REBORN TO RUIN YOU novel Chapter 2

Meeting With Jason

"Do you like your dress, Miss Lancaster?"

The voice cuts through my consciousness like a blade, yanking me from the suffocating darkness of death into blinding fluorescent light.

My eyes snapped open, and I'm staring at white ceiling tiles instead of the sterile hospital room where I drew my last breath.

I'm sitting up.

Wait…I am sitting up?

My hands fly to my legs, pressing against flesh that should be numb, muscles that should be dead. I can feel everything, the soft fabric of what I'm wearing, the leather chair beneath me, the cool air conditioning against my skin.

"Miss Lancaster?" The voice comes again, concerned now. "Are you alright?"

I turn my head, and the world tilts sideways. I'm in Bella's Bridal Boutique on Fifth Avenue, surrounded by mirrors that reflect a younger version of myself.

My face is fuller, unmarked by years of stress. My hair falls in healthy waves past my shoulders instead of the brittle strands I remember.

This is impossible.

"I..." My voice comes out as a croak, but it's my voice, strong and clear. Not the rasp of someone who spent months on a ventilator. "What day is it?"

The bridal consultant, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and too much makeup, looks worried. "It's September fifteenth, dear. Your wedding is in three days. We scheduled this final fitting, remember?"

September fifteenth. Three years ago. Three years before everything went to hell.

I look down at myself and nearly scream. I'm wearing white lace, layers of it, with tiny pearls sewn into the patterns. The wedding dress I wore when I married Jason. The dress I thought would be the beginning of my happily ever after.

"No." The word rips from my throat with such violence that the consultant steps back. "No, no, no!"

My hands find the delicate fabric and I tear at it, ripping seams that cost thousands of dollars, shredding lace that took months to hand embroider. Pearl buttons scatter across the marble floor like drops of milk as I destroy the symbol of my naive dreams.

"Miss Lancaster, please!" The consultant reaches for me, but I'm beyond hearing her protests.

I tear at the dress until it hangs in tatters around my waist, until my hands are bleeding from the broken beading, until the mirror reflects a wild woman in white ruins instead of a blushing bride.

Because I remember everything.

I remember Margaret's confession about murdering my mother. I remember Jason's betrayal, the lies, the pregnancy. I remember dying alone while they planned their perfect life together.

And somehow, impossibly, I'm here. Three years in the past. Three years before I learned the truth. Wearing the gown that I used to walk down the aisle.

This dress was nothing but a curse. The tears burn in my eyes, my throat clogged with anger and pain.

"I need to call Jason," I hear myself saying, though my voice sounds far away. "I need to see Jason right now."

The consultant nods frantically, probably thinking I've had some kind of breakdown. She's not wrong. "Of course, dear. Should I call your family too? Your mother was supposed to pick you up—"

"Don't call Margaret." The sharpness in my voice makes her flinch. "Don't call anyone except Jason. Tell him to meet me at the Plaza. Now."

I stumble toward the changing room, my legs shaking from the overwhelming reality of what's happened. In the small space, I strip off the ruined dress and put on my street clothes, a simple blue sundress that I remember buying for a charity luncheon.

The Oak Room at the Plaza is nearly empty at this hour, just a few business lunches winding down. I choose a table by the window where I can see Jason when he arrives, where I can watch his face when I destroy his perfect plans.

He walks in exactly eighteen minutes later, and seeing him nearly stops my heart.

Jason looks exactly as he did the day I fell in love with him. Tall, lean, with those hazel eyes that crinkle when he smiles. His brown hair is perfectly styled, his suit expensive but not flashy. He looks like everything I thought I wanted in a husband.

Now I see him clearly for what he is: a liar and a manipulator. A man who spent three years of marriage sleeping with my sister while pretending to love me.

"Viv." He slides into the seat across from me, reaching for my hand. "You look pale. What happened at the boutique?"

I let him take my hand, let him stroke his thumb across my knuckles the way he used to when I was upset. The way I thought meant he cared.

"I've been thinking about our marriage," I say quietly.

His face brightens. "Having second thoughts about the wedding? It's normal to be nervous, sweetheart. Three days from now, you'll be Mrs. Jason Whitmore, and we'll have the rest of our lives to—"

"No." I pull my hand free, and the simple motion seems to shock him. In our relationship, I never pulled away first. I was always reaching for him, always trying to close the distance he created. "We won't."

"Vivienne, what are you talking about?"

I reach into my purse and pull out my engagement ring. Two carats, emerald cut, set in platinum. The ring he proposed with on a beach in the Hamptons, when I was foolish enough to believe his stuttered speech about love and forever.

I set it on the table between us with a soft click that seems to echo through the room.

"I'm calling off the wedding."