Part 1I Want No Part In Their Love Triangle

After coming back to life, I burned every single photo I had with Grayson. Then, I tore up the love letters Silas had written me over the past three years.

In my previous life, I had let myself become an absolute joke caught between these two men.

Grayson told me he loved me, yet the moment I gave up my study abroad spot for him, he packed his bags and took Cynthia overseas instead.

He left me a single, crumpled note before his flight. It read, "She needs me more than you do."

I spiraled into a deep depression for three months. Silas showed up at my apartment every single day with fresh food. He looked at me with those painfully gentle eyes and said, "I've been waiting for you for eight years."

When I finally agreed to be with him, he was the picture of perfection. He came home on time every night and kept a strict distance from any other women.

I honestly thought I had finally placed a winning bet.

That was until the winter I got into a horrific car crash. I lay comatose in the ICU for seven agonizing days. He never visited. Not once.

Instead, I listened to the nurses gossiping over my lifeless body.

"The girl in Bed 12 is so pitiful. Her husband comes to the hospital every single day, but he never even steps foot in her room."

"I know, right? He walks straight past her door and goes to the next wing to take care of that patient named Cynthia."

It wasn't until much later that I learned the ugly truth. Grayson took Cynthia abroad to help her dodge massive gambling debts. And every single cent of that escape was funded by Silas.

I was never a priority. I was just an NPC in their twisted, toxic love triangle.

But this time, things were going to be different. I was going to sell my house, pack my bags, and take my Nana across the ocean.

The voices of the nurses echoed from the hallway, pulling me out of my memories.

"Bed 12 is breaking my heart. The guy is here every day, but he never looks at her."

"Yeah, he just goes straight to the other ward to see that Cynthia girl."

My body was shattered from the crash, trapped in that ICU bed for seven days. My eyes were glued shut, but my mind was terrifyingly sharp. I heard the nurses call Silas over and over again.

He never came.

He was busy keeping someone much more important company.

The salvation I thought I had found was nothing but a sickening lie.

I poured every ounce of my fading willpower into opening my eyes, but my vision faded into the flat green line of a heart monitor.

When I opened my eyes again, the morning sun blinded me.

I was sitting at my familiar oak desk. The calendar on the wall stared back at me. It was exactly three months before I was supposed to reject my study abroad offer for Grayson.

My hands trembled as I picked up my phone and dialed the university's international exchange office.

"Professor, I'm calling to confirm my acceptance for the exchange program in London. Thank you so much for this opportunity."

The relief in the professor's voice was palpable. "I'm so glad you thought this through, Rachel. It would have been a tragedy to throw an opportunity like this away."

He was right. It would have been a tragedy.

Throwing my entire future away for a man was the stupidest thing I had ever done.

After hanging up, I immediately called a high-end real estate agent. I listed the sprawling house my parents had left me.

I only had two conditions. All cash, and fast.

The moment I finished that call, my phone buzzed. It was Grayson.

His voice was cold, carrying that familiar undertone of entitlement. "Rachel, Cynthia is having some trouble with her senior design portfolio. You always get top grades. Go over there and help her out."

Cynthia again. Her drama was the constant static in our relationship.

In my past life, those words had me pulling three all-nighters, editing her portfolio from rough sketches to a polished masterpiece.

When the project won a national award, only her name was on the plaque.

Grayson's excuse back then? "Cynthia has a weak constitution. She needs this award on her resume more than you do."

And I actually bought that garbage.

I gripped my phone tightly and let a soft, agreeable tone slip past my lips. "Sure. Have her send me the files."

"Good girl," Grayson replied.

Two words. That was all it took for him to think he had me completely leashed.

I stared out the window, remembering the pathetic version of myself from my past life, and felt a wave of absolute disgust.

Less than an hour later, a knock echoed through my apartment. Silas stood in the doorway, holding a brown paper bag from my favorite artisanal bakery.

He unpacked the warm pastries onto my dining table, his voice dripping with honey. "Eat while it's hot. I know you've been stressed out dealing with Grayson and Cynthia's mess. Don't push yourself too hard."

He always played this role perfectly. Whenever Grayson cut me open, Silas was right there with the bandages.

Then, right on cue, he casually dropped the bait. "Cynthia's project is a massive deal, and Grayson is just stuck in a hard place. You know how frail that poor girl is. She just can't handle the pressure alone."

Look at them. They always had a million ready-made excuses.

Cynthia was fragile, so the entire world had to bend to her will.

I picked up a warm croissant and flashed him a bright, convincing smile. "I know, Silas. I promise I won't make things difficult for Grayson."

Silas let out a breath of relief and smiled back.

They both thought I was still that same pathetic Rachel, endlessly willing to set myself on fire to keep Grayson warm.

The next morning, I packed my laptop and headed to the university library to finalize my visa applications.

I was browsing the reference section when I looked up and saw them. Grayson and Cynthia.

Cynthia was leaning heavily against Grayson's chest. Her cheeks were rosy, and she looked about as fragile as a brick wall.

She let out a breathy laugh, gazing up at him. "Grayson, I honestly don't know what I'd do without you. Thank goodness you're here."

Grayson looked down at her, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. "You're such a fool sometimes."

He turned around to grab a bottle of water from his bag and froze. He saw me standing at the end of the aisle.

His expression hardened instantly, his brows knitting together in sheer annoyance. My presence was ruining his little romantic moment.

I didn't storm over. I didn't scream or demand answers like the old Rachel would have. I just stood there, offered him a polite, completely hollow smile, and turned back to the bookshelves.

I could feel his intense glare burning into my spine.

I didn't care. This nightmare was going to be over very soon.