My Ex-Husband Asked My Hand for Remarriage

I am the only daughter of the Milton family—a title worth billions, and a childhood haunted by three kidnappings.

To keep me safe, my father assigned me a hundred bodyguards. Even going to school required an escort of three bulletproof cars.

“Choose a husband—someone who can stay by your side day and night,” my father said.

Without hesitation, I chose the gentlest one among them, Wyatt. But on the day of our wedding, he suddenly dismissed all my bodyguards.

I was kidnapped and tied to a rooftop, with a cold blade pressed against my neck.

On the other end of the phone, Wyatt sneered, "Aubrey, are you trying to be funny? You bullied Olivia with gangsters—she’s the real victim here! Who are you putting on this act for?"

"I only assigned your bodyguards to protect her 24/7. Now, you will feel what it's like to live in fear."

I counted the chimes from the rooftop clock.

With each passing hour, I lost a finger.

By the final hour, my blood had drained, and so had the life in me.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I had to choose my husband.

In my father's hand were still those eight photographs.

This time, I didn’t hesitate. My fingers brushed past Wyatt’s warm, gentle face and pointed directly at the corner photo—the one with a roguish smile and a devil-may-care expression.

But my father said, “That man is already dead.”

——

I stared at the eight photographs in his hand. Without a second thought, my finger bypassed Wyatt’s face and landed on the man with sun-kissed skin and a crooked grin.

Dad was stunned. “Aubrey, weren’t you always fond of Wyatt? Why choose Aidan?”

I clenched my fist so tightly my nails dug into my palm.

Aidan, the notorious playboy of Brooklyn's elite circles—excelled in sports, tanned from years of racetrack sun, a regular at clubs, always surrounded by flashy women.

My father disapproved of him and had exiled him to some remote mountain village to keep him out of sight.

But I remembered.

In my past life, when I lay bleeding on that rooftop, the last thing I saw before I jumped was Aidan—rushing toward me like a madman, panic and heartbreak written all over his face.

"I want him," I whispered, my voice trembling.

My father frowned and pulled out his phone to search his contacts, only to freeze awkwardly.

He didn’t even have Aidan’s number saved.

What a joke. These eight men were all his adopted "sons," but Aidan didn’t even merit a name in his contact list.

The assistant called back quickly.

“Chairman, Aidan passed away last month in a landslide while stationed in Green Belt Village.”

My father sighed. “Aubrey, choose someone else. Wyatt—”

“I’m done choosing,” I cut him off, standing abruptly, my throat tightened. “If I can’t have him, I don’t want anyone.”

In my past life, those so-called “brothers” were either falling over themselves to please Wyatt’s cousin or coldly watching me suffer.

Now, with this second chance at life, I would rather die alone than let their fake kindness stab me in the back again.

I stumbled out of the office, my mind replaying Aidan’s final expression over and over.

If even he was gone, who in this world would ever risk everything for me again?

Suddenly, a cold hand clamped around my wrist.

I looked up, and saw it was Wyatt.

Olivia stood beside him, her slender figure leaning softly against his, tears still glistening in the corners of her eyes like she'd suffered some great injustice.

Wyatt’s expression was gentle, but his words were blunt. “Aubrey, Olivia’s health isn’t good. Your hot spring villa is just sitting there empty—let her use it to recuperate for a few days. She’s not sleeping well and has a persistent cough.”

If it was before, I would have undoubtedly softened and agreed.

But this time, I merely gave them a cold glance.

“I don’t agree.”

Then I pulled out my phone and called my assistant. “Lock the villa. Don’t let any random people sneak in.”