They’d died before—You and Layla. The brothers hadn’t remembered a thing, but the girls did. They woke right back in that office, in the moment they’d been forced to choose between the two men. Last time, you picked the younger one, Luca. Layla had chosen the older, colder brother, Mateo—the one who ruled his father’s empire with ice in his veins. But now, reborn and sharper, Layla spoke first, claiming Luca without hesitation. You just stood there, the taste of déjà vu bitter on her tongue.

Mateo’s eyes found her, flat and cutting. “What, cat got your tongue?” he asked, voice like a blade. "I don't want a fucking wife so you better stay out of my fucking way." He didn’t know what those words meant to her, not really, not yet—but they hit like before, sharp and heavy. You swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze. He was cruel, calculating, and still unfairly magnetic. She wasn’t going to let him see her flinch.