Chapter 1

The award felt heavy in my hands. Polished, cold, and solid, just like the foundations I designed. On stage, the applause was a distant roar, a wave of sound that washed over me without really touching me. I was Ava Monroe, the best structural architect in the business, the one they called when a building's bones were in question. My firm had just given me this award for saving the Harrison Tower from a potential flaw no one else had seen.

"She has an instinct for weakness," my boss said into the microphone, his voice booming through the ballroom. "A sixth sense for structural integrity."

I smiled, a practiced, polite curve of my lips. My fiancé, Liam Hayes, stood just offstage, his handsome face beaming. He squeezed my hand as I stepped down.

"Another one for the mantelpiece, babe," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "We should celebrate."

My father, Mr. Monroe, came over next, his new wife clinging to his arm. He looked proud, but his eyes kept flicking toward the cameras. "That's my daughter," he said, a little too loudly. "Brilliant. Just like her mother."

The mention of my mother felt wrong coming from him. She was gone, and he had moved on so fast. His new family, my stepsister Chloe Vance included, was his priority now. Chloe wasn't here tonight. She was probably busy with one of her "psychic readings," telling grieving people what they wanted to hear for a fee. I never understood how my father could stomach it.

The good feeling from the award didn't last. The next morning, the city woke up to horror. The newly completed Olympia Skyscraper had collapsed overnight. A pancaked ruin of steel and glass, taking hundreds of lives with it.

My blood ran cold. I had consulted on that project. I had submitted a report, a warning about a specific joint design that I flagged as a potential failure point under seismic stress. The developer had ignored it, citing costs.

Before I could even process the grief, the second blow landed. It came from the last person I expected.

Chloe.

She was on every news channel, her face a mask of tragic, beautiful sorrow. Her eyes were wide, filled with expertly produced tears.

"I saw it," she said, her voice trembling. "I had a vision. A premonition of the collapse. I tried to warn people."

A journalist, leaning in, asked, "Who did you warn, Ms. Vance?"

Chloe looked directly into the camera. Her eyes seemed to find mine through the screen. "I told my stepsister, Ava Monroe. She's a structural architect. I told her exactly what I saw, the weakness, the danger. But she did nothing."

The reporter pressed on. "Why would she do nothing?"

Chloe let out a sob. "She said... she said she needed to wait. To let the problem get worse so her firm could charge a higher fee to fix it. It was about the money for her."

The world stopped. The air left my lungs. It was a lie. A monstrous, impossible lie, built on a sliver of truth. She must have seen my reports, overheard my calls. She had twisted my professional concern into a narrative of cold, calculated greed.

My phone started ringing. It didn't stop. My firm, the same one that had given me an award less than twenty-four hours ago, called first.

"Ava, we have to let you go," my boss said, his voice flat and devoid of the warmth from the night before. "The board has made a decision. We can't be associated with this."

"It's a lie," I choked out. "You have my reports. You know I warned them."

"The optics, Ava. The optics are terrible. A psychic foresaw it, and you, our star architect, are accused of negligence for profit. It's over."

The line went dead.

Next, the media descended. My face was plastered everywhere, next to Chloe's saintly, grieving one. I was the villain. The greedy architect who let people die for a bigger paycheck. Public opinion turned on me like a rabid dog. My social media was a cesspool of hatred and death threats.

Liam called. I thought, finally, some support.

"Ava," he said, his voice strained. "I can't do this."

"Can't do what, Liam? It's all lies. You know me."

"My career, my family... they're getting calls. People are calling me the fiancé of a monster. I can't have this attached to my name. We're done. I'll have my assistant drop off your things."

He hung up before I could even scream.

Then, my father. He didn't even have the courage to call me directly. He sent a text. Ava, you have brought shame on this family. Do not contact us. Chloe needs our support right now.

I was alone. Fired. Abandoned. Every bridge I had ever built was burning.

The final, most cruel attack wasn't on me, but on my mother's memory. The community garden she had loved, the one I redesigned after her death as a memorial, was vandalized. They spray-painted "MURDERER" on the benches I had installed. And they had taken the cornerstone, a simple block of granite I had laid myself, with her name and dates carved into it.

A witness told the police they saw a group of angry people, some wearing shirts with the victims' faces on them, pry it loose and throw it into the river that ran alongside the park.

Something inside me snapped. That cornerstone was all I had left of her, a physical piece of my love. I went to the riverbank that night. The water was dark and cold. I could see the hate mail and rotten vegetables they'd thrown on the grass. Without thinking, I waded in. The icy water bit at my legs. I searched with my feet, my hands, desperate.

Then I felt it. The rough, familiar shape. The cornerstone.

I wrapped my arms around it, trying to lift its dead weight. It was too heavy. The current was strong, pulling at my clothes, trying to drag me down. My feet slipped on the muddy bottom. I lost my balance, and the stone pulled me under.

The water was a black, crushing weight. It filled my mouth, my nose, my lungs. I fought for a moment, my arms flailing, but the shock and the cold and the sheer despair were too much. My last thought was of the injustice, the burning, helpless rage. Then, nothing.

I gasped, sucking in a huge, ragged breath. It wasn't water filling my lungs, but clean, dry air. My eyes flew open.

I wasn't in the river. I was in my bed. Sunlight streamed through my bedroom window. My phone was on the nightstand, buzzing. I looked at the screen. The date. It was the morning of the Olympia Skyscraper collapse. The day it all began.

Before Chloe's accusation. Before the world had ended.

I sat bolt upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. The phantom feeling of cold water still clung to my skin. I looked at my hands. They were clean, not covered in river mud. I was alive. And I had a second chance.

I remembered the faces. Chloe's triumphant, tear-streaked face on the television. Liam's cold, dismissive eyes. My father's weak-willed betrayal. The angry mob.

This time, it would be different.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were sharp, no longer clouded by trust. The woman who had drowned in the river was gone. In her place was someone who had seen the absolute worst in people she loved. I remembered the cornerstone, the weight of it dragging me down. This time, I wouldn't be the one to sink.

I picked up my phone, my mind racing. The collapse would happen tonight. Chloe would make her move tomorrow morning. I had less than a day. I scrolled through my contacts, past Liam, past my father. My finger hovered over my boss's name. No. They wouldn't listen. They would just see liability.

Then I saw it. The plans for the Olympia Skyscraper, still on my tablet from my last review. The specific joint design I had flagged. The developer's emailed rejection of my concerns. The cost is prohibitive, Ms. Monroe. We are confident in our current design.

I had the proof. I had it all along. Last time, I was too stunned, too grief-stricken to use it effectively. This time, I would be strategic. I wouldn't just defend myself. I would attack.

I started to formulate a plan. It wasn't just about saving my career or my reputation anymore. It was about justice. It was about making Chloe Vance, the lying, manipulative social climber who used a national tragedy for fame, pay for what she did. And it was for the memory of my mother, whose memorial they had desecrated. The game had reset, and this time, I knew all the moves.