Chapter 2: Refusing to Sign My Life Away

Last time, this kind of fake tenderness got to me.

I used to think he was the only one who understood me. Now, his words sounded cheap, like a used car salesman’s pitch.

Now, I didn’t want to hear another word.

I cut him off. "You’re wrong. I’ve got plenty of people I can trust."

I looked him dead in the eye, daring him to argue. I felt taller, stronger. I didn’t owe him anything.

And what I didn’t say: "You’re the last one on that list."

I kept that part to myself, but I think he heard it anyway. His face fell.

Mitchell stepped back. "Fine, don’t sign today. Think it over, and when you change your mind, we’ll sign."

He tried to play it cool, but his voice wobbled. He even patted my head, like I was a kid who’d lost her way.

His eyes were slick and full of fake affection.

The touch made my skin crawl. His grip was clammy. I wanted to wash my hair, scrub away the memory. I didn’t flinch, though. Not this time.

Maybe I just didn’t care anymore; him patting my head made me want to shower.

I decided to end his wishful thinking. "No need to think it over. I’m never signing."

I said it slow, so there was no room for misunderstanding. Emma gave me a thumbs up behind his back.

Mitchell gave a dry laugh. "Don’t be so absolute. Women are fickle."

He said it like it was a joke, but there was an edge to his voice. I rolled my eyes. I was done playing nice.

I couldn’t be bothered to argue. I pried his hand off and looked at everyone in the room. "Mitchell, in front of everyone here, I’m officially breaking up with you."

The words hung in the air. For a second, no one moved. Emma stopped packing, the lawyer’s pen froze mid-signature. Mitchell’s face went blank.

Maybe I’d always been too easy on him, so my sudden change left everyone stunned.

I could hear someone whisper, “Is she serious?” I didn’t look back. I didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

Ignoring Mitchell’s crocodile tears behind me, I walked out of the conference room without looking back.

The hallway was cold and bright. Each step felt lighter. I pushed open the doors and let the sunlight hit my face. I was free.

Hands gripping the steering wheel, my mind spun.

I sat in my car, knuckles white, staring at the dashboard. My phone buzzed, but I let it go to voicemail. I just needed to breathe.

Mitchell Lane—just an average middle-aged guy. Sixteen years older than me. Ex-wife, a son, less money than me. Average body, average looks. Old enough that his smile looked tired.

He wasn’t even charming. He wore the same cologne as my high school math teacher. His jokes were stale, his shirts always a size too tight. I wondered what I ever saw in him.

They say heartbreak can literally change the structure of your brain, mess with your prefrontal cortex and hippocampus—stuff tied to emotion and connection.

I read that in some science article once, and it stuck with me. Maybe that’s why love makes you do dumb things. Maybe I just needed a brain reset.

In my last life, maybe my hippocampus glitched—that’s the only way I could’ve fallen for him.

I laughed out loud, the sound bouncing off the windshield. I wasn’t crazy—I was just human. Too trusting, too hopeful. That was my crime. Classic.

No wonder my fans mocked me.

Honestly, I couldn’t blame them. I’d been blind. I’d let myself become the punchline.

This time, after being reborn, my brain finally worked.

I felt sharper, more awake. I wasn’t going to let anyone take advantage of me again.

Mitchell Lane? He can go scam someone else!

Let him try. I was done being his target.

How did I let him talk me into signing last time?

I replayed the memory, the way he’d made it sound so reasonable. I wanted to shake my old self and scream, “Wake up!”

Oh, right. After a romantic night, he whispered in my ear, "You’re young and never studied finance. Let my professional team handle your money."

He’d said it like a promise, like he was doing me a favor. I’d felt safe, protected. What a joke.

At first, I hesitated, until he said, "Put your money where your love is."

"Nora, don’t you love me?"

God, I was dumb.

I cringed at the memory. If love was a test, I’d failed every question.

To prove I loved him, I handed over everything.

I’d called it trust, but really, it was just fear—fear of losing him, fear of being alone.

I even fought with the aunt who raised me.

Aunt Carol had always been my rock. I couldn’t believe I’d turned on her for a man like Mitchell. What was I thinking?

Auntie never liked Mitchell.

She could spot a scam from a mile away. She saw through his charm before I even gave him my number.

Her motto was: "If a man really loves you, he won’t want your money."

She’d say it over and over, like a warning. I’d roll my eyes, thinking she was just old-fashioned. Shows what I knew.

"He won’t borrow, won’t make excuses, won’t use your fame—he’ll only want to give you money."

She said it with conviction, like it was a law of nature. I’d never believed her—until now.

I even blushed and argued, "Mitchell’s not like that. He runs his own business, he’s got money!"

I remember the way my cheeks burned. I’d sounded so sure, so naive. Aunt Carol just shook her head.

"I really don’t know finance. He just wants to help."

I’d made excuses, trying to justify it. Aunt Carol wasn’t buying it.

Auntie shook her head. "Anyone with eyes can see he’s not reliable."