Reborn to Give Him up

The mahogany desk stretched before me like a battlefield, scattered with photographs and dossiers of potential husbands.

Twenty years old today, and this was my birthday gift—a marriage lottery disguised as choice.

I picked up the first photograph. Marcus Wellington, heir to a shipping fortune. Handsome enough, with kind eyes that reminded me of a golden retriever. The accompanying file detailed his charitable work and golf handicap.

Then my fingers found the next one.

Dominic Hawthorne.

The moment I saw his face, the world tilted sideways. Pain exploded behind my eyes like a dam bursting, and suddenly I wasn't sitting in my father's study anymore. I was somewhere else—somewhere that reeked of smoke and death.

*The flames licked at the curtains, orange tongues devouring everything I'd ever known. My mother's scream cut through the roar of the fire, high and desperate. "Theo! Where's Theo?"*

*I tried to move, tried to call out, but my body wouldn't obey. The smoke was too thick, the heat too intense. Through the haze, I saw him—Dominic, standing in the doorway with that woman beside him. Shay Rivers, her red lips curved in a smile as she watched my world burn.*

*"Did you really think she'd fight for you?" Shay's voice was silk over steel. "Poor little Theo. So desperate for love she handed over everything."*

*Dominic laughed, the sound sharp as breaking glass. "She made it almost too easy. All those years of her following me around like a lost puppy, begging for scraps of attention. When she finally got what she wanted, she couldn't see the trap until it was too late."*

*The flames grew higher. My father's voice, weak and fading: "The company... the accounts... how did they...?"*

*"Simple," Dominic said, his eyes reflecting the fire. "She signed everything over willingly. Love makes people so beautifully stupid."*

*My mother's screams stopped. The silence was worse than the sound.*

*"Goodbye, Theo," Shay whispered, and then there was only fire and darkness and the taste of my own blood.*

I gasped, my hand crushing Dominic's photograph. The study snapped back into focus—the leather-bound books, the crystal decanter catching afternoon light, my father's concerned voice calling my name.

"Theodora? Are you alright?"

Robert Bennett stood behind his desk, his silver hair perfectly styled despite the worry creasing his brow. The family representatives—three men in identical dark suits—watched me with the patience of vultures.

"I'm fine," I said, though my voice sounded strange to my own ears. The memories were so vivid, so real. But they couldn't be real. I was twenty, not dead. My parents were alive, the company intact.

Unless...

I looked down at Dominic's photograph again. Those same dark eyes that had watched me burn. The same cruel mouth that had mocked my love before destroying everything I held dear.

"Theodora, we need to make a decision," my father said gently. "The board is expecting an announcement by evening."

I knew what he expected. Everyone knew. For the past five years, I'd made