Chapter 2

As Ethan guided me toward the sprawling, manicured gardens, I felt a vibration in my clutch. I pulled out my phone, expecting a text from the event coordinator. Instead, I saw my father' s name on the screen.

Mr. Hayes.

A wave of warmth and sorrow washed over me. In my previous life, after my death, he had fought relentlessly for me. He exhausted his savings and ruined his health trying to find the truth, but Ethan and his influential new friends had silenced him, painting him as a grief-stricken old man lost in conspiracy theories. He died of a broken heart, alone.

This time, he would not be alone. I would not let him fight for a ghost.

"I need to take this," I told Ethan, stepping away from the path, my voice firm.

Ethan glanced at the caller ID and sneered. "Your father? Can' t it wait, Liv? We' re about to network with some of the most important people in the state."

"No," I said, my gaze meeting his. "It can' t."

I walked a few paces away and answered. "Dad?" My voice cracked slightly, the sound of his familiar, gentle tone a balm on my raw soul.

"Liv, pumpkin. I just had a feeling. Is everything okay over there? You sounded a bit off when we talked yesterday."

"I' m fine, Dad. It' s just... a lot."

"I know. A senator. It' s a big deal. But don' t you forget who you are, Olivia. You' re a Hayes. We may not have a fancy family name that opens every door, but we have something better: integrity. Your grandfather was the most respected judge in this county, not because he was powerful, but because he was fair. Never let these ambitious types make you feel small."

His words were a lifeline. My grandfather. I had forgotten. He wasn't just a judge; he had a reputation that still lingered in the state's legal and political circles. He had mentored many young lawyers and politicians, including, I vaguely recalled, a young, idealistic Senator Maxwell. It was a connection I had never thought to use, a piece of my history Ethan had always conveniently dismissed as irrelevant. It wasn't irrelevant. It was ammunition.

"Thank you, Dad. I needed to hear that. I love you."

"I love you too, pumpkin. Call me the second you' re done."

I hung up, a new layer of strength settling within me. I turned back to see Ethan talking animatedly with Holly Summers. She was dressed in a pristine white dress, her blonde hair catching the sunlight. She looked like an angel. I knew she was a demon. Several of their colleagues from the university' s political science department were with them, all laughing and smiling, a pack of hyenas eager for a kill.

"There you are," Holly said, her voice like honey laced with poison. "We were just saying how brave you are to perform today. I' d be a nervous wreck!" She placed a hand on Ethan' s arm, a gesture of ownership that was both casual and cutting.

"Liv is a professional. She' s not afraid of anything," Ethan said, beaming with proprietary pride. The other professors murmured their agreement, their eyes filled with the same fawning ambition. They were all in on it, every last one of them. They all stood to benefit from Ethan' s rise, anticipating promotions and grant money flowing from their connection to Senator Maxwell.

Suddenly, a woman in a staff uniform hurried toward our group, her face pale with panic.

"Professor Thorne? Professor Summers? There' s a problem at the stables. A small fire has broken out in the hayloft. That' s where the Maxwell girl was playing!"

My blood ran cold. It was starting. In my past life, this was the cue. Holly was supposed to rush in, brave the "danger," and emerge with a frightened but unharmed Lily.

But I had made a small change before leaving the house. I' d made an anonymous call to the estate' s security office, reporting a faint smell of gasoline near the stables an hour ago. I' d described a "suspicious-looking person" who vaguely matched Holly's description loitering in the area. It was a tiny stone tossed into their perfectly still pond, but I hoped it would be enough to create a ripple.

Holly' s eyes widened, but a flicker of triumph flashed within them. This was her moment. Ethan gave her a subtle, encouraging nod.

But before Holly could launch into her heroic act, a voice cut through the air, calm and firm.

"I' ll go."

We all turned. It was my father. He was standing at the edge of the lawn, his car keys still in his hand. He must have driven over right after our call, his paternal intuition screaming too loudly to ignore. His eyes were fixed on me, but his words were for the group.

"My daughter is the child' s music tutor. She knows her. I' m a retired teacher. We can help calm her down," he said, his gaze sweeping over Ethan and Holly, a clear, unspoken distrust in his eyes. "You all seem a bit overdressed for a fire."

He walked towards the stables, and I fell into step beside him, leaving a stunned and furious group of academics in our wake. The plan had already veered off course. And my father, my quiet, steadfast father, had just stepped onto the battlefield.