Chapter 1

The applause was a distant roar, like the ocean.

On the stage of Northwood University's grand auditorium, a girl who looked exactly like me was smiling at the crowd.

She was delivering the salutatorian address.

She was using my name, Ava Davenport.

My heart didn't race, it felt cold and heavy, a familiar weight. I had seen this before, in another life. A life where I watched this on a livestream from a dark room, just before the police kicked down my door and arrested me for a murder I didn't commit.

This time, I was here.

I started walking down the center aisle.

A low murmur started near the back, a ripple that spread through the rows of students and their proud parents.

"Look, it's her."

"Who? There are two of them."

"What is going on?"

My twin sister, Stella, paused her speech. Her perfect smile faltered for a second when she saw me, a flicker of pure hatred in her eyes before it was replaced by practiced confusion.

The Dean of Students, a stern man named Mr. Harrison, stepped up to the microphone.

"Young lady, can I help you? This is a private event."

"I'm Ava Davenport," I said, my voice clear and steady. I stopped at the foot of the stage and looked up at the girl wearing my life like a costume. "And I don't know who that is."

The auditorium erupted into chaos.

Stella descended the stage steps, a picture of grace and concern.

"I don't understand," she said, her voice trembling just enough. "Ava? Is that you? What are you doing here?"

Before I could answer, two figures pushed through the crowd. Mr. and Mrs. Davenport, the tech moguls from Silicon Valley. My biological parents. The people who had kept Stella and thrown me away.

"This is ridiculous," Mrs. Davenport said, her voice sharp and cold. She didn't look at me, only at the Dean. "Our daughter, Ava, is right here." She put a protective arm around Stella.

Mr. Davenport nodded. "This other girl is an impostor. She's clearly disturbed. Call security."

The Dean looked between us, his face a mask of confusion. We were identical. Same face, same height, same build.

"We need to sort this out," he said, trying to regain control. "Do you have identification?"

"Of course," Stella said sweetly. She pulled a wallet from her blazer pocket and produced my driver's license, my social security card, my Northwood acceptance letter. All pristine. All with her face on them.

"This proves nothing," I said. "Those are fakes."

Mrs. Davenport laughed, a short, ugly sound. "Oh, I think we can settle this definitively. Our Ava, the real Ava, has a very distinctive birthmark. A small, star-shaped mark on her left wrist."

She grabbed Stella's arm and pushed up the sleeve of her expensive blouse. There it was, a perfect brown star against her pale skin.

The crowd murmured again, this time with a sense of finality. It was proof.

Then, a final knife twisted. A handsome, popular-looking boy stepped forward from the front row. Ethan. The high school quarterback I recognized from pictures Stella had posted.

"It's true," Ethan said, his voice full of sincerity. "I've known Ava for years. That's her birthmark. I don't know who this other girl is, but she's not Ava Davenport."

He looked right at me, his eyes full of pity and contempt. In my last life, his testimony sealed my fate.

This time, I was ready for it.