Chapter 1

The social worker cleared her throat, her voice tight with forced professionalism.

"Jocelyn, Stella, we have some incredible news."

I looked at Stella, my sister in every way that mattered, and felt a cold dread creep up my spine. I knew this moment. I had lived it before. This was the beginning of the end.

In my last life, this was the day our biological families found us. The day we were torn apart and sent to our separate hells. I was sent to the Clarks, where my so-called sister Nicole framed me, got my leg broken, and ended my track career. They threw me away after that, into a life of abuse I barely survived.

Stella was sent to the Lawrences. Her cousin Debra, jealous of her natural talent, drugged her, stole all her recipes, and had her locked away in a mental institution to rot.

We both died, in our own ways. And now, we were back. High school seniors, on the verge of everything, with the memories of that future burned into our souls.

"Your biological families have been located," the social worker continued, her smile not reaching her eyes. "The Clarks and the Lawrences. They're very prominent, very wealthy. They're waiting downstairs to take you home."

Stella' s hand found mine under the worn-out table of the group home. Her grip was like iron.

I looked the social worker dead in the eye.

"No."

The word was flat, final.

The social worker blinked, confused. "I'm sorry, what?"

"We're not going," I said, my voice as cold as my memory of their cruelty. "We're staying here. Together."

Stella squeezed my hand, a silent, unbreakable agreement. This time, no one was separating us. This time, we would fight back.

Downstairs, two groups of expensive-looking people stood awkwardly in the main room of our group home. One group was clustered around a polished girl with a fake smile, Nicole. That was my family. The other group flanked a smug, famous-looking man, Anthony Lawrence. Stella' s father.

A man in a sharp suit, Matthew Clark, my biological father, stepped forward. His eyes scanned my simple clothes with disdain.

"Jocelyn? I'm Matthew Clark. It's time to come home."

His tone wasn't welcoming. It was a command.

Before I could speak, Stella stepped in front of me, her quiet voice cutting through the tension.

"Home? You mean the home where you already have a daughter?" she asked, gesturing toward Nicole. "The replacement."

Matthew Clark' s face hardened. "Nicole is our daughter. We adopted her. This has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me," Stella said, her voice shaking slightly but firm. "Jocelyn is my sister. You threw her away once, and you'll do it again."

Nicole put a hand to her chest, her eyes welling up with fake tears. "I don't understand. I was so excited to meet my new sister. Why is she being so hostile?"

"See?" Matthew said, his voice dripping with annoyance. "Ungrateful. Just like I feared."

He didn't see a daughter. He saw a problem. I remembered the hope I had in my past life, the desperate need for his approval. Now, all I felt was a hollow ache and a burning resolve.

I stepped forward. "She's right. I'm not going with you."

I turned to my father, my voice clear and loud for everyone to hear. "I don't know you. Stella is my family. She is my only sister."

I looked him straight in the eye, using the formal tone he understood. "Mr. Clark, you have your daughter. Leave me with mine."

A wave of shock rippled through the Clark family. My mother looked horrified. My brother sneered.

Then, the celebrity chef, Anthony Lawrence, turned his critical gaze on Stella.

"So you're the one," he said, his voice laced with contempt. "I heard you didn't even get into the culinary institute. Poisoned before the exam, was it? A likely story. A real chef has a refined palate, discipline. You clearly have neither."

His words were meant to cut, to diminish her. In our past life, they had destroyed her.

This time, I stepped in. "She was poisoned. By your niece, Debra. The one you praise so much. You just care about results, not the truth."

Anthony scoffed. "Excuses. I have no time for amateurs."

That was it. Stella, empowered by my defense, looked her father in the eye.

"You're right," she said, her voice ringing with newfound strength. "You're not a father. You're a brand. And I want nothing to do with you."

Anthony' s face turned red with rage. He reached into his wallet, pulled out a few hundred-dollar bills, and threw them on the floor between us.

"Fine! See how long you last without my help. You'll come crawling back, begging."

Stella and I looked at the money on the dirty linoleum floor. Then we looked at each other. Without a word, I bent down and picked it up.

"This is the least you owe her," I said, handing the bills to Stella. "For 18 years of neglect."

We turned our backs on them, on the two families who had destroyed us once before. We walked back to the only real home we had ever known, leaving them standing there in stunned silence.

As we walked up the stairs, I made a silent vow. We would protect this place. We would protect Maria, the matron who raised us, who in our last life died of a treatable illness because we weren't there to help her.

This time, we would save everyone we loved. And we would make them pay.