Chapter 2

The memory of the gunshots was a physical thing, a phantom ringing in my ears that made the morning silence feel heavy and threatening. I lay still for a long time, letting the horrifying clarity of what was to come wash over me. This wasn't a dream. It was a second chance, paid for with blood that hadn't been spilled yet.

My first thought was of my parents. Their warm, loving faces, not the bruised and terrified masks from the warehouse. I had to save them.

I got out of bed, my movements careful and deliberate. I couldn't afford a single mistake. Julian was still asleep in his separate wing of the house, a testament to the cold distance that had defined our marriage even before I knew about Lily.

My first priority was creating an escape route for my parents. I used a heavily encrypted laptop, one I' d kept for my own private work, and began the process. I liquidated a personal investment portfolio Julian didn't know about, a safety net I' d built years ago out of a vague, unformed fear. The money was wired through a series of shell accounts to a newly created trust in the Cayman Islands.

Next, I found the island. A small, self-sufficient property in the South Pacific, owned by a reclusive billionaire who was selling it privately. It was accessible only by seaplane and had its own security infrastructure. It was perfect. I paid for it in full using the trust. New passports, new identities, a whole new life for them, far from Julian' s reach.

The plan was simple. I would call them later today and tell them I was booking them a surprise anniversary trip, a month-long luxury cruise. I would pack their bags myself, ensuring they had everything they needed. The "cruise" would be a private jet to the island. By the time Julian even noticed they were gone, they would be ghosts.

With the most critical part of the plan in motion, I allowed myself to think about the catalyst of my suffering. Lily Chen.

In the first timeline, I had only seen her in the investigator' s photos. A faceless victim. This time, I needed to see her for myself. I needed to understand what it was about this woman that could shatter a man like Julian Vance.

I drove my own car, a modest electric vehicle Julian hated, to the industrial district. The air here was thick with the smell of rust and neglect. I parked a block away from the address on the receipt and walked. Her studio was on the top floor of a converted warehouse, the only window with a light on.

I didn't go in. I just watched from across the street, standing in the shadow of a decaying brick building. After about an hour, she came out.

She was small, with a cascade of long, dark hair. She wore paint-splattered overalls and carried a canvas almost as big as she was. She wasn't a siren or a femme fatale. There was an innocence to her, a fragility in the way she moved, as if she were battling the weight of the world and the canvas at the same time. She was beautiful, but it was a quiet, unassuming beauty. The kind Julian, with his taste for sharp, polished perfection, should have overlooked.

As I watched, a group of rough-looking men turned the corner, their laughter loud and aggressive. They saw her, a lone woman struggling with a large object, and their focus shifted. They started walking toward her, their pace quickening.

My blood ran cold. This was not part of my plan.

One of them called out something crude. Lily flinched, hugging the canvas closer as if it were a shield. She tried to walk faster, but the canvas was awkward and heavy.

I didn't think. I acted. My past life, the one where I confronted a monster on stage, was reckless. This was different. This was instinct.

I started my car remotely with my phone. The headlights flashed on, and the horn blared, a sudden, sharp noise that cut through the street. The men startled, looking toward the sound. It was the only distraction she needed. She darted into the street, trying to get away.

But in her haste, her foot slipped on a loose piece of gravel. She cried out as she fell, the huge canvas tumbling down on top of her.

At the same moment, a large delivery truck, its driver oblivious, was rumbling down the street, heading right for her.

My mind went blank. I was out of my car and running before I even made a conscious decision.

"Move!" I screamed.

I reached her just as the truck's brakes screeched. I grabbed her arm and pulled, dragging her and the canvas out of the way just as the massive vehicle shuddered to a stop inches from where she had been.

We both lay on the pavement, panting, our hearts hammering against our ribs. The men who had been harassing her had vanished. The truck driver yelled something out his window and then drove off.

Lily sat up slowly, pushing her hair out of her face. She looked at me, her eyes wide with shock and gratitude.

"You... you saved me," she whispered.

I looked down at her. This innocent girl, this catalyst for so much pain. And I felt... nothing. No hatred. No jealousy. Just a strange, hollow emptiness. I had just saved the woman my husband was obsessed with, the woman whose existence would lead to my parents' murder in another life.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice flat.

"I think so," she said, wincing as she tried to stand. Her ankle was twisted. "Thank you. I don't know what would have happened if..."

Before she could finish, a sleek black car, one I knew all too well, screeched to a halt beside us. The back door flew open and Julian Vance stepped out.

His eyes, frantic and wild, scanned the scene. They landed on Lily, crumpled on the ground. A wave of raw, unfiltered panic crossed his face. He rushed to her side, completely ignoring me.

"Lily! Are you hurt? What happened?" he asked, his voice laced with a desperate concern he had never, not once, shown me.

He knelt beside her, his hands hovering over her as if she were a priceless, fragile artifact. He was checking her for injuries, his touch surprisingly gentle.

Lily looked from him to me, a blush of confusion and embarrassment on her face.

"I'm okay, Julian. I just fell. This woman... she pulled me out of the way of a truck."

Only then did Julian's gaze snap to me. The panic in his eyes was instantly replaced by a familiar, chilling coldness. It was a look of pure, cutting fury. He wasn't looking at me as his wife. He was looking at me as an intruder, an unwelcome variable in his carefully controlled equation.

"What are you doing here, Scarlett?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

The confirmation was absolute. His obsession was real. And seeing it directed at this girl, this child, while I stood there, the woman who had just saved her life, sent a shard of the old pain through the new, cold resolve in my heart. It was a painful reminder of what I had lost, and a stark confirmation of why I had to win.

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