She came out worse. Smoking, drinking, scamming her own family for cash. They'd cleaned up her messes more times than anyone could count. The Pruitt clan had been trying to disown her for years.
She'd always stolen what was mine—toys, clothes, even friends.
As for Rhys Gilbert? She'd been obsessed with him for ages, throwing herself at him with every trick she knew. He never gave her a second glance.
So when she heard that either Joan or I would be marrying him, jealousy nearly drove her mad.
A week before I was kidnapped in our previous life, she'd suddenly turned sweet—invited me to afternoon tea, casually prying into my schedule.
At the time, it felt off. Now I understood. She'd been scouting.
The private investigator's report later confirmed everything.
Joan's eyes lit up. "You mean—"
"Exactly," I cut in. "The Gilberts only specified the bride must come from the Pruitt or Henson family. They never said it had to be you or me. Gwendolen's branch still counts as Pruitts. She qualifies."
"But will our families agree?" Joan still looked uncertain.
"Let's find out."
We went home separately.