Reborn: Marrying My Ex's Comatose Uncle

The early morning sun cut through the blinds of Ciel's Manhattan apartment, laying golden lines across the hardwood floor.

Ciel woke from a deep, dreamless sleep.

For a moment, she stayed still in bed and simply felt her own body.

No chronic pain. No heavy pressure on her chest. No fear of waking up inside that marriage again.

Her eyes grew hot with relief.

Then her iPhone buzzed sharply on the nightstand.

She reached for it.

Agatha.

Eleonora's senior personal assistant.

Ciel answered.

"Miss Miller," Agatha said, clipped and superior. "Madam requires your presence at the Hamptons estate immediately to discuss the wedding schedule."

"I'll be there."

Ciel hung up before Agatha could say more.

She threw off the covers and dressed quickly in a beige tailored pantsuit. Simple. Practical. No softness for anyone to exploit.

Outside her building, a black Lincoln Navigator waited by the curb.

Ciel slid into the back seat and watched New York blur past the tinted window. Her heart stayed steady.

An hour later, the SUV passed through the wrought-iron gates of the Chavez family's Hamptons estate.

A maid led her through a long hallway lined with Persian rugs and old oil paintings, then into Eleonora's sunroom.

The room was painfully bright, filled with exotic plants and antique French furniture.

Eleonora sat on a velvet sofa, trimming white hydrangeas with silver shears. She did not look up.

"To avoid unnecessary complications," Eleonora said, as if discussing household maintenance, "the wedding will take place on June 3rd. Next month."

Ciel's heart lifted.

The rushed date was exactly what she wanted.

Her face remained blank. She lowered her head slightly, pretending to submit.

"Understood."

Eleonora sighed, clearly disappointed that Ciel did not cry or beg.

She waved one hand. "You may leave."

Ciel turned and walked out.

As she moved through the corridor, she turned a corner and saw Harry coming from the opposite direction.

He wore a custom navy suit. The moment he saw her leaving his mother's wing, his expression darkened.

He stepped directly into her path, blocking the narrow corridor with his body.

His hands slid into his trouser pockets. A cruel sneer twisted his mouth.

"What's wrong, Ciel?" Harry asked. "Did you run here first thing in the morning to beg my mother to cancel that ridiculous stunt? Did reality finally set in?"

Ciel stopped and looked up at him.

The eyes that once held desperate love for him were now still and cold.

"I came to finalize the date," she said. "The wedding is set for June 3rd."

Harry's sneer cracked.

He stepped closer, invading her space.

"Stop acting. This little strategy to make me jealous is pathetic."

His cologne hit her nose.

Ciel's stomach tightened with revulsion.

She stepped back half a pace, making the distance clear.

Harry saw the disgust in her eyes.

It was real.

Fury flashed across his face. He reached out, aiming to grab her chin and force her to look at him.

Ciel reacted instantly.

She turned her head aside and struck his hand away.

Smack.

The sound echoed through the empty hall.

Both froze for half a second.

Ciel lowered her arm. The back of her hand stung red from the force.

Then she looked up at him, her gaze sharp and unshaken.