“Do you remember what happened in the rain?”

Those nine words made my heart stop.

I stared at Alexander Whitmore, the man who had held me in his arms as I died ten years in the future.

The garden around us was perfectly still.

Behind me, Nathaniel Blackwood was shouting my name. Sophia was whispering frantically to my father. Nearly fifty guests stood frozen beneath the summer sunlight, watching the most humiliating marriage proposal Rosewood Manor had ever witnessed.

But I heard none of them.

Because Alexander had just mentioned the rain.

The rain that hadn’t happened yet.

The rain that had soaked my dress while I lay dying on a deserted road.

The rain that had hidden his tears when he whispered that he loved me.

My mouth went dry.

“What did you say?”

Alexander’s expression changed.

For one fleeting moment, something raw and desperate flickered in his gray eyes.

Then it disappeared.

“I asked whether you remembered the rain,” he repeated quietly.

“What rain?”

He glanced toward the sky.

“The storm last summer. At your mother’s memorial.”

I blinked.

Of course.

There had been a storm at my mother’s memorial.

I remembered it now.

Alexander had stood silently beside my father’s car while everyone else rushed indoors.

Was that what he meant?

Or was he deliberately testing me?

Before I could decide, Nathaniel seized my arm.

“That’s enough, Evelyn.”

His fingers tightened around my wrist.

“We’re going inside. Right now.”

I looked down at his hand.

Ten years ago, I would have apologized immediately.

I would have worried about embarrassing him.

I would have followed him anywhere.

But the woman standing in this garden was not the girl he remembered.

“Take your hand off me.”

Nathaniel stared.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

His grip tightened.

“You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

A shadow fell across us.

Alexander had stepped forward.

“She asked you to let go.”

Nathaniel turned.

“This is a private matter, Whitmore.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have proposed in front of fifty people.”

Someone behind us made a strangled sound.

Nathaniel’s face reddened.

“You have no business interfering.”

Alexander looked at his hand around my wrist.

“Remove it.”

He didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t need to.

Something in his tone made Nathaniel release me.

I stepped away immediately.

Alexander’s eyes dropped to the faint red marks on my skin.

His jaw tightened.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

He studied me for another moment.

Then he did something I hadn’t expected.

He stepped back.

Giving me room.

Giving me a choice.

In my first life, Nathaniel had always called his possessiveness love.

He decided where we went, who I saw, how I dressed, and eventually which accounts I could access.

He said it was because he wanted to protect me.

Alexander had protected me just now without making a single decision for me.

The difference was almost painful.

“Evelyn!”

My father approached, his expression deeply troubled.

“Come inside, sweetheart. We need to talk.”

I could see the disappointment in his face.

Not anger.

Confusion.

He genuinely didn’t understand why his daughter had just rejected a man everyone considered a perfect match.

I took his hand.

“Father, I know this is unexpected. But I don’t want to marry Nathaniel.”

Nathaniel laughed bitterly.

“She doesn’t mean that.”

I turned toward him.

“Yes, I do.”

“After everything we’ve planned?”

“You planned a proposal. That doesn’t mean I agreed to a marriage.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Someone has been influencing you.”

I almost smiled.

He was right.

Someone had influenced me.

A twenty-eight-year-old woman who had spent her final moments watching her husband kiss her best friend.

Unfortunately for Nathaniel, that woman was me.

***

The garden party ended forty minutes later.

Not officially.

My father was far too polite to ask fifty guests to leave.

But once word spread that I had rejected Nathaniel and apparently proposed to Alexander Whitmore instead, nobody could pretend the afternoon was normal.

Sophia followed me into the drawing room.

“Evelyn, please tell me you’ve come to your senses.”

I stood beside the fireplace, watching her reflection in the mirror.

She was eighteen.

Beautiful.

Innocent-looking.

Exactly as she had been when we first became friends.

It was difficult to reconcile this girl with the woman who would one day stand over my dying body wearing my mother’s necklace.

“Which senses would those be?” I asked.

Sophia sighed.

“Don’t be difficult. Nathaniel loves you.”

“Does he?”

“Of course!”

“Then why was he more upset about being embarrassed than losing me?”

Her mouth opened.

Then closed.

“Men have pride, Evelyn.”

“So do women.”

She stared at me.

I turned away from the mirror.

“Tell me something, Sophia. Have you ever been in love?”

A strange look passed over her face.

“Why would you ask that?”

“Curiosity.”

She folded her arms.

“Well, yes. Perhaps.”

“With someone I know?”

Her cheeks turned pink.

For a second, I thought she might confess.

But then she laughed.

“Oh, Evelyn. You really are behaving strangely today.”

I stepped closer.

“Is it Nathaniel?”

The color drained from her face.

“What?”

“Are you in love with Nathaniel?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

Her response came too quickly.

Too loudly.

In my first life, I had mistaken that kind of outrage for innocence.

Now I recognized panic.

“I was only asking,” I said.

She pressed a hand against her chest.

“How could you even suggest such a thing? You’re my best friend.”

Those words hurt more than I expected.

Not because I believed them.

Because I remembered how completely I once had.

For years, I had told Sophia everything.

My fears.

My dreams.

My insecurities.

Every private argument between Nathaniel and me.

She had known exactly how to comfort me because she had helped create the pain.

“You’re right,” I said softly. “Best friends should never betray each other.”

Sophia swallowed.

“No. They shouldn’t.”

I held her gaze.

“Then I’m glad we understand each other.”

***

That evening, I asked my father for the keys to my mother’s private study.

He looked surprised.

“You haven’t been inside since the funeral.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

I nodded.

He reached into his desk and handed me a small brass key.

“Your mother wanted you to have everything in there. I’ve kept it exactly as she left it.”

My throat tightened.

“Thank you, Father.”

Before I left, he caught my hand.

“Evelyn, about Nathaniel…”

I stiffened.

My father noticed.

“I won’t force you to marry anyone.”

I looked up sharply.

He gave me a sad smile.

“Your mother and I married because we loved each other. I would never want anything less for you.”

Tears burned behind my eyes.

In my first life, I had never told him how unhappy I was.

By the time he suspected, Nathaniel had already isolated me from everyone who might have helped.

I had lost my father three years before my death.

A stroke.

Sudden and devastating.

I remembered standing beside his hospital bed, wishing I had visited more often.

Now he was here.

Alive.

Warm.

Holding my hand.

I threw my arms around him.

He chuckled in surprise.

“Good heavens, Evelyn. What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing.”

I held him tighter.

“I just missed you.”

“But I’ve been here all day.”

“I know.”

And that was precisely why I couldn’t stop crying.

***

My mother’s study smelled of lavender and old books.

Moonlight spilled across the polished wooden floor.

Her writing desk stood beside the window, exactly where it had always been.

For several minutes, I simply stood in the doorway.

Then I closed the door behind me.

I hadn’t come here only to remember her.

I had come to protect what she left behind.

In my first life, my mother had established a trust containing nearly eight million dollars in property, investments, and business interests.

At eighteen, I could receive income from it.

At twenty-one, I would gain broader control.

Nathaniel had spent the years between those birthdays persuading me that love meant combining everything.

He had introduced investment opportunities.

Recommended attorneys.

Suggested that certain properties were too expensive to maintain.

One by one, the assets disappeared.

But I remembered something else.

Something Nathaniel had never known.

My mother had owned a small parcel of industrial land outside Boston.

In my first life, the land had been sold for barely seventy thousand dollars.

Seven years later, a major technology company purchased the surrounding properties.

That same parcel became worth nearly four million.

Nathaniel had been furious when he learned about it.

I remembered him throwing a glass against the wall.

“If you’d listened to me about waiting, we’d have made a fortune!”

He had conveniently forgotten that selling it had been his idea.

I opened my mother’s filing cabinet.

Third drawer.

Green folder.

There it was.

The land deed.

I held it against my chest.

“Not this time,” I whispered.

This time, I would keep the property.

This time, I would study business, understand every document placed before me, and build something no one could take away with a charming smile.

I sat at my mother’s desk and began writing.

First, I listed every financial mistake I remembered making.

Then I wrote down future opportunities.

The Boston land development.

The technology company that would expand rapidly in four years.

The bank that would collapse.

The investment firm Nathaniel would secretly use to move my money.

And finally, one name.

MARGARET ELLIS.

My mother’s former attorney.

In my first life, Margaret had warned me not to sign Nathaniel’s documents.

I had fired her.

At Nathaniel’s insistence.

My hand trembled as I wrote her name.

Tomorrow, I would call her.

But first, I had another problem.

Alexander.

I set down my pen.

“Do you remember what happened in the rain?”

His words returned to me.

I could still see his expression.

That flash of recognition.

That sudden fear.

Had Alexander also returned from the future?

If so, why hadn’t he said more?

And why had he looked almost relieved when I rejected Nathaniel?

A quiet knock interrupted my thoughts.

“Miss Evelyn?”

Mrs. Harper opened the door.

“There’s a gentleman waiting downstairs.”

I glanced at the clock.

Nearly ten.

“Who?”

“Mr. Whitmore.”

My heart stumbled.

“Alexander?”

“Yes, miss. He said he needs to return something you left in the garden.”

I frowned.

I hadn’t left anything.

Mrs. Harper hesitated.

“Shall I tell him you’re unavailable?”

I looked at the green folder.

Then toward the dark window.

“No.”

I stood.

“Please ask him to wait.”

***

Alexander was standing beside the grand piano when I entered the drawing room.

He had removed his jacket.

His white shirt sleeves were rolled neatly to his forearms.

For some reason, the sight made him look younger.

Less like the powerful businessman I remembered.

More like a man who had come here without knowing exactly what he intended to say.

He turned when he heard me.

“Evelyn.”

“Alexander.”

Mrs. Harper discreetly closed the door.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then I folded my arms.

“What did I supposedly leave in the garden?”

He looked almost amused.

“Your dignity, according to Nathaniel.”

I blinked.

Then laughed.

A real laugh.

The first one I could remember in what felt like years.

Alexander’s expression softened.

“I thought you might appreciate having it returned.”

“Did you come here to make jokes?”

“No.”

His smile faded.

“I came to make sure you’re all right.”

I studied him.

“Why?”

“Because you seemed upset.”

“Everyone thinks I’ve lost my mind.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

I moved closer.

“Even after I asked you to marry me in front of fifty people?”

Alexander looked down briefly.

Then back at me.

“Especially after that.”

My pulse quickened.

“Alexander, about what you said…”

“The rain?”

“Yes.”

He became very still.

I watched his face carefully.

“Why did you mention it?”

He looked toward the window.

“Because I remember a storm, Evelyn. And I remember wishing I had arrived sooner.”

My breath caught.

“Arrived where?”

His eyes returned to mine.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then he said, “Some memories are difficult to explain.”

I stepped closer.

“Try.”

Alexander exhaled slowly.

“Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re frightened. And I don’t want you making another important decision because you’re afraid.”

I stared at him.

He knew.

Perhaps not everything.

But something.

I was certain of it.

“What if I told you I had a terrible dream?” I asked.

“What kind of dream?”

“One where I trusted the wrong people.”

His expression tightened.

“Go on.”

“One where I lost everything.”

He remained silent.

“And one where someone I barely noticed spent years trying to protect me.”

Alexander looked away.

For a moment, I thought he might cry.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“That sounds like a very lonely dream.”

“It was.”

I swallowed.

“Until the very end.”

His eyes closed.

Only for a second.

But I saw it.

The pain.

The recognition.

The memory.

And suddenly, I wanted to ask him everything.

Did you hold me while I died?

Did you love me all those years?

Did you wake up this morning knowing the future, too?

But before I could speak, Alexander reached into his pocket.

He placed a small velvet box on the piano.

My heart began to race.

“What is that?”

“Something I bought three months ago.”

He opened it.

Inside lay a delicate silver necklace with a tiny blue gemstone.

Not a diamond.

Not something extravagant.

Just a beautiful, simple pendant.

“My mother once told me blue was your favorite color,” he said.

“It is.”

“I had planned to give it to you on your birthday.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He smiled sadly.

“Because I heard Nathaniel intended to propose.”

I looked at him.

“You bought me a birthday gift even though you knew I loved someone else?”

Alexander closed the box.

“Affection doesn’t become worthless simply because it isn’t returned.”

My eyes filled with tears.

Nathaniel had spent ten years teaching me that love came with conditions.

Alexander was showing me the opposite in a single evening.

“Will you accept it?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Yes.”

He placed the box in my hand.

Our fingers touched.

And something strange happened.

A sharp image flashed through my mind.

Rain.

Headlights.

Alexander kneeling beside me.

His face twisted with grief.

Then a voice.

His voice.

“If I could have one more chance…”

I stumbled backward.

Alexander caught my elbow.

“Evelyn!”

I stared at him.

He looked frightened.

Not confused.

Frightened.

As though he knew exactly what I had just seen.

I pulled away gently.

“Alexander…”

“Yes?”

“Did you ever wish you could live your life again?”

His face went pale.

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

Then he whispered, “More than anything.”

My knees almost gave way.

Before I could ask another question, he stepped back.

“I should go.”

“Wait.”

He hesitated at the doorway.

“Alexander, if you could change one thing about your past, what would it be?”

He looked at me for a long time.

Then he said, “I would stop waiting for the right moment to tell someone I loved her.”

My heart ached.

“Is she still alive?”

He gave me a strange, heartbreaking smile.

“Tonight, she is.”

And then he left.

***

I didn’t sleep.

I sat on my bed until dawn, staring at the necklace in my hands.

I wanted to believe Alexander remembered everything.

But believing was dangerous.

I had spent my first life believing people without asking enough questions.

I wouldn’t repeat that mistake.

Even with him.

Especially with him.

When morning arrived, I changed into a simple cream dress and asked Mrs. Harper to arrange a meeting with Margaret Ellis.

I was going to protect my inheritance.

My family.

My future.

And whatever chance I might have at real happiness.

At nine o’clock, Margaret arrived.

She was a serious woman in her early fifties, with sharp eyes and a leather briefcase that looked older than I was.

“Miss Rosewood,” she greeted me. “Your father said this was urgent.”

“It is.”

I invited her into the study.

Then I placed the green folder on the desk.

“I want to review my mother’s trust.”

Margaret raised an eyebrow.

“All of it?”

“Every property, every investment, every beneficiary, and every legal restriction.”

She studied me carefully.

“May I ask why?”

I thought of Nathaniel.

Sophia.

The rain.

“Because I’ve decided no one will ever understand my finances better than I do.”

For the first time, Margaret smiled.

“Your mother would have liked hearing that.”

We spent nearly three hours reviewing documents.

I asked questions I had never bothered to ask in my first life.

I discovered two accounts I had forgotten existed.

I learned that certain assets couldn’t be transferred without independent legal approval.

And I confirmed that the Boston property was still safely within the trust.

Then Margaret reached the final document.

She frowned.

“That’s unusual.”

I looked up.

“What is?”

She held up a letter.

“This was added to the file shortly before your mother passed away.”

My chest tightened.

“From her?”

“Yes. But it was addressed to someone else.”

“Who?”

Margaret hesitated.

“Alexander Whitmore.”

I stared at her.

“What?”

“Your mother apparently wanted Mr. Whitmore to receive certain information after you turned eighteen.”

My hands went cold.

“What information?”

Margaret opened the envelope.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

She read silently.

Then her expression changed.

“Miss Rosewood…”

“What does it say?”

Margaret looked at me.

“Your mother believed someone was trying to gain control of your inheritance long before she became ill.”

I stopped breathing.

“Who?”

Margaret slowly turned the page toward me.

There was a name.

A familiar name.

NATHANIEL BLACKWOOD.

I stared at the letters.

My mother had known.

Before Nathaniel proposed.

Before I married him.

Before I lost everything.

My mother had known he was dangerous.

And she had written to Alexander.

Not my father.

Not the family attorneys.

Alexander.

“Why would she trust him?” I whispered.

Margaret looked troubled.

“There’s more.”

She handed me a second page.

It contained instructions regarding a private meeting my mother had arranged shortly before her death.

The meeting had never taken place.

But one sentence at the bottom made my stomach turn.

“If anything happens to me before I can explain, please make certain Evelyn never signs a financial agreement with Nathaniel Blackwood.”

I read it three times.

Then I noticed something written beneath her signature.

A date.

Six months before she died.

And beside it, four words.

“He knows about Alexander.”

I looked up slowly.

“Margaret…”

“Yes?”

“What exactly happened to my mother?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she closed the folder.

Then she said something that made every hair on my body stand on end.

“Miss Rosewood, I think there’s something you should know.”

“What?”

“Your mother’s death may not have been as straightforward as your family was told.”

The room seemed to tilt.

My mother.

Nathaniel.

Alexander.

The letter.

The rain.

I had believed my second life was a chance to undo my own mistakes.

But now I understood something terrifying.

The tragedy might have started long before I ever met Nathaniel.

And somewhere in this house, hidden beneath ten years of lies, was a secret that even my memories of the future couldn’t explain.

Then the telephone rang.

Mrs. Harper entered with a worried expression.

“Miss Evelyn, there’s a call for you.”

“Who is it?”

She hesitated.

“Mr. Whitmore.”

I took the receiver with trembling hands.

“Alexander?”

His voice sounded different.

Urgent.

“Evelyn, listen carefully.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t let anyone touch your mother’s files.”

My blood turned cold.

“Alexander, how do you know I’m looking at them?”

There was a pause.

Then he said, “Because I remember what happens next.”

I gripped the telephone.

“Then tell me.”

His next words came fast.

“Your mother’s study is going to catch fire tonight.”

I couldn’t speak.

“And Evelyn…”

“Yes?”

“Someone inside your house is going to start it.”

— END OF PART 2 —

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 3:
THE FUTURE I REMEMBERED BEGAN TO CHANGE