Reborn to Ruin the CEO,I Swapped the Bride and Let Him BegChapter 1
When Rhys Gilbert's sworn sister and I were stabbed to death together, he was at a concert with his little canary.
The kidnappers called him. "Rhys Gilbert. Two women. Only one lives. Choose."
Rhys hung up.
He had a thing about crowds—hated them, actually. But that night, he stayed with his precious songbird until the encore faded and the lights came up.
By the time they found us, our bodies had long gone cold.
He sighed. "I thought it was a scam call."
A pause. Then: "They did die because of me, I suppose. If there's a next life, I'll treat them better."
Next life?
Oh, there was a next life.
And in this one, neither his sworn sister nor I loved him anymore.
——
My eyes flew open.
The gilded chandeliers. The clink of champagne flutes. The suffocating perfume of old money.
I was back at that gala—the one where Rhys Gilbert had chosen me as his fiancée in my previous life.
Across the room, my gaze locked with Joan Henson's. Rhys's sworn sister. My once-rival.
The same shock reflected in her eyes.
She remembered too.
Savannah Gilbert's voice sliced through the moment, dragging us back:
"Rhys, both Ursula Pruitt and Joan have adored you since childhood. Tonight, you will choose your bride."
Rhys tugged at his tie, already bored. "If I can't marry Janet, does it really matter who I pick?"
His mother's expression hardened. She pulled him aside, but her hissed words carried:
"Marriage is a transaction. That Janet Fox—keep her on the side if you must, I don't care. But the family needs this alliance."
Janet Fox.
Rhys's golden canary.
A bar server. Nobody, really—until a year ago, when someone slipped Rhys a drug and Janet became his convenient antidote.
Since then, they'd burned hot and reckless, a cheap drama ripped straight from late-night television.
But the Gilberts would never accept a girl with no pedigree. So Rhys, ever the dutiful son when money was involved, agreed to marry for the family.
He barely glanced at either of us before raising a lazy hand in my direction. "Fine. I'll take Ursula."
I knew exactly why.
The Pruitts were old academic aristocracy—respectable, refined. I'd been groomed to be agreeable, to swallow grievances, to never make a scene.
The perfect wife to look the other way while he kept his little songbird in a gilded cage across town.