's ballroom glittered with crystal and candlelight, filled with the soft murmur of New York's elite making deals over champagne. I moved through the crowd with practiced grace, accepting congratulations on my engagement with polite smiles.

Then I saw them.

Dominic entered like he owned the room, his black tuxedo perfectly tailored, his dark hair swept back in that way that had once made my heart race. But it was the woman on his arm that made my blood freeze.

Shay Rivers.

She looked exactly as I remembered from the fire—elegant and predatory, her red hair swept into an elaborate updo, her emerald dress clinging to her curves like liquid silk. When she smiled, it was all teeth.

The room seemed to shift around them, conversations pausing as heads turned. Dom had always commanded attention, but with Shay beside him, they looked like royalty. Dark royalty, beautiful and dangerous.

I forced myself to continue my conversation with Mrs. Pemberton about her charity work, but my peripheral vision tracked their movement through the crowd. They were making their way toward me with deliberate casualness, stopping to chat with mutual acquaintances, building an audience.

When they finally reached my circle, the air itself seemed to thicken.

"Theo," Dom said, his voice warm with false affection. "Congratulations on your engagement. Though I have to admit, I was surprised by your choice."

Every eye in our vicinity focused on us. Mrs. Pemberton's grip tightened on her champagne flute. Even the string quartet seemed to play more softly, as if sensing drama.

"Thank you," I replied evenly. "I'm very happy with my decision."

Shay stepped closer, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. "Of course you are, darling. Though one has to wonder about the timing. So sudden, after all these years of... well, we all know how devoted you've been to certain people."

The words hit their mark. I felt heat rise in my cheeks, but kept my expression neutral.

Dom chuckled, the sound rich and amused. "Oh, Shay, don't be cruel. Theo's just exploring her options. Though I have to say, Charles Easton seems like an interesting choice for someone who used to be so... passionate in her affections."

The circle around us had grown. I could see phones being discreetly raised, social media posts being crafted in real-time. This was exactly what they wanted—a public spectacle.

"Actually," Dom continued, his voice carrying easily through the now-silent group, "it reminds me of that time you showed up at my apartment building. What was it you said? Something about how you'd do anything to make me love you?"

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Not kind laughter—the sharp, vicious kind that society people specialized in.

Shay placed a perfectly manicured hand on Dom's arm, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Oh, darling, don't embarrass her. We all make mistakes when we're young. Though I suppose some people think they can just... start over. Reinvent themselves."

Her green eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw something that chilled me to the bone. Recognition. Not of who I was now, but of who I had been. In another life, in another timeline, when she'd watched me burn.

"Some people," she continued softly, "think they can change their story. But the truth has a way of catching up, doesn't it?"

The room erupted in whispers and barely suppressed giggles. I stood frozen, memories of flames and screaming overlaying the glittering ballroom. For a terrifying moment, I was both versions of myself—the girl who had loved unwisely, and the woman who remembered dying for it.

Dom raised his champagne glass in a mock toast. "To second chances," he said, his eyes glittering with malice. "And to learning from our mistakes."

The crowd drank. I did not.

Instead, I smiled—the same cold smile I'd worn while burning his photograph.

"You're absolutely right, Dominic," I said, my voice carrying clearly through the sudden silence. "Some of us do learn from our mistakes. The question is whether others are wise enough to learn from theirs."

I turned and walked away, leaving them to interpret that however they chose. Behind me, the whispers exploded like fireworks.

But I didn't look back. I couldn't afford to.

Not when I had three weeks to prepare for war.