Chapter 3

A sharp pain shot through my head, pulling me from a deep darkness. I opened my eyes to my luxury penthouse, but I shouldn't have been there. I remembered dying. The memory was cold and sharp: my protégé, Dustin, sold me out, and my husband, Graves, watched our company crumble, leading to my fatal heart attack. Then, Graves appeared, his charming, empty smile unchanged. But he wasn't alone. A young woman, Alex Salazar, stood behind him, clutching her cheap handbag. Graves introduced her as an intern, saying she had nowhere to stay and would be living with us. My eyes fell to her neck, where a dark hickey was partially hidden. The date on the nightstand confirmed it: I had traveled back in time to the exact day Graves brought Alex home in my previous life, the beginning of my long, painful nightmare. Last time, I had screamed and thrown things, starting my humiliation. A strange calm washed over me. I had been given a second chance, not to win him back, but to escape. "Of course," I said, my voice even, "The poor thing. We should take care of her." Graves looked surprised, then relieved. He thought he had won. "In fact," I continued, pulling out divorce papers, "I'll make sure she's comfortable. You just have one small thing to do for me." I wanted the Malibu property. "Give me that, and I'll walk away quietly. You can have your new life. You can take care of this... orphan."

At their nine-year anniversary party, Annis's husband brought his pregnant mistress home. He told Annis to move her things to the guest room and play hostess. "She's carrying my son," he said. "Be a good girl." But that wasn't the worst of it. A few days later, his mistress had "complications." She needed a transfusion. She had a rare blood type-the same as Annis's. He had his men drag Annis to a private hospital. She had a severe heart condition, and the doctor warned him that a full transfusion could stop her heart. Her husband simply waved him off. "Do it," he ordered. "I'm assuming full responsibility." He forced her to sign the papers, saying, "You owe me this, Annis. After all I've given you." As her blood drained away, her heart monitor began to scream. But his mistress called for him from the next room. He left Annis on the table, snapping at the doctor to "speed it up" before rushing to her side. The nine years of love she had for him died right there in that hospital bed. But she didn't die. She survived. And she waited. On his grandfather's 80th birthday, in front of his entire powerful family, a courier arrived. He wasn't carrying a gift. He was carrying a package from Annis, containing signed divorce papers and the official medical report detailing exactly how her husband had tried to kill her.

The day I was released from prison, my fiancé, Don Ford, was waiting for me, promising our life would finally begin. Seven years ago, he and my parents begged me to take the fall for a crime my adopted sister, Kelsey, committed. She got behind the wheel drunk, hit someone, and fled the scene. They said Kelsey was too fragile for prison. They called my seven-year sentence a small sacrifice. But as soon as we arrived at the family mansion, Don's phone rang. Kelsey was having another one of her "episodes," and he left me standing alone in the grand foyer to rush to her side. The butler then informed me I was to stay in the dusty storage room on the third floor. My parents' orders. They didn't want me upsetting Kelsey when she returned. It was always Kelsey. She was the reason they took my college scholarship fund, and she was the reason I lost seven years of my life. I was their biological daughter, but I was just a tool to be used and discarded. That night, alone in that cramped room, a cheap phone a prison guard gave me buzzed with an email. It was a job offer for a classified position I had applied for eight years ago. It came with a new identity and an immediate relocation package. A way out. I typed my reply with shaking fingers. "I accept."

My mother, a nurse who spent forty years caring for others, was poisoned and left for dead after a charity gala. The woman responsible, Keyla Dixon, stood in court, a mask of tearful innocence, claiming self-defense. The real horror? My husband, Garrison Gardner, the city's top lawyer, was defending Keyla. He tore my mother's reputation apart, twisting the truth until the jury believed Keyla was the victim. The verdict came swiftly: "Not guilty." Keyla hugged Garrison, a triumphant smirk flashing across her face. That night, in our cold mansion, I confronted him. "How could you?" I choked out. He calmly replied, "It was my job. Keyla is a very important client." When I screamed that she tried to kill my mother, he threatened to use my mother's sealed medical records, her history of depression, to paint her as unstable and suicidal. He was willing to destroy her memory to protect his client and his career. I was trapped, humiliated, and heartbroken. He had sacrificed my mother for his ambition, and now he was trying to erase me. But as I signed the divorce papers he had prepared, a wild, desperate plan began to form. If they wanted me gone, I would disappear. And then, I would make them pay.

I thought my boyfriend of three years, Jaxon Tate, was my soulmate. Our life was perfect. Tonight, while borrowing his phone to order dinner, I accidentally opened his notes app. That's when I found "Denzel's List." Denzel was his older brother, who died two years ago. The list contained 400 tasks. "Take Elfrieda Stewart to the movies for my brother." "Propose to Elfrieda Stewart for my brother." "Love Elfrieda for the rest of her life for my brother." Before I could even breathe, he took a call on the balcony from a woman named Janice. His secret wife. "Of course, I love you," I heard him tell her. "Marrying Elfrieda is just... a business transaction. It's to honor Denzel's dying wish." My world shattered. Our entire three-year relationship was a lie. Every "I love you," every touch was just an item on a checklist. I wasn't his soulmate; I was a task to be completed for a dead man. I was the other woman, and I didn't even know it. He came back inside, smiling his perfect, fake smile. "Sorry about that, a crisis at the office." He then suggested a trip to see the northern lights, another item I was sure was on his list. As he leaned in to kiss me, I picked up my own phone and sent a text to my brother. "Can you come get me? I need to come home."

My marriage to Kameron Stephens was perfect. He was handsome, powerful, and utterly devoted to me. Everyone said I was the luckiest woman in the world, and I believed them. One afternoon, I went to pick up my best friend's son from kindergarten. But I froze when I saw my husband, Kameron, kneeling to tie the little boy's shoe. "Daddy, can we get ice cream?" the boy asked. The word slammed into me. Then a beautiful woman-an old friend he swore was just like family-walked up and kissed his cheek. Kameron wrapped an arm around her waist. A perfect family. My perfect husband, with his perfect secret son. The timeline clicked into place with cold precision. He had gotten her pregnant years ago, right after I caught them kissing and he begged me to take him back. All those years I pleaded for a baby, he put me off with sweet excuses, saying he wanted me all to himself. It was all a lie. He already had an heir. I was just a placeholder, a beautiful doll to show off to the world. That night, I hid in the shadows of our home and heard him on the phone with her. "Don't worry," he said, his voice cold. "I'll never let Hailey have a child. The Stephens' fortune will all be for Leo." My world shattered. He had stolen my chance at motherhood and built a family with another woman, while I was left with nothing but a hollow marriage and a legacy of lies.