Introduction

My eyes shot open in "The Daily Grind," our favorite coffee shop, the bitter taste of espresso echoing a nightmare I couldn't shake.

Across from me, my boyfriend, Ethan, scrolled on his phone seemingly oblivious, while the barista, Sabrina Chavez, zeroed in on my new work laptop.

Her sweet voice dripped with poison as she commented on my "corporate" success, hinting at how Ethan "worked so hard" and how "nice" it must be to afford luxuries.

But her words weren't sweet to me; they were a chilling echo of a vivid nightmare, a terrifying memory of betrayal, public humiliation, and ultimately, absolute despair.

In that fading dream, this very conversation was the first domino in an avalanche that buried my career, my reputation, and eventually, my life, ending with a handful of pills.

I watched her, a chilling certainty settling in my bones: Sabrina, the "sweet small-town girl," wanted Ethan, but more, she wanted my life, and she saw me as nothing but an obstacle.

The memory of the nightmare became horrifyingly clear: a spilled coffee, a piercing gun, a Hepatitis C diagnosis, my life in ruins, ending tragically.

But this time, I wasn't just remembering; I was reliving the day it all began, and in this horrifying déjà vu, one thing was crystal clear.

This time, I would not be the victim.