Chapter 1

I woke up.

The sunlight was too bright in my eyes.

I knew this room. My bedroom in the New York penthouse.

But it felt wrong.

I looked at my phone. The date.

My breath stopped.

This was five years ago.

Five years before the fire.

Before I died.

The door opened. Ethan walked in.

My husband.

He looked younger. Colder, if that was possible.

"Ava," he said. His voice was flat. "I need you to authorize the transfer. From your trust fund."

He didn't look at me. He looked at the wall above my head.

"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars," he said. "For a new venture at Davenport Global."

I stared at him.

Reborn. I was reborn.

The money. I remembered the money.

In my first life, that money was for Chloe Sanders. His intern. His mistress.

The memories hit me.

Hard.

The ski lodge in the Catskills. The blizzard.

Ethan's face, twisted with anger. "You'll stay here until you agree to the divorce, Ava."

He locked the door to that old wing of the lodge.

I screamed.

He walked away. I saw his car drive down the snow-covered road.

Then the smell of smoke. The fire.

The heat. The pain.

My last thought: "If I get another chance... I won't make these mistakes again."

And now, here I was.

Another chance.

The room spun. I felt sick.

"Ethan," I whispered. My voice was weak. "I... I don't feel well."

He finally glanced at me. No concern in his eyes.

Just annoyance.

"Just sign the papers, Ava," he said. "Don't be dramatic. I have a meeting."

He put a thin folder and a pen on the bedside table.

Then he turned and walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

He didn't even wait to see if I was okay.

My heart felt like a stone in my chest.

This was him. This was Ethan.

Nothing had changed. He was still the same cruel man.

The dizziness passed.

A cold feeling spread through me.

Not fear.

Resolve.

I had to see her. Chloe Sanders.

I needed to see her now, in this new timeline.

To know. To be sure.

I got out of bed. My legs were a little shaky.

But I made them move.

I dressed quickly. Simple clothes.

I had to see what I was up against.

I took a taxi to Davenport Global.

I knew Chloe' s routine from my first life.

She was an intern. She liked to be near Ethan's office around lunchtime.

Hoping he would notice her.

He always did.

I stood by the elevators, pretending to wait.

And then I saw them.

Ethan and Chloe.

They were standing in the hallway, near his office.

Chloe was looking up at Ethan. Her face was a mask of sweet innocence.

A small, worried frown on her lips.

She was probably telling him about some small problem, making herself look like a damsel in distress.

Ethan was smiling down at her.

A warm smile. The kind he never gave me.

He touched her arm. A gentle, reassuring touch.

"Don't worry, Chloe," I heard him say. "I'll take care of it."

My stomach twisted.

That look. That touch.

It was all the same.

This was Chloe's gift to me, in a way.

This sight.

It killed any tiny, stupid hope I might have had.

There was nothing left to save with Ethan.

He was already hers.

My path was clear. I had to get away.

From him. From her. From this life.

I went back to the penthouse.

Ethan was there, in his study. He looked up when I walked in.

Impatient.

"Did you sign the papers?" he asked.

I didn't say anything.

I walked to the table where he' d left the folder.

I picked up the pen.

I signed the authorization. Giving him my money.

"There," I said. My voice was steady.

He nodded, not really looking.

Then he pushed a small pile of envelopes towards me. Invitations. RSVPs.

"Handle these," he said. "The Harrison Mills gala is next month. Confirm our attendance for all of them."

He was already turning back to his computer, his phone to his ear.

Dismissing me.

I picked up the top card. An RSVP for some charity dinner.

Mr. and Mrs. Ethan Davenport.

I looked at the line for the signature.

Slowly, carefully, I wrote: Ethan Davenport.

His full name. In my handwriting.

I put the card in the 'yes' pile.

He wouldn't notice. He never noticed details about me, or us.

It was a small thing.

A tiny act of rebellion.

My first step.

A strange bitterness filled my mouth, but also a spark.

A spark of something new.

Independence.