Gidget Wiggins sucked in a violent breath. Her lungs burned as if she had been drowning. Her eyes snapped open to a dim, unfamiliar ceiling. Her fingers immediately curled inward, her short nails digging into the freezing, frictionless surface of expensive silk sheets. Her chest heaved. The phantom pain of her past life-the crushing weight of a failing body and a broken spirit-still echoed in her bones. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the lingering nausea of death. She had spent forty years being a victim, suffocating under the weight of a family that devoured her. She didn't have time to wallow in the trauma of the past. The agonizing helplessness was behind her. In this life, she had to seize every advantage, starting tonight. She pushed herself up. The room was massive, bathed in the low, sterile glow of Manhattan streetlights filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. The minimalist, hyper-modern furniture was unmistakable. This was the private penthouse of the CEO of Strong Holdings Group. Gidget raised her hands. She stared at them in the shadows. The skin was tight, smooth, and completely devoid of the age spots and IV bruises she remembered. She was eighteen again. The sound of running water stopped abruptly in the adjoining master bathroom. Gidget's heart slammed against her ribs. The rhythm was so fast it made her throat tight. Today was her wedding night. She looked down at the floor. A custom designer wedding dress lay in a discarded heap of white tulle and lace. A soft click echoed through the silent room. The frosted glass door of the bathroom swung open. A tall, broad-shouldered silhouette stepped into the dim light of the wall sconces. The man ran a white towel through his dripping wet hair. Droplets of water slid down the sharp, unforgiving line of his jaw, tracing the thick muscles of his neck before disappearing into the collar of a dark silk robe. Gidget stopped breathing. That face did not belong to Donn Sharpe, the man she had married in her past life. That face belonged to Doctor Strong. The ruthless tech mogul. The man who would die young, leaving his empire in chaos. Her brain fired rapidly, trying to make sense of the impossible. Why was Doctor Strong here? The marriage arrangements... Cortney Meyers. Her stepsister had always looked at Donn with a hungry, desperate envy. Cortney must have found a way to swap the grooms. A wild, chilling thought flashed through Gidget's mind-could Cortney have also returned from the future? Was that why she had stolen Donn, believing she was securing a longer, happier life away from the doomed tech mogul? It was only a guess, but the pieces fit too perfectly. Doctor Strong tossed the damp towel over the back of a leather chair. He didn't even look at her. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated indifference as he walked toward the walk-in closet. Gidget exhaled a shaky breath. She knew what happened to this family. If she wanted to survive the coming storm, she needed power. She needed an heir. She threw off the silk duvet. Her bare feet hit the freezing hardwood floor. The sudden cold sent a shockwave up her spine. Doctor Strong heard the movement. He stopped mid-stride. He turned his head slightly, his dark eyes locking onto her with a chilling distance. Gidget closed the gap between them in three quick steps. She planted herself directly in his path to the closet. His eyebrows pulled together. A flicker of deep annoyance tightened the corners of his mouth. Gidget tilted her head back. She stared straight into his pitch-black eyes. Her stomach twisted into tight knots, but she didn't look away. She reached up. Her hands grabbed the smooth silk lapels of his robe. She gripped the fabric so hard her knuckles turned a stark, bone-white. Doctor Strong's entire body went rigid. The muscles beneath the silk turned to stone. He despised physical contact. He brought his hands up, his large palms pressing against her shoulders to push her away. Gidget used his resistance. She pulled herself forward, rising onto her toes. She crashed her lips against his. It wasn't romantic. It was clumsy and desperate. Her teeth collided hard with his bottom lip. A sharp, metallic taste of blood instantly bloomed on her tongue. Doctor Strong shoved her backward. The force of his push sent her stumbling. Her heel caught on the edge of the rug, but she caught her balance. He lifted the back of his hand and wiped his mouth. A smear of red stained his skin. His eyes blazed with a cold, furious fire. He didn't say a single word. He turned his back on her, snatched a tailored suit jacket off the back of the sofa, and walked out of the bedroom. The heavy mahogany door slammed shut behind him. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the massive, empty room.

Gidget stood perfectly still in the center of the bedroom. She stared at the closed mahogany door. The silence in the room was deafening. She lifted her hand. Her index finger lightly touched her own bottom lip. The skin was tender, still carrying the faint, metallic taste of his blood. She turned away from the door and walked toward the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The glittering skyline of New York City stretched out before her, a sea of electric lights. Cortney Meyers was probably in another penthouse right now, celebrating her stolen victory. Cortney thought handing Gidget a short-lived husband was a death sentence. Gidget let out a short, harsh laugh. Cortney was a fool. She walked over to the vanity mirror. The soft LED lights illuminated her young, flawless face. She picked up a heavy silver hairbrush. She dragged the bristles through her long hair, pulling it in long, rhythmic strokes until her scalp tingled. The repetitive motion slowed her racing heartbeat. She needed to consummate this marriage before sunrise. If she didn't, Cortney's inevitable mockery would become reality, and the Strong family would devour her alive. Gidget opened the door to the walk-in closet. Rows of pristine, conservative designer outfits hung in perfect color coordination. She ignored them. She reached into the back and pulled out a deep burgundy silk slip dress. It was thin, clinging to her skin like water. She slipped it over her head. The cold fabric sent goosebumps down her arms. She grabbed a soft cashmere shawl and draped it over her shoulders. She deliberately pulled the left side down just an inch, exposing the sharp line of her collarbone. She walked over to the nightstand. A velvet jewelry box sat next to the lamp. She opened it, picked out a single diamond drop earring, and closed her fist around it. The sharp edges of the stone bit into her palm. The sudden, piercing pain grounded her, washing away the last dregs of her past-life trauma. She needed that sharp sting to keep her mind razor-sharp and absolutely lucid. Besides, a misplaced piece of jewelry could be the perfect excuse if she was caught wandering. She slid her feet into a pair of soft, silent house slippers. Gidget walked back to the bedroom door. She wrapped her hand around the freezing brass knob, pressed it down, and pushed the door open. The hallway was lined with thick, plush carpeting that swallowed the sound of her footsteps. She relied on the memories of her past life. She knew the layout of this massive estate perfectly. She turned left, heading straight for the private family office. Motion-sensor nightlights flickered to life as she walked, casting long, distorted shadows against the expensive wallpaper. She passed the grand spiral staircase leading down to the main foyer. She kept her eyes straight ahead, her muscles tight. The house was dead silent. The only sound was the low, mechanical hum of the central air conditioning pushing cold air through the vents. As she neared the corner of the west wing, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from the opposite end of the hall. Gidget froze. She pressed her back flat against the wall, sliding into the deep shadow of a marble pillar. A young maid, carrying a tray with a water pitcher, walked past the intersection. The girl let out a loud yawn. Gidget held her breath. Her chest ached from the lack of oxygen. She waited until the maid disappeared through the swinging door of the servant's corridor. She exhaled slowly, her breath shaking. She stepped out of the shadows and continued down the hall. Her eyes locked onto the heavy oak door at the very end. A thin sliver of warm, yellow light bled out from underneath the doorframe. He was still awake. Gidget stopped in front of the door. Her pulse hammered in her throat. She took a deep breath. She let her shoulders droop slightly. She relaxed her facial muscles, forcing an expression of stubborn vulnerability onto her features. She didn't knock. She placed her hand flat against the door handle. She turned it slowly. It wasn't locked. Gidget pushed the door open just a fraction of an inch, peering into the dim light of the study to find him.

Before Gidget could push the door open any further, a low, sloppy whistle echoed through the hallway behind her. She released the handle instantly. She spun around, her spine hitting the solid oak door with a soft thud. Donn Sharpe was walking toward her. He wore a wrinkled dress shirt, the top three buttons undone, his black bowtie hanging loosely around his neck. He had one hand shoved deep into his suit pants pocket. He swayed slightly as he walked, muttering under his breath about Cortney locking him out of their suite just so she could take an hour-long milk bath. Gidget's pupils contracted. A wave of pure, physical nausea hit her stomach. The memories of his past-life betrayals crashed over her, making her skin crawl. Donn stopped a few feet away. His bloodshot eyes raked over the thin burgundy silk of her slip dress. A nasty, mocking smirk twisted his lips. Gidget locked her jaw. She stared at him, her eyes dead and cold. She didn't say a word. "Dumped on your wedding night?" Donn slurred, taking another step closer. "Cortney and I are having a much better time." Gidget's hands curled into fists at her sides. Her nails dug so hard into her palms she felt the skin threaten to break. She lifted her chin. She looked down her nose at him, stripping away any trace of the timid girl he expected. "Brother-in-law," she said. Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the air like a razor blade. Donn blinked. The smirk faltered on his face. He clearly hadn't expected the venom in her tone. Gidget took a half-step forward. The movement forced Donn to shift his weight backward. "You reek of cheap liquor and cheaper cologne," she said, her voice dripping with disgust. "Where are your manners?" Donn's face flushed a dark, ugly red. The alcohol in his system flared into sudden anger. He reached out, his hand aiming for her bare shoulder. Gidget reacted purely on instinct. She raised her hand and slapped his wrist away. Smack. The sound was sharp and loud in the quiet hallway. "Watch yourself," Gidget hissed, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "You are standing on the private floor of the CEO of Strong Holdings Group. Do not touch me." Donn froze. His hand hovered in the air. The sheer, dominant force radiating from her eyes pinned him to the spot. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Gidget let out a short, breathy scoff. She turned her back on him and grabbed the handle of the oak door. She didn't give him a second glance. She shoved the door open. The heavy hinges groaned softly. The sharp, burning scent of expensive whiskey immediately hit her nose. Gidget slipped inside the office. She grabbed the edge of the door and slammed it shut behind her. She reached down and twisted the deadbolt. Click. Outside, Donn Sharpe stared at the locked door. He rubbed his stinging wrist, a deep, confusing irritation gnawing at his chest. Inside the study, Gidget leaned her full weight against the door. Her chest heaved up and down. She forced herself to take a deep breath, pushing the anger down into her stomach. She lifted her head. The room was dark, lit only by a single brass floor lamp near the window. Doctor Strong sat in a massive leather executive chair. His back was facing her. He was staring out the floor-to-ceiling window at the city below. He held a crystal glass in his right hand. The ice cubes clinked against the glass, a sharp, clear sound in the silent room. Gidget steadied her breathing. She pushed off the door and began walking toward the heavy mahogany desk.