Chapter 1
1.
When Dominic Vance asked for a divorce for the 108th time, I opened my eyes.
I had been reborn.
His exhausted voice drifted into my ears.
"We're done, Claire. Besides, Vanessa is pregnant. Dragging this out doesn't help anyone."
In my past life, I refused to let go.
I believed in our vows. I wanted to protect the business we built together and my own professional reputation. I had watched Vanessa slowly cross every boundary in my life, but to the rest of the world, I was just the crazy, clinging wife who wouldn't sign the papers.
Until Vanessa gave birth. I had a complete breakdown at the hospital, and Dominic used that moment of emotional collapse to have me committed to a psychiatric facility.
I was isolated. My trauma responses were documented as "Severe Paranoid Personality Disorder." That flawed evaluation deemed me a "danger to myself or others," crossing the legal threshold for an involuntary psychiatric hold.
Right before I died, Dominic finally came to see me.
He stood over my hospital bed, looking down at me with cold detachment.
"If I'd known you were this paranoid, I never would have married you."
Then I blinked, and I was back.
In this life, nothing mattered more than surviving.
"She’s pregnant. Name your price. You can have whatever you want, except the title of Mrs. Vance."
Dominic pinched the bridge of his nose, preparing to end a negotiation he was already sick of. "If we can't settle this today, we'll do it next time. Until you're willing to—"
"You don't have to."
I cut him off.
"And you don't need to ask for the 109th time. I'll sign."
Dominic blinked.
He sat across from me, wearing that same exhausted expression. He acted as though our seven-year marriage was crumbling solely because I refused to set him free; as though he had been infinitely patient, and I had finally learned to compromise.
"I'm glad you've come to your senses."
He gave a slight nod, a trace of genuine relief slipping into his voice.
He reached into his briefcase, pulled out a stack of documents, and slid them across the table.
"Three high-end properties, twelve percent equity in Vance Capital Group, the Maybach, and a five-million-dollar settlement." He tapped the paper. "Take a look. Let me know if you want to add anything."
He rattled off the terms with practiced ease. Sincere. Thoughtful. Almost as if he were looking out for my best interests.
I looked down at the divorce settlement and almost laughed.
I knew he was giving Vanessa far more than this.
Without a word, I picked up the pen and signed my name.
Claire Hayes.
Once this agreement was signed, the lawyers would file the paperwork and wait for the court to issue the final decree. But for me, the second the ink dried, this marriage was dead.
Dominic stared at my signature. An emotion I couldn't quite read flickered in his eyes.
Word traveled fast.
By that afternoon, his social circle was already celebrating in an iMessage group chat, completely unbothered by the fact that I was still in it.
“Claire finally signed.”
“Dominic is free.”
“This should have ended years ago.”
Someone tagged him.
“Drinks tonight? Let's celebrate you finally escaping that high-conflict marriage.”
His friends were raising glasses to his liberation from my "harassment."
I scrolled through the messages one by one. I didn't feel angry. I didn't feel sad.
Seven years of marriage, and to them, it was just a relief it was over.
Not a single person asked how I was doing.
My phone buzzed.
It was my best friend, Nora Bennett.
"Claire," she said softly. "Are you really sure about this?"
I leaned against the window, staring out at the gray Manhattan skyline.
"What's the point of holding on? You can't keep someone who's already gone."
Nora fell silent for a few seconds.
"As long as you're sure."
"I am."
I hung up and opened my photo album, deleting pictures of Dominic one by one.
The day we registered our marriage—he had a faint smile, while I looked like I had won the world.
Our honeymoon in a Maldives overwater villa—his arm around my waist, the ocean breeze tangling my hair.
Our anniversary dinner—him cutting my steak, a candid shot of his profile I took when he wasn't looking.
The last photo was our wedding.
Sunlight streaming through the stained glass of the church. He was adjusting my veil, his eyes so gentle I thought it would last a lifetime.
My finger hovered over the screen for two seconds.
I pressed delete.
Seven years of memories, wiped out in seconds.
I closed my eyes, but the images from my past life slammed into me.
After Vanessa gave birth, I had gripped the rails of her hospital bed, sobbing, asking her why she had to steal my husband.
Security guards wrestled me to the ground. My cheek was pressed against the freezing floor tiles.
Dominic stood a few feet away, his voice entirely devoid of warmth.
"Put her on an involuntary psychiatric hold. I'm done."
He didn't even look at me.
I screamed. I cried. I begged.
No one believed me.
When I was near the end, he finally visited. He wore the dark gray overcoat I had bought for him. He looked as put-together and handsome as ever.
He stared at my emaciated frame and delivered his final verdict.
"If I'd known you were this paranoid, I never would have married you."
I opened my eyes.
It was dark outside.
In this life, I would not step into the cage they built for me.
They were going to pay for what they did.