Ten years had vanished like smoke. It wasn't until I found the diary hidden in the back of Damian’s desk that I finally saw the truth: the ink-stained, jagged obsession of a man I had spent my first life ignoring. Damian Cross. He was my ex-husband’s most hated rival, a brooding shadow in the corporate world of San Francisco, a man I’d never given a second thought to—until I died. With that diary clutched to my chest, the universe fractured. I woke up ten years in the past, during the darkest, most desperate summer of Damian’s life. Back then, he wasn't the titan of tech. He was a feral creature, curled up in the grime of a rain-slicked alleyway behind a dive bar. When he looked up at me, his eyes were shards of ice, cold and defensive, like a beast waiting for the final blow. I didn't flinch. Instead, I leaned in, a playful, dangerous smile tugging at my lips. I hooked a finger under his chin and whispered, "Give me a smile, Damian. Otherwise, I’ll keep kissing you until you beg for mercy." The mask of frozen indifference he wore didn't just crack. It shattered. In my previous life, my three-year marriage to Pierce Montgomery had been nothing but a grotesque farce. He had used me as a ladder, a golden ticket into my father’s fortune, while every ounce of his tenderness was reserved for a woman named Lacey. I remembered the day it ended. Lacey had shown up at my door, her hand resting on a pregnant belly, sliding an ultrasound photo across the marble counter with a tearful, faux-apology. "Margot, I’m so sorry. I’m carrying Pierce’s baby. Don’t blame him—it’s all my fault." And Pierce? He had stepped in behind her, shielding her, his voice like a whip. "Lacey is fragile, Margot. She can't handle stress. Don't be petty." The rage had been so intense it felt physical. My vision had blurred, my chest tightened, and I’d collapsed. I took my last breath in the back of an ambulance, the siren a lonely eulogy for a life wasted on a man who never loved me. 1 Damian went rigid. My reflection was caught in the widening circles of his pupils. For a heartbeat, the ice in his expression thawed into pure shock. Then, a voice I hated down to my marrow cut through the humid night air. "Margot? What the hell are you doing here? In a literal dumpster fire of a place like this?" It was Pierce. And, of course, Lacey was clinging to his arm like a delicate vine. "Margot?" Lacey chirped, her voice thin and performatively timid as she tugged on Pierce’s sleeve. "Is that really you? Oh, I almost didn't recognize you... and is this... your friend?" She shrank back into Pierce’s chest, the picture of a frightened bird. "Margot, honey, I didn't mean anything by it... but why are you hanging out with people like this? I haven't seen you in so long, I almost mistook you for a homeless woman." A few loitering thugs nearby burst into laughter. "Hey Montgomery, is this your ex's new type? Picking up strays from the gutter?" "She’s dressed like a million bucks, but she’s playing in the trash." Pierce’s face darkened instantly. He wasn't worried about me; he was humiliated that I was tarnishing his social standing by proximity. "Margot, haven't you had enough of this tantrum?" He reached out to grab my arm, his voice a low growl. "Get up. We’re going. Stop acting like a lunatic." I ignored him. I took a half-step closer to Damian. He was coiled like a spring, his gaze sharp enough to draw blood. I reached out, my fingertips grazing his cheek, brushing away a smudge of dirt. "Don't be afraid," I whispered, loud enough only for him to hear. Then, I turned around. My smile remained, but the warmth was gone. "Acting like a lunatic? Pierce, which eye are you using to see that?" I tilted my head, gesturing over my shoulder toward Damian. "Meet my boyfriend, Damian Cross." Pierce looked like he’d just swallowed a fly. Lacey’s jaw dropped so far I thought it might hit the pavement. "Margot... you’re joking, right? Him?" She pointed a manicured finger at Damian. "He looks like he hasn't eaten in a week. Are you really so desperate to spite Pierce that you’re picking up literal garbage?" She turned to Pierce, the tears welling up on command. "Pierce, look at her! She’s humiliating herself just to hurt us! Does she hate me that much?" That was all the fuel Pierce needed. He stepped forward, his hand snapping toward my wrist. "Margot! If you hadn't been such a cold, demanding wife, I never would have looked at Lacey! And now you’re using a beggar to get back at me? Have you no dignity?" Before his hand could touch me, another hand—strong, scarred, and immovable—clamped onto his wrist. It was Damian. He had stood up, towering half a head over Pierce. Even in his tattered clothes, he radiated a raw, predatory energy that made the air feel heavy. He stared Pierce down, his voice like gravel. "Get lost." Pierce blinked, stunned. Then he let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "You think you’re someone? You think you can put your hands on me? I’ll make sure you never work a day in this city again." I popped my head out from behind Damian’s shoulder, laughing. "Oh, Pierce. Threatening my boyfriend right in front of me?" I stepped up and wound my arm through Damian’s, pressing myself against his side. "I’m telling you right now, I’ve decided I like this 'beggar' quite a lot. As for you..." I locked eyes with Pierce. "As of this second, you’re dumped. Take your little wilted flower and get out of my sight." I didn't wait for a response. I pulled Damian along with me. Pierce’s roar followed us down the street. "Margot! You’ll regret this!" I didn't look back. In my palm, the rough, calloused hand I was holding went from stiff and trembling to a crushing, desperate grip. He wasn't letting go. 2 I pulled Damian into the nearest boutique hotel. The receptionist gave us a wary look as she handed over the key card, but one look at my designer bag and my icy stare silenced any questions. Damian kept his head down the entire time. Once we were inside the room, I pressed his shoulders until he sat on the edge of the bed. "Stay here. I’m going to go get you some food and a change of clothes." His throat moved as he swallowed. His voice was sandpaper-dry. "Why?" "Why what?" "Why help me? Why tell them I’m your boyfriend?" Every word sounded like a struggle. I crouched down so I was at eye level with him. "Maybe I just like what I see." I ran a thumb along his jawline. "You’ve got a face I could get used to." His brow furrowed. "You know Pierce Montgomery." "He’s my newly minted ex-boyfriend," I said with a shrug. "You saw the show. He’s a parasite." "So you’re using me to make him jealous?" "Partially." I tapped a finger against the center of his chest, right over his heart. "But mostly, I’m here because of you. Got it?" His heart was thudding against my fingertip, a frantic, wild rhythm. His ears turned a deep crimson, and he jerked his gaze away to the wall. He was so... innocent. In my past life, Damian Cross was a man the entire business world feared—a silent executioner in the boardroom. But right now, he was a blank page. He was nothing like the dark, possessive, borderline-mad man who had filled those diary pages with longing. My mind drifted back to the marriage that killed me. Three years of giving Pierce everything—my father’s connections, my trust, my soul. I thought it was love. I was wrong. The day he made his first billion, he brought Lacey home. He told me, "Margot, I love Lacey. I only married you for the Wilder family name and the capital." I had died of a broken heart and a literal brain hemorrhage in that ambulance. As a spirit, I had watched my own funeral. Pierce didn't show up. Lacey did, wearing a red silk dress and a triumphant smirk. But there was one man in the far corner of the cemetery, weeping in the rain. It was Damian. Later, I had followed his soul and found the diary he’d kept for years. She wore a white dress and smiled at someone else today. I bought that dress for her anonymously. Why did she wear it for him? That smile was supposed to be mine. She’s getting married today. I want to burst in and take her. I want to tie her wrists with my necktie and lock her away in a place where only I exist. She’s dead. My world is over. "Hey." Damian’s voice snapped me back to the present. I realized I was crying. The tears were silent, hot against my cheeks. He reached out to wipe them away, then hesitated, his fingers curling back into a fist. "Don't cry," he said, his voice awkward as he tugged at the hem of his shirt. I let out a watery laugh. "It’s just some dust in my eye." "There isn't any dust in here," he pointed out bluntly. "I say there is!" His mouth twitched, and his eyes softened. I tossed a plush hotel bathrobe into his lap. "Go take a shower." I walked to the door, but paused to look back. He was still sitting there, frozen, looking like a discarded, beautiful stray dog. "Damian," I said softly. "From now on, as long as I’m eating, you’ll never go hungry again." I shut the door before he could see my eyes well up again. The moment I stepped out of the hotel, a black sedan swerved into my path. The window rolled down to reveal Pierce’s livid face. "Get in the car, Margot." 3 I crossed my arms and looked down at Pierce through the window. "Mr. Montgomery? I’m on a tight schedule. I don't have time for your alpha-male roleplay." Pierce’s face turned a shade of bruised purple. Beside him, Lacey grabbed his sleeve, her voice trembling with crocodile tears. "Margot, please... Pierce is just worried about you." She glanced toward the hotel. "It’s my fault. I shouldn't have been so honest. I didn't mean to drive you into the arms of... a person like that." Pierce slammed his hand against the steering wheel. "Margot! You’re seriously checking into a hotel with a random loser? We were supposed to finalize our engagement party next month!" "I’ll let you come home now," he continued, his tone shifting to a patronizing calm. "I can pretend today never happened. As for that guy, I’ll cut him a check to disappear. He’s probably just a junkie looking for a payday anyway." I laughed until I thought I might choke. "Pierce, do you really think the sun rises and sets on you? Who told you I was doing any of this for your benefit?" I leaned down, my face inches from the window. "I’ll say it one more time: I’m done with you. You and Lacey combined aren't worth a single hair on Damian’s head." "You—!" Pierce’s veins were bulging in his neck. Lacey looked ghostly pale. "But Pierce loves you so much..." "Love?" I scoffed. "He loves my father’s portfolio. If that’s the 'blessing' you want, Lacey, you can have it. Good luck with the crumbs." I turned on my heel and walked away. "Margot! Get back here!" Pierce screamed. Lacey was still putting on a show behind him. "Pierce, don't be mad at her! It’s all my fault! Hit me if you have to, just don't blame Margot..." She deserved an Oscar for that "Green Tea" performance. I didn't look back. I went straight to the luxury department store nearby and bought a full wardrobe for Damian—from silk boxers to a bespoke wool overcoat. I also picked up a hot, high-end meal. When I got back to the room, Damian had just stepped out of the shower. The bathrobe was loosely tied, droplets of water clinging to his collarbones. When he saw me, he looked away so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. "Eat," I said, setting the bags on the bed. His fingers brushed mine as he took the bags, and he flinched as if he’d been burned. When he finally changed and stepped out, the transformation was staggering. The clothes merely highlighted the raw, powerful frame that had been hidden under rags. "You look incredible," I said, and I meant it. His ears turned that adorable red again. "Eat," I repeated. I handed him the utensils, intentionally letting our fingers linger. He sat down and began to eat. He ate quickly, but with a strange sort of ingrained discipline. Watching him—seeing how hungry he actually was—made my heart ache. I placed a piece of steak on his plate. "Eat more. You’re too thin." He paused, looked at the food, and then ate it in silence. As I was clearing the containers, he spoke up. "Pierce came to see you, didn't he?" "How did you know?" "I heard him from the window." I sat down beside him. "And what do you think about that?" He was silent for a long time. Then he turned to look me straight in the eyes. "He doesn't deserve you." "Oh?" I teased. "Then who does?" "Someone who puts you at the center of their universe." I leaned in closer. "Is that an application?" His entire face flushed. He jerked his head away. "I... I didn't say that!" I was about to tease him further when my phone buzzed. It was an unknown number. When I answered, a cold, distorted voice came through: "Ms. Wilder? We have your boyfriend’s grandmother. If you ever want to see her again, you’ll follow our instructions." 4 My heart skipped. I looked at Damian. "Who is this?" I kept my voice low. The man on the other end chuckled. "Our boss wants to see you. South Side, the abandoned shipyard. Come alone. If you call the cops or bring help..." He paused. "The old lady won't see tomorrow’s sunrise." A chill washed over me. This was Pierce’s move. It had to be. He knew Damian was my weak spot, and he knew that grandmother was the only family Damian had left. Through the phone, I heard a faint, long blast of a foghorn. It was deep and mournful. A memory from my past life clicked into place. Pierce had once taken me to a private, shady celebration near the San Francisco docks—a warehouse he’d converted into a "private lounge" for his less-than-legal dealings. He’d boasted back then that the area was perfect for "taking out the trash." That foghorn. It was the South Harbor, Pier 3. "Fine," I said, my voice steady. "I’m coming." The moment I hung up, Damian’s hand clamped onto mine. His grip was ice cold. "Who was that? You look like you’ve seen a ghost." "Just a business thing. An emergency," I lied, forcing a smile as I patted his shoulder. "Stay here. Don't go anywhere." "I’m going with you." He stood up, his expression more stubborn than I’d ever seen it. "No." I stood on my tiptoes and pressed a quick, firm kiss to his lips. "You’re my secret treasure. I need you safe." While he was still stunned by the kiss, I slipped out the door. "Wait for me." I didn't call the police immediately. I knew a cornered rat like Pierce might kill the hostage if he saw a siren. But I wasn't going in unprotected. I got into my car and called my father’s head of security, Brooks. "Brooks, I need a favor. South Harbor, Warehouse 3. Pierce Montgomery has kidnapped an elderly woman. Bring our best men. Surround the place silently. Do not move until I give the word. Priority one is the hostage’s safety." "Understood, Miss Wilder," Brooks’s voice was like iron. With that settled, I started the car—but I didn't drive to the harbor. I knew Pierce. He was a coward who liked to watch from a distance. He wouldn't be at a dusty warehouse. He’d be at the apartment I’d let him stay in, waiting for his "victory" to be reported. I was going for blood. I drove to the penthouse in the city. My parents had given it to me as a graduation gift, but Pierce had "borrowed" it for work. It had become his nest for Lacey. I turned the key. The door swung open. The place was a wreck. Women’s lingerie and men’s shirts were strewn from the foyer to the bedroom. The air smelled of cheap perfume and sweat. Lacey was sprawled on the bed, scrolling through her phone. She screamed when she saw me, clutching the duvet to her chest. "Margot! How did you get in here?" "Where’s Pierce?" I tossed the property deed onto the bed. "Look closely, Lacey. Whose name is on this title?" She started wailing. "You’re bullying me! I’m telling Pierce! You hit me!" I didn't bother arguing. I went to the walk-in closet and started recording a video. The walls were lined with Birkin bags and couture gowns—not a single one of which she could afford on her own. "Lacey, does it feel good? Living in my house, spending my money, sleeping with my husband-to-be?" I pointed the camera at her panicked face. She lunged for the phone. "Pierce bought these because he loves me!" I stepped aside, and she tumbled onto the floor. Just then, the front door was kicked open. Pierce charged in with two hired goons. Seeing Lacey on the floor, his eyes turned murderous. "Margot! You dared to touch her!" He swung a hand toward my face. I didn't flinch. Because a much stronger hand reached out from behind me and caught Pierce’s wrist in a grip that sounded like snapping wood. Damian. I don't know how he followed me, but he was there, radiating a darkness so thick it felt like the temperature in the room had dropped ten degrees. "You want to die?" Damian asked, his voice a low, terrifying vibration. "How did you find me?" I asked, breathless. "I didn't trust you to go alone," he murmured, his eyes never leaving Pierce. "Are you hurt?" I shook my head. Pierce recovered from his shock and started laughing like a maniac. "Perfect! I was wondering how to make sure you witnessed the finale!" He pulled out his phone and hit play on a video. It showed Damian’s grandmother tied to a chair, gagged and sobbing. "Damian Cross, you’re a tough guy, right?" Pierce’s smile was demonic. "Kneel. Give me three head-butts to the floor and tell me you’re a dog. Or I’ll watch the livestream as they take her fingers off, one by one."
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