The Heiress Who Burned the Engagement

Three haute couture gowns arrived from the Paris atelier. The assistant went to ask Ethan Hale how they should be divided between his fiancée and his first love. At the time, Ethan was helping Lily Hart try on diamond rings. He didn't even look up, just said offhandedly: "One for my collection. The other two go to Lily—she'll wear them at next month's wedding banquet." The assistant froze for a moment, then reminded him in a low voice: "Mr. Hale, a gown for Miss Nora's tenth-anniversary dinner still hasn't been arranged." Ethan paused for a few seconds, as if only just remembering I existed. "Then cut a strip of unused lace from Lily's hem and make Nora a short veil." A scrap of leftover fabric. That was all my ten years of loving him had earned me—one final shred of dignity. He had always blamed me for not giving up that international residency spot years ago, costing Lily her chance to make it on the world stage. And so he had taken it as his right to freeze me out for a decade. Later, when he was dying of a terminal illness, he grabbed my hand and asked if I still hated him. Outside the hospital room, that season's new gowns were piled high like a small mountain. Still all for him and Lily. What they gave me was a discarded binding ribbon left over from the tailor's shears. I closed my eyes. I didn't answer. When I opened them again, I was back at the grand proposal banquet ten years earlier. The emcee held up a crystal box containing a diamond ring, pointed to the churning ice lake behind him, and asked with a smile: "Whoever dares swim down and retrieve the key becomes Mrs. Hale." In my last life, I nearly died in that lake, all for this chance. In this life, I took half a step back and watched the ring sink silently to the bottom. As the ring sank, the lake's surface barely rippled—just one dark circle spreading outward. The cheering on the shore cut off instantly. The emcee stood with his microphone, smile frozen on his face, and turned toward the control booth. Then a woman's voice leaked from the backup monitor feed. "Get her to move forward a bit more. The camera can't catch her face." The voice was faint. But the control booth was only half a step behind me. I heard every word. It was Lily. In my last life, I never heard that line. Back then, all I heard was the crowd egging me on: "Jump, Nora! You've chased Ethan all these years—what are you afraid of today?" That night, ice water flooded my nose and mouth. I groped for the key and crawled ashore, shaking so hard I couldn't stop. But Ethan only draped his coat over Lily's shoulders and said she'd been frightened. Now, cold wind swept off the lake. I stood on the bank. I didn't move. Ethan finally looked at me. He wore a black suit, silver cufflinks catching the light. Those cufflinks—I'd given them to him last year. He said they were too plain and never wore them once. Tonight he was willing to wear them, only because Lily had tossed out an offhand compliment. "Nora." When he said my name, his tone was heavy—like a warning not to embarrass him. Lily was wrapped in a white shawl, the corners of her eyes reddened just the right amount. "Nora, are you afraid of the water? If you are, just forget it. Ethan won't blame you." She finished speaking, and her fingers came to rest lightly on Ethan's cuff. Ethan didn't pull away. He looked at me and said flatly: "It's just a game. Don't ruin the mood." Just a game. An ice lake, a key, a human life—all to prove whether or not I deserved to stand beside him. I stepped back half a pace. My heel crushed a thin sheet of ice at the water's edge. The emcee rushed to smooth things over: "Miss Nora, the safety team is standing by. Mr. Hale simply wanted to give you an unforgettable proposal." The monitor feed leaked another voice: "Keep the safety team back. Let her fish it out herself—it looks better on camera that way." I looked toward the control booth. A backup camera sat there, its red recording light on, aimed directly at the shoreline. So in my last life, while I was thrashing in the water, the people on shore had already adjusted the angles. Ethan glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes." Lily gave a soft cough. Ethan immediately took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. I stood in the wind, shoulders bare, my hem soaked with snowmelt, ankles numb with cold. A server approached with a blanket but was stopped by a single look from Ethan. "This is her own choice." That line. I'd heard it for ten years. When I got sick from the cold—my own choice. When I took the blame meant for Lily—my own choice. When I held on to an empty engagement for a decade—also my own choice. This time, I didn't walk into the lake. I turned and headed toward the banquet hall. Behind me, Ethan's voice finally went cold: "Nora Shaw, if you walk out of here today, don't come back with regrets." A server caught up to me, offering a cup of hot ginger tea, murmuring: "Miss Nora, Mr. Hale had the kitchen prepare this." My fingers hesitated. The next moment, another attendant hurried past me carrying a silver tray. On it: honey ginger tea, a cashmere blanket, a thermometer. "Hurry—Miss Lily had a fright. Mr. Hale wants to give her the tea himself." I looked down at the paper cup in my hand. So even his concern came in tiers. I set the ginger tea back on the tray. I didn't drink it. Outside, the lake water was black and still. That ring sat at the bottom, like the version of me from my last life. But this time, no one could force me to dive down and retrieve it.