Chapter 1:Seventeen Again
"I'm... I'm so sorry..."
Cold wine splashed across Luna's face.
The sharp sting of alcohol jolted her hazy mind wide awake.
One of her girls scrambled to press a towel into her hand, panic written across her face.
Luna took the towel without thinking, her gaze sweeping the room in a daze.
The girl in front of her stammered an apology, dressed in a banquet server's uniform. Her small face was lightly made up — delicate, almost breakable, the kind of pretty that made people want to protect her.
It was Rory.
But not the Rory who'd made it into an Ivy League university and built a life that had it all — love, career, everything.
This was seventeen-year-old Rory. Still raw. Still unpolished.
And this moment — Luna would never forget it. Not in this lifetime. Not in any.
At seventeen, she'd attended a banquet like any other. A server had spilled wine all over her.
The heiress's brand-new gown — ruined. She'd thrown a fit on the spot.
And Hayes had stepped in to defend the server.
That was when Luna — who had always looked down her nose at the entire world — noticed Rory for the very first time.
After that, the girl became a ghost that wouldn't leave. She seeped into every corner of Luna's life, uninvited and unshakable.
Luna grabbed the towel and dragged it across her face, careless.
In those few seconds, her free hand dropped to her thigh. She pinched. Hard.
The sting shot through her like electricity. It was real. She was really, truly back at seventeen.
This was the last golden stretch — the final days she'd still be the Harrington heiress, untouchable and shining.
It wasn't until after she died — in her last life — that she finally understood why she could never beat Rory.
The world was one giant destined-fate romance trope, and everyone had a role to play.
Rory was the heroine. Beautiful and broke. Alcoholic, abusive father. Spineless stepmother. A stepbrother who radiated cold hostility like a furnace radiated heat.
She'd started at rock bottom — clawed her way into an elite prep school on grades alone, and landed smack in the same class as the hero, Hayes.
Hayes. Devil-may-care. A revolving door of girlfriends. Heir to an old money dynasty that wrote its own rules. And — of course — a fiancée matched to him in social standing.
A playboy like that, and he still gave it all up for the heroine. Became the kind of man who'd burn the world down for one person.
It would've been a beautiful love story. If only Luna hadn't been the fiancée on the losing end.
Her purpose? To be the stepping stone. The obstacle that made their love story sweeter.
An old money heiress who kept picking fights with the heroine — and got shut down by the hero every single time.
And then came the fall of the Harringtons.
Luna ended up so broke she could barely afford a cramped studio. Her last meal was a DoorDash order she tipped exactly zero on.
She died young. A gas leak from the unit next door.
Twenty-two years old.
-
"What's wrong with you, you clumsy girl?" the banquet manager barked, sweating at the thought of angering a Harrington.
Rory bit her lower lip, her whole body swaying like she might crumple. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to—"
"An apology doesn't fix a—" the manager started.
"That's enough." A low voice cut through the air like a blade.
The manager's jaw snapped shut.
Hayes stood a head above the crowd, white suit tailored to perfection. Thanks to his movie-star mother, he had the kind of face that turned heads in any room — sharp jaw, dark eyes, and something reckless in the set of his mouth that said he'd never been told no.
His gaze found Luna. "We're all classmates. There's no need to make this harder than it has to be."
"Hayes..."
Rory's voice cracked on his name, her eyes going soft and grateful in a way that made Luna's stomach turn.
Luna finished wiping her face and watched the two of them. She almost laughed out loud.
*Luna, you absolute idiot.*
She'd burned her whole life to the ground over these two.
"I'm not trying to make things hard for anyone." Luna's voice came out level, almost bored. In her last life, she would've detonated on the spot — demanded to know why Hayes kept shielding every girl but her.
"This gown is a limited edition. My mother had it sourced at a premium and flown in."
"I wore it for less than two hours before wine hit it. Someone's paying for that."
The words barely landed before her girls fell over themselves to agree.
"Exactly — she needs to pay for that."
"Obviously. This kind of fabric is a nightmare — even water leaves marks, let alone wine."
Rory's teeth sank into her bottom lip. "How much?" The question came out small, almost a whisper.
Luna let out a soft scoff. "Classmate discount — I'll drop the change. Nine hundred thousand."
"Nine... nine hundred thousand?"
Rory's eyes went wide enough to fall out.
*What kind of dress costs that much?*
*Is Luna trying to rip her off?*
"You can't scam me just because I'm broke." Her voice trembled, but something stubborn and bright burned behind her eyes.
Luna hadn't even opened her mouth when the girls around them lost it — snickering behind their hands.
The laughter hit Rory's ears like needles.
Precise. Targeted. Straight into the cracks of pride she'd been desperately holding together.
Her eyes shot to Hayes. Pleading.
Hayes pressed his lips thin. Opened his mouth to speak—
"Don't." Luna's voice sliced between them, flat and final. "Keep your mouth shut. This has nothing to do with you."
Hayes went still.
He'd known Luna since they were kids. She'd always been sunshine around him — smiles, laughter, easy warmth.
He'd never heard that tone come out of her mouth before.
The gown was soaked through, clinging to her skin in all the wrong ways. Luna needed to get out of it. Now.
She closed the distance to Rory.
Rory barely cleared five-four. Luna stood nearly five-seven.
Luna reached out and patted Rory's shoulder, leaning down just enough. Her hair spilled forward, catching the light. Wine and jasmine — the sharp bite of one, the ghost-sweet whisper of the other. "Look it up on the website if you don't believe me. You've got two days. School starts Monday. I'll send you my bank account number then."
She dropped the words and walked. Didn't look back once.
The black gown traced the line of her back, dark silk against pale skin, her hair swaying with each step.
Hayes and Rory stood rooted to the spot. Neither said a word.
-
The door of the private changing room clicked shut, and the grin Luna had been fighting finally broke free.
She peeled off the ruined gown and pulled on a simple dress. Hit the bed face-first. Pulled out her phone and checked her WhatsApp and Venmo balances.
A string of zeros long enough to choke on.
Something in her chest unclenched.
In her last life, Luna had believed love conquered all. She'd thought money was the most worthless thing in the world.
Then the family collapsed. Her father — weak, weeping — took the fall for his own brother and went to prison. Her mother, all fire and no control, was committed to a psychiatric ward. And Leo, her love-obsessed little brother, desperate to buy designer bags for a girl who didn't love him back, walked into the underground black market and sold a kidney. The wound went septic. He died at twenty.
Luna was left with nothing. No family. No money. Not even a name worth claiming.
Be truly poor once — just once — and you'll learn exactly what money is worth.
She lay there for a few minutes, then flagged a cab. Restless energy buzzing under her skin.
They passed Kingsley Prep Academy, and Luna turned to the window, something flickering in her chest.
Her old school.
Kingsley Prep Academy — New York's most prestigious elite prep school. Tuition ran half a million a year, and every student faced a background check deeper than most job applications. The campus was a sprawl of old European architecture: soaring castle walls, the kind of grandeur that made you forget normal people existed.
Weekend. The gates that usually choked with cars sat wide and empty.
At the bus stop, a boy stood with a backpack slung over one shoulder, white earbud cord vanishing into his pocket.
A massive camphor tree spread its canopy overhead, thick and green, cutting the afternoon glare into soft, shifting coins of light.
Light and shadow played across him.
He kept his eyes down, features sharp and clean as a blade — like the world around him didn't deserve his attention.
Everything about him read cold. Remote. The kind of beautiful that made you want to look twice and then keep walking — like a snowcapped peak you knew you'd never reach.
Jax.
"Stop the car."
