Chapter 1
The Fitzwilliam family of Harbor City spared no expense in hosting a lavish birthday gala for their eldest son, Colin Fitzwilliam.
The highlight of the evening?
A piano competition.
It was more than just music. It was a subtle way for Colin to pick his fiancée.
Charles Fitzwilliam, his father, had made his expectations clear: the woman who married his son had to be a piano prodigy.
In my previous life, I dazzled them all.
I stole the spotlight that night and secured my place as the Fitzwilliam’s daughter–in–law. My family, the Morgans, solidified a powerful alliance with theirs through my marriage.
But the woman Colin truly loved, Denise Smythe, was left behind. III, fragile, and fading
away.
When Colin took over as CEO of Fitzwilliam Group, Denise’s memorial tablet sat front and center in the family home’s altar room.
And me?
He made me kneel in front of it. Three days. Three nights.
“If you hadn’t injured Denise’s hand before the party, my parents would’ve picked her,” Colin accused coldly. “You’re the reason we were torn apart.”
He looked at me like I was filthy. “That title should’ve been hers. Not yours.”
Then Colin made his move.
As soon as he took power, he launched a hostile takeover of the Morgan Group.
My family was left bankrupt.
My father died of a heart attack.
My mother followed a year later, broken by grief.
We were wiped out.
But in this life?
I won’t play along.
At Colin’s birthday gala, I bowed out early with a conveniently sprained wrist.
Let the other debutantes battle it out. I’m done chasing approval.
If Colin wants to marry Denise Smythe, that’s his choice.
I won’t stand in their way.
But I won’t be the same girl he ruined, either.
When the judges finished tallying the votes, Harriet Taylor, Colin’s aunt and longtime patron
Chapter 1
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of the arts, rose to her tiptoes at the podium and beamed.
“The winner of this year’s piano performance, with the highest number of votes, is… Miss Denise Smythe, daughter of the Smythe family!”
A ripple of gasps and murmurs swept through the audience.
“Denise won? Seriously?”
“Theard Lucy Morgan sprained her wrist at the last minute and couldn’t perform. Talk about perfect timing for Denise, one of the contestants whispered bitterly.
A guest near the front leaned over to her friend. “Wasn’t Lucy Belinda’s top pick to marry Colin?”
The woman next to her gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe, but Colin said it himself- whoever wins tonight becomes his fiancée. That was the rule.”
Meanwhile, Colin, the center of gossip, practically glowed. He grabbed Denise’s hand and marched to the front.
“Dad, Mom, this is the woman I choose to be my fiancée,” Colin announced, his eyes all soft and dreamy,
And Denise?
She was beet red, cheeks burning, but she clung to Colin’s hand like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Everyone’s attention returned to me with my wrapped wrist on display, making me feel like a tragic spectacle.
Belinda, Colin’s mother, looked visibly conflicted.
She’d been dropping hints for months that she wanted me as her daughter–in–law. Belinda even pulled my parents aside at a gala, subtly urging them to hold off on entertaining other suitors, just in case,
Clearing her throat, she asked, “Colin, dear, are you absolutely sure? Your father’s in a good mood tonight. If you speak up, he might reconsider the results. You could take a bit more time to think this through.”
She shot me a quick look, signaling him to think again.
But she didn’t know it yet.
This time, I had no intention of marrying her cherished and beloved son.
In my previous life, Colin accused me of crippling Denise’s hand so she couldn’t play, as if that devious knife trick was my style.
If Colin ever paused and thought about who I really was, he’d know I’m not that kind of
person.
But when he saw Denise standing there, her head bowed, tears in her eyes, his heart had already melted,
“I know Lucy doesn’t like me. But all I want is a fair shot to compete for your heart. Why won’t she even give me that? Is it just because her father’s the CEO of the Morgan Group?
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Because my family’s status is not as good as hers now?” Denise said back then, yanking her hand free from his grip.
That single line planted the seed of vengeance in Colin’s heart–a seed that grew into the hostile takeover and my family’s ruin.
Later on, I found out that the night I won, I had played a forgotten classical piece so flawlessly that even the star pianist of the national symphony nodded in approval.
Denise knew she couldn’t compete, so she’d slit her own hand with a little knife, using it as an excuse to lose the competition.
But not in this life. I wouldn’t give her another chance.
I would’ve rather hurt my wrist by accident at the spring soiree the day before, missed the competition, and used that as an excuse to withdraw rather than give anyone a chance to twist the story again.
