Chapter 4

The anniversary of Olivia's death approached, the day they planned to swap her soul permanently into my body.

The day I died in my first life.

This time, I was ready.

Mark was unusually attentive that morning.

"Happy... well, you know," he said, trying for a somber tone. "I have something for you later. Something special."

The heirloom locket. I knew.

I feigned excitement. "Oh, Mark! That sounds wonderful. I was thinking we could make tonight really special. There's this rare wine I read about, a specific vintage from that little shop way across town. Could you possibly pick it up?"

He hesitated. "Across town? Today?"

"Please? It would mean so much to me." I gave him my most winning smile.

He eventually agreed, though he grumbled about the traffic.

Next, Chloe. She arrived mid-morning, all fake sympathy.

"How are you holding up, sweetie?"

"Better, thanks to you both," I lied. "Actually, Chloe, I have a huge favor. I ordered a custom dress for tonight, something really special, but the boutique called, and it's ready early. It's at that exclusive place, 'Chic Designs,' out near the old mills. Could you possibly grab it? I can't get away."

Chloe preened at the mention of an exclusive boutique. "Of course, Sarah! Anything for you."

She wouldn't be able to resist telling people she was picking up a custom dress from Chic Designs.

Perfect. Both of them would be gone for hours.

As soon as their cars pulled away, I moved.

First, I called a no-kill Greyhound rescue shelter I'd researched, one known for its quick, discreet placements.

"I have a purebred Greyhound," I explained, my voice trembling slightly for effect. "He's become... too much for me. A bit unpredictable."

They agreed to take him.

I looked at Lucky, Olivia's soul trapped in his fattened, uncomfortable body. He eyed me with suspicion.

"Your chariot awaits, Olivia," I murmured.

I carefully removed his collar, the one with my old silver bracelet still attached – the trigger for the swap. I' d "found" it in a drawer a week ago and Mark had eagerly put it back on Lucky.

Then, I drove to the pre-arranged meeting spot with the shelter.

A volunteer took Lucky (Olivia), cooing about how handsome he was, despite his current paunch.

I handed over a generous donation. "Please find him a good home."

Back in my car, I pulled out a different collar, identical to Lucky's original, and the new Greyhound.

This one was well-behaved, calm, and looked remarkably like Lucky, pre-overfeeding. I' d sourced him from a private breeder, a temporary rental.

I put Olivia' s trigger bracelet collar onto the new, unsuspecting dog.

Next, the real Lucky, now containing Olivia's furious soul.

I drove him, not to a comfortable shelter, but to a notoriously run-down kennel far out of town, the kind you read horror stories about.

The air there stank of neglect and despair.

I paid cash, a large sum, for indefinite boarding. "He can be a bit difficult," I told the grim-faced owner. "No need to contact me."

I slipped the original, simple collar that Lucky wore when he first arrived – without the trigger bracelet – onto him.

Then, the final piece.

I' d hired an actor, a woman with a kind but firm face, to act as a "childminder."

She arrived at the awful kennel a little later, with young Ethan in tow.

Her instructions were clear: Ethan was there for a "tough love" experience, to see how badly treated animals live, to build character.

He was to witness the state of the dogs, specifically a certain Greyhound in a specific run.

Olivia would see her son. And her son would see her, trapped, miserable, in a filthy cage.

A taste of what she had planned for me.

I drove home, a cold calm settling over me.

The stage was set.