Chapter 339

Vivienne

I hug my brother so tight he wheezes.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." I press my face into his shoulder, breathe in the familiar scent of home. Safety. Him.

"I can’t believe I’m doing this." He’s watching the dock, the rows of expensive yachts glittering in the afternoon light, like he’s waiting for someone to jump out and arrest us both. "I can’t believe you have me doing this."

"I love you." I pull back, grin at him. "You’re my favorite brother."

"I’m your only brother."

"Still counts."

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "I can’t believe you have me helping you sneak out to see your lover. Across the country." He looks at the boats, then at me.

"Who is this bastard anyway, that has us doing something so risky?"

"You’ll see."

"I’m going to need therapy after this."

"I’ll pay for it."

He makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. I don’t care. Because she’s here. Somewhere on this dock, on one of these boats, waiting for me.

It was a five-hour plane ride under the guise of a sibling getaway. I may or may not have had to cry, guilt trip his wife until he agreed, so I get to meet Daphne.

Officially she’s on a business trip and Micheal took his sister on a tiny vacation getaway. He’s a good brother sometimes.

"So." He squints at the boats. "Let’s see this bastard that’s got you sneaking across the country."

I spot her.

She’s on the deck of a yacht—white hull, clean lines, the kind of boat that belongs in magazines. She’s wearing a button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to her elbows, and shorts that show off her legs. Her hair is loose, blowing in the wind, catching the light.

She looks like she stepped out of a dream I didn’t know I was having.

"No." Michael’s voice is strangled. "Vivienne, that’s—"

But I’m already running.

"Vivienne!" he shouts behind me. "Are you insane?!"

Too late.

I hit the gangplank running, my sandals slapping against the wood, my heart in my throat. She sees me. Her face transforms—shock, then joy, then something that makes my chest ache.

I launch myself off the plank.

She catches me.

Her arms close around my waist, solid and sure, and I wrap myself around her like I’m coming home. Because I am. I’m home.

"Daphne." Her name is a gasp against her neck.

I don’t want to let go. I want to stay here, wrapped around her, the boat rocking gently beneath us, the whole world narrowed to the warmth of her arms and the beat of her heart under my ear.

But Michael is on the dock, and he’s going to come charging onto this boat any second if I don’t do something.

I stand. Reluctantly. Slowly. Like pulling myself out of a dream.

"Let’s go before my brother comes to drag me away."

She laughs and kicks off the plank. The rope loosens. The boat drifts, just slightly, just enough to put distance between us and the dock.

"Vivienne!" Michael’s voice carries across the water. He’s standing at the edge now, arms spread, the picture of outrage. "You’re just going to leave me here?"

"You’ll figure it out!" I call back, laughing.

"I’m going to tell Mother!"

"Tell her I said hi!"

He makes a sound of pure betrayal.

He’ll forgive me. He always does.

***

Daphne

"You know what you’re doing, right?"

Vivienne’s voice carries over the wind, laced with amusement and just a hint of nerves.

I snort, keeping my eyes on the water ahead. She’s settled on the cushions behind me, legs tucked under her, hair blowing across her face. The fly bridge of the yacht is open to the sky, the sun warm on my shoulders, the salt spray cool on my skin.

"Have some faith in me, dear sister-in-law."

"Hmmmnnn." She stretches out, watching me with those blue eyes. "When did you learn?"

"It’s not that complicated. Mostly automatic." I adjust the wheel, feeling the boat respond beneath my hands.

"I learned during my time away from home."

I glance back at her.

"This baby is mine."

It’s not a lie. Not exactly.But I learned long before that. A lifetime ago. Five lifetimes ago.

Yuxi loved boat rides. Loved the escape of them—the open water, the horizon, the feeling of leaving the world behind. She’d sit exactly where Vivienne is sitting now, hair blowing wild, laughing at something I said.

And I kept buying boats because she loved them. Five of them, over the years. Each one bigger, better, faster.

She always said I was spoiling her.

I told her she deserved it.

CEO Han.

I turn my head Immediately.

For a second—just a second—I see her. The film empress. Jiang Yuxi in the afternoon light, hair dark against the white cushions, smile sharp and bright. The same tilt of her head. The same curve of her lips.

"Daphne?" Vivienne’s voice pulls me back.

I blink.

Vivienne is there. Blue eyes, not brown. Honey hair, not black.

"I just think you’re so pretty." The words come out softer than I intended.

She rolls her eyes, but I see the flush creeping up her neck. She turns away, looking at the water, pretending she doesn’t notice me watching.

I look at the horizon. At the endless stretch of blue.

And it happens again. And again. The overlap. Vivienne and Jiang Yuxi, sliding into each other, merging in the corners of my vision.

A laugh that echoes. A gesture that lands like a memory. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear, the way she closes her eyes when the wind hits her face, the way she looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

She’s not Yuxi, I remind myself. She’s not Evelyn, or Estella, or Nima. She’s Vivienne. She’s herself. She’s new.

But the soul is the same. It’s always the same.

The sun catches the gold in her hair, turns it to something almost unreal. She’s beautiful. She’s always beautiful. In every form, in every life, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I mean, I get to fall in love over and over again. I’m glad. I really, really am.

Most people get one chance. One life, one love, one ending. However it turns out, that’s it. The door closes. The story ends.

I’ve had four chances before this one. Four lives where I found her, loved her, lost her. Four versions of her that I carry with me, always, like stones in my pocket. Heavy. Precious. Impossible to let go.

Sometimes, though—

I look back at the steering wheel. At my hands wrapped around it. At the boat cutting through water that’s been here longer than any of us.

Sometimes, I’m tired.