The Salinger house was not a home; it was a museum dedicated to mid-level affluence. Everything was beige, pristine, and aggressively tasteful. The air smelled faintly of lemon polish and passive aggression.
Louise, however, did not smell of lemon polish. She smelled of Dior and fresh rebellion.
She and David stood in the entryway. David, stiff in his suit, looked nervously between his parents and his fiancée.
David's father, Robert Salinger, was a man whose personality could be accurately described as 'tax bracket.' His mother, Ella, was a gaunt woman with the judgmental stare of a hawk peering at a field mouse.
The moment Ella and Robert saw Louise, they both froze.
Ella's mouth, already a thin, disapproving line, dropped open slightly. Robert, however, achieved a level of speechless shock that was both gratifying and grotesque: his eyes immediately zeroed in on the exposed décolletage afforded by the deep V-neck of the red silk dress.
"Good evening, Robert, Ella," Louise purred, her voice a low, melodic contrast to the silent horror. She performed a slow, elegant curtsy, making the slit in the dress flash momentarily.
Robert swallowed audibly. He seemed unable to formulate a response beyond an involuntary twitch in his left eye.
Ella recovered first. Her face snapped shut, the horror replaced by cold, furious indignation.
"Louise," Ella said, her voice strained enough to crack glass. She cleared her throat with the force of a minor explosion. "A word. In the powder room. Now."
Louise smiled sweetly at David. "Hold my clutch, darling. Mother needs some counsel."
David, confused and terrified by the imminent explosion, simply nodded and took the small bag.
In the pristine white lavatory, surrounded by embroidered hand towels, Ella wasted no time.
"What in God's name are you wearing?" Ella hissed, pressing her hands against the sink. "This is a family dinner, not a strip club audition! Only a whore would wear something like this."
Louise studied her nails, which were painted the same shade of audacious red as her lips. She finally looked up, her expression utterly serene.
"That's such an interesting observation, Ella," Louise said, leaning against the doorframe. "Because you know, I always thought that only a really bitter, jealous woman would give a damn about how a man reacted to a younger, more beautiful woman's dressing."
Ella's thin veneer of composure cracked. "Jealous? Of you? Don't be ridiculous! David is my son! I am trying to protect him from ruin! You look like you're trying to catch his father's eye—"
"Am I?" Louise interrupted, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "I wonder why Robert Salinger can't seem to look me in the eye when I speak to him. Perhaps he prefers the view further south?"
Ella gasped, clutching her throat dramatically. "You are disgusting! You are vulgar! And you know what else, Louise? You are fat. You need to lose weight. You think that expensive trash you bought today is going to hide that figure? You'll look absolutely ugly in the wedding dress."
Louise laughed—a genuine, musical sound that bounced off the tiled walls.
"Oh, but I already bought the wedding dress, Ella. David paid for it," Louise replied, shaking her head sadly. "It's a custom Vera Wang. It cost him a small fortune, about ten thousand grand, in fact."
Ella turned a patchy red. "You shouldn't spend money like that!"
"But why not?" Louise asked, shrugging her shoulder, which caused the silk to slip ever so slightly. "Your boy felt proud to see me shine. He said I was his prize. Isn't that what you want for David? A wife who makes him the envy of his peers, even if she's 'vulgar'?"
She pushed off the doorframe, adjusting the dress. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I hear the cork being pulled. I hope you bought the Château Margaux I requested."
Louise swept out of the bathroom, leaving Ella standing alone, panting with impotent rage beside a pile of lavender-scented soap.
The tension at the dinner table was so thick you could butter it.
Ella sat rigidly, picking at her exquisitely plated asparagus. David kept glancing desperately between his mother and his fiancée. Robert, however, had successfully migrated his gaze from Louise's cleavage to her knees, offering her appreciative glances every time Ella looked away.
Louise was enjoying herself immensely.
"Robert, that's hilarious!" Louise trilled, throwing her head back and laughing dramatically at a perfectly average anecdote Robert told about a corporate merger.
Robert preened, puffing out his chest. "Yes, well, you have to keep a sense of humor in this business, Louise."
"You two seem very close," Ella hissed, slamming her fork down.
"Oh, we are," Louise confirmed, batting her eyelashes at Robert. "Robert and I just... understand each other on a deeper level. We are both visionaries."
"That is enough!" Ella snapped. She threw her napkin onto the table, the sound echoing in the dining room. Her face was contorted with fury, shame, and a genuine, primal fear that her husband was being seduced right in front of her. "I have had quite enough of this performance! I am going home."
"But, Mother, you are home," David pointed out stupidly.
"I mean I am leaving this table, David! Now!" Ella rose, her chair scraping painfully across the polished wood. She marched toward the exit.
Robert, ever the dutiful (and terrified) husband, jumped up immediately. "Ella, wait! Darling, come back! We have guests!"
He chased his wife out of the room.
Silence descended. David stared at the empty space where his parents had been, utterly bewildered.
"What... what just happened?" David stammered, looking at Louise. "What did you say to them? What did you do?"
Louise took a delicate sip of the expensive wine she had requested. "Me? Nothing, darling. I have no idea. One minute we were laughing about Robert's excellent joke, and the next, Ella seemed to get upset. Perhaps she needs some air? She looked a little feverish."
David grabbed his keys. He looked stressed, torn, and crucially, completely useless.
"Look, I'm sorry, Lou," David said, his eyes already on the door. "I love you, but you know how Mom gets. I need to go talk her down. She's probably having an anxiety attack. I'll be back. You... you just wait here. Help yourself to the steak."
And with that, David Salinger—her fiancé, her supposed life partner—abandoned her to chase after his mommy.
Louise watched the door close. She wasn't surprised. David always chose his mother. In the previous life, whenever there was conflict, he retreated behind Ella's skirts, letting his mother fight his battles and assign the guilt.
You're right, David, Louise thought, raising her glass in a silent toast. I was so stupid in my previous life to ever think you'd choose me.
Now alone at the massive dining table, Louise turned her attention to the food.
She hadn't eaten a proper, high-quality meal since coming back. She had been too stressed, too manic, too busy planning revenge. She cut a generous piece of the steak, savored the rich, buttery texture, and sighed with deep, satisfied relief.
She sipped the Château Margaux. It tasted like victory.
It was in this moment of quiet, expensive solitude that the reality of her new life finally settled over her, not as a desperate mission, but as a genuine gift. She hadn't been fighting; she had been winning. The armor she wore was physical, but the strength was spiritual.
She was alive. She was free. She was dining alone in the enemy's fortress.
Louise felt a wave of profound gratitude wash over her, first for the Moon Goddess, who had so inexplicably granted her this chance to live again. And second, for the one person the goddess had promised her: her Fated Mate.
He really is a knight in the shadow, she thought, wiping her mouth elegantly. He guarded me. He protected me. He must be watching over me still.
Louise swore to herself, finishing her wine. She would not only find her Fated Mate—the man whom she now believed could not be the dismissive, tulip-hating Andy Finch—but she would shower him with the love, devotion, and gratitude she owed him. He deserved a lifetime of happiness for the second chance he had secured for her.
I will find you, whoever you are.