Only Hope

On my birthday, my mother told me it was time to choose a fiancé from New York's most eligible bachelors. She urged me to pick Alexander Booth, the man I loved with a foolish passion in my previous life.

But I remembered how that love story ended. On the eve of our wedding, Alexander faked his death in a private jet crash.

I spent years as his grieving fiancée, only to find him alive and well on a beach, laughing with the poor student I had personally sponsored. They even had a child.

When I confronted him, our friends—the men who had pretended to comfort me—held me down.

They helped Alexander throw me into the ocean and watched from the pier as I drowned.

As the water closed over my head, only one person showed any real emotion. My childhood rival, Darrian Golden, screamed my name as they held him back, his face twisted in grief. He was the only one who cried at my funeral.

Opening my eyes again, I was back in our penthouse, just a week before the big decision. This time, when my mother asked me to choose Alexander, I gave her a different name. I chose the man who mourned me. I chose Darrian Golden.

Chapter 1

"Just one week until your birthday, Azalea. You know what that means." My mother, Emilee Wallace, sipped her tea, her eyes fixed on me from across the polished mahogany table.

The afternoon sun streamed into our New York penthouse, but I felt none of its warmth. This was my second chance, and I would not waste it.

"It's time to choose," she continued, her voice light but firm. "Alexander, Alaric, Darrius, Jefferey, or Darrian. Their mothers are all waiting."

I stared out the window, the city a blur. A coldness spread through me, a stark contrast to the lavish room. It was a memory—not a dream, but a life I had already lived and lost.

In my last life, I chose Alexander Booth. I loved the charming tech mogul with a blind, foolish passion. But on the eve of our wedding, his private jet "crashed" with no survivors. I spent years as the grieving fiancée, a broken woman clinging to a ghost, while his friends—Alaric Lambert, Darrius Montgomery, and Jefferey Gibson—pretended to be my devoted suitors, holding my hand and offering their shoulders to cry on. They were all liars.

Eventually, a whisper of a lead took me to a secluded coastal town, where I found him. Alexander was alive and well, laughing on a sunny beach with Isolde Booker—the poor, brilliant student I had personally sponsored. They even had a child. When I confronted them, their shock quickly turned to cold fury. My "friends" appeared, not to help me, but to help him silence me for good.

They dragged me onto a boat. "A boating accident," they'd call it. I remembered the cold water closing over my head, their blank faces watching from the pier as I drowned. Only one person had shown any real emotion. Darrian Golden, my childhood rival, had followed me there. As they held him back on the shore, he screamed my name, his face twisted in grief. He was the only one who cried at my funeral.

That death, that horrifying end, was not my final chapter. It was my second chance.

"Azalea? Did you hear me?" my mother asked, her patience thinning.

I turned from the window. I looked at her, my well-meaning mother, so caught up in tradition and appearances.

"I've made my decision," I said. My voice was calm, a dead flat line.

She smiled, relieved. "Wonderful. Is it Alexander? His mother will be thrilled."

"No."

Her smile faltered. "Oh. Alaric, then? Or Darrius?"

"No."

My mother put her teacup down with a sharp clink. "Azalea, what is this about? Not Jefferey… surely not Darrian?" Her voice was a mix of disbelief and frustration. "You and Darrian can't stand each other. He's nothing like the others."

A small, bitter smile touched my lips. "You're right. He's nothing like the others."

My mother stared at me, her face pale with shock. "You can't be serious."

"I am." I had chased a lie while surrounded by snakes. I ignored the only person whose feelings were real. I had been so stupid. So blind.

"He's the one I want," I said. "He's currently in Europe on business, isn't he?"

My mother nodded numbly.

"I need you to call him personally," I instructed. "Tell him to come back. Tell him I've chosen him to be my fiancé."

A call from my mother, the head of the Wallace-Kidd dynasty, was an order he couldn't ignore. It was a power move, and it was the only way.

"But... Azalea..."