Chapter 2

The taxi dropped me at the entrance to Neiman Marcus. I walked through the glass doors and the cool, perfumed air was a shock after ten years in a remote research station.

I found a small, quiet cafe inside the department store and ordered a black coffee. As I sat there, the memories of my first life played back in my mind, not as a dream, but as a documentary of my own murder.

I had been so naive, so happy to be home.

I' d taken the car Mark sent. The driver, a stranger, took me to the house in Coronado.

The gates were closed. A private security guard I didn't recognize stood in the booth.

He looked at my worn clothes and dusty bag with open contempt.

"Can I help you?"

"I live here," I' d said. "I'm Evelyn Vance."

He smirked.

"Mrs. Vance is inside hosting a party. I don't know who you are, but you're not on the list."

Mrs. Vance.

He meant Ashley Barnes. My best friend from college. The woman I had trusted with everything.

I pushed past him, ignoring his shouts, and walked up the long driveway. The house, my house, was alive with music and laughter. On the lawn, a banner read: "Congratulations Brittany! Stanford Class of 2027!"

Brittany. Ashley's daughter.

I found them on the patio, holding court. Mark, my handsome husband, in his crisp Navy dress whites. Ashley, glittering in a designer dress, her hand possessively on his arm.

"Mark?" I had whispered.

They turned. The smiles on their faces froze.

"Evie," Mark said, his voice flat.

Ashley recovered first, a perfect mask of concern on her face.

"Oh my god, who is this? Mark, darling, do you know this woman? She looks... lost."

The other guests stared.

"I'm his wife," I said, my voice shaking.

Mark stepped forward, his eyes cold as stone.

"This woman is a former colleague. She's had some... issues. She's been stalking me for years."

He was protecting his career, a career built on a lie. The ambitious Captain Vance, married to the daughter of a four-star General. That was his ticket to the top. Ashley had simply stepped into the role I had vacated for my research.

He guided me inside, away from prying eyes. He handed me a glass of water.

"Drink this, Evie. Calm down."

I drank it. I trusted him.

The last thing I remembered was the floor rushing up to meet me, and Ashley' s triumphant smile.

Then, the boat. The dark water.

I later learned, in the hazy space between life and this new one, what happened next. My daughter, Chloe, was told I had a psychotic break and drowned myself. The trauma silenced her. They sent her to a brutal "behavioral camp" that broke her spirit.

Ashley, the grieving "widow" of the General's "son-in-law," comforted my parents. She slowly, methodically, swindled them out of their entire fortune. They died penniless and brokenhearted, believing their only daughter had abandoned her family and then killed herself.

The coffee in my cup was cold.

My hands were shaking, but not from fear.

It was rage. A rage so pure and cold it could crack glaciers.