Reborn To Reclaim: The Boss Who Never Forgot

Isla POV

"Good morning, we're so glad to have you here."

The consultant beamed as she led us into the private fitting room—mirrors on every wall, dresses arranged along the rails.

I looked at them and felt nothing, as I mostly stayed behind.

Vivienne had already drifted to Ronan's side. My parents flanked them naturally, effortlessly, like a beautiful photograph of a family going shopping.

Nobody had thought to stand beside me, even though this wedding fitting was mine. I held onto the tin bag in my hand tightly before letting it down.

The consultant's eyes swept the room and landed on Vivienne.

"And you must be the bride." She reached for Vivienne's hand warmly, smiling between her and Ronan. "We have so many beautiful options for you today."

"Oh no." Vivienne laughed softly, touching her collarbone like the mistake genuinely surprised her. "I'm not the bride."

I stepped forward gently. "I am," I said with a flat, annoyed face.

"Oh, my sincerest apologies." The consultant turned to Ronan with her smile fully intact and directed her apology at him.

"Let's skip the pleasantries," my mother cut in briskly. "Ronan, what did you have in mind for the dress?"

"Ronan?" I said, bewildered.

She glanced at me briefly. "Well, it is his wedding."

"It's my dress," I said evenly, turning to touch the nearest gown along the rail. "And my card is paying for this fitting. So my money, my rules, Mother."

"Your money?" Vivienne said, her voice catching with what sounded like genuine surprise.

I turned toward them.

Vivienne's expression was open, almost innocent. My mother's face was unimpressed. My father stood beside her with his arms crossed, unbothered, like he was waiting for the conversation to move past me.

And Ronan had gone pale.

So Vivienne and my parents genuinely believed Ronan was successful, not knowing he was a very good actor with no vision or intelligence between his eyes.

Whatever. They could keep thinking that.

"Yes," I said pleasantly, correcting myself. "My future husband's money is my money."

I glanced at Ronan with a small smile. "Isn't that right, darling?"

Ronan looked at me for a moment. Something unreadable moved across his face before he turned to my mother.

"She can pick whatever dress she likes," he said smoothly. "I don't mind."

"Ooh." Vivienne had already moved to one of the rails, pulling a gown free and holding it toward me with a bright smile. "This one. It would be so beautiful on you, Isla."

I looked at the dress and recognized it immediately.

The dress from my first life. The exact one. I had never realized how much I had let her steer my choices in almost everything. My education was the only place I had ever truly held my ground.

I was glad even past me had that much.

Still, I had never even liked this dress. It wasn't bad. But it just wasn't mine.

"Simple and elegant," the consultant agreed, already turning to Ronan with a warm smile. "It would suit the bride beautifully."

Ronan glanced at it and nodded. "Alright. Let her try it on."

"Did I say I wanted that dress?" I spoke coldly.

Silence filled the room, everyone shocked by my ice-cold voice.

My father stepped toward me, his voice low and careful. "Come on, Isla. Vivienne knows your taste."

I looked at him, irritation in my gaze.

He had stood beside my mother for years and said nothing while she reminded me where I came from. His gentleness now cost him nothing and meant even less.

I ignored him, not even sparing him a glance like what he had done to me all those years.

"I'm not picking that dress." I said it clearly, without heat. "Wait here. I'll choose my own."

Vivienne's face shifted to a downcast expression. Her eyes widened, and her fingers tightened around the fabric of the dress still in her hands.

I knew that look. She was preparing to wind up.

"I—I didn't mean to upset you," she said softly, her voice carrying just enough to reach my parents.

They moved toward her immediately, their expressions softening without hesitation.

"Well, you did," I said. "And please put that dress back. I don't want it."

"What is wrong with you today?" My mother's voice rose sharply.

I turned to face her, ready to snap back at her—but then her hand came across my face before I saw it coming.

The sound rang through the fitting room. It was a sharp, clean slap.

I stood very still, not even shocked anymore.

The sting spread slowly across my cheek. The consultant had gone rigid, shocked by the scene. Nobody spoke as they waited for my reaction.

I caught Vivienne's smirk before it disappeared. Then she was at my mother's side, taking her arm gently.

"Mom," she said softly. "We're in public."

My mother exhaled, then straightened. She said nothing to me, shooting me a disgusted gaze.

I pressed my fingers briefly to my cheek and dropped my hand. I turned away from my mother's anger, my father's silence, and Vivienne's careful performance and went to find my dress.

I didn't have energy for any back and forth or another fake performance. As I walked away, I felt eyes on my back.

I glanced over my shoulder. Ronan was watching me—not with anger or embarrassment at what my mother had just done in public.

Just watching quietly, hands in his pockets.

I ignored it and kept walking.

I passed a mirror and stopped.

The red mark from my mother's hand sat bright against my pale cheek. I stared at it for a moment.

Then I looked at the rest of myself.

Blonde hair pulled back in its usual ponytail. Simple shirt and trousers with flat shoes, paired with the glasses I couldn't function without.

I had stopped caring about how I looked so gradually I hadn't noticed it happening. There was no single moment I could point to. Just years of making myself smaller and quieter and easier to overlook until I had become someone even I didn't particularly want to look at.

I glanced away.

And that was when the dress caught my eye.

I walked toward it slowly and reached out to touch the fabric.

A mermaid white silhouette dress stood in front of me.

The oversized bow at the shoulders was bold and dramatic, like a declaration. Smooth satin flowed from the tight bodice down to the flared hem, elegant yet unapologetic. It looked like it belonged on someone who knew her worth—someone who walked into a room and made the air shift around her.

My fingers lingered on the cool, luxurious fabric.

For the first time in years, I didn't feel like shrinking away.

I wanted to be the woman who wore this dress.

---

Ronan POV

She's acting strange. She's been acting strange for the past few days—not answering my calls, talking back, and keeping more to herself.

It felt like she was planning something behind my back.

I watched her walk away, ignoring her mother's voice, ignoring Vivienne, ignoring all of it entirely.

Her mother turned to me. "I'm so sorry about that."

"It's fine," I said.

"I only wanted to help her find a dress," Vivienne said softly, her eyes filling. "I didn't expect her to react like that. I didn't mean to—"

"Forget it." I cut her off. "It's not a big deal. Just let her choose her dress."

Vivienne's mouth closed, embarrassed that I had cut her off. Her face twisted in anger.

I looked back toward where Isla had disappeared among the rails.

I didn't entirely understand Vivienne. She wasn't as innocent as she tried to appear—I had always known that. But she was easier. Uncomplicated. And she was far gentler on the eyes than Isla.

Isla was too sharp, too quiet in ways that made you feel watched. But something about her today was different, and I couldn't place it.

Vivienne touched my arm lightly, and I glanced down at her. She smiled up at me, warm and soft—everything about her carefully arranged and performed.

I knew what she was.

But it didn't matter.

Demons also taste sweet.