Chapter 2

The first thing I did the next morning was swap out every single medication in my cabinet.

In my previous life, after the wine had failed to work fast enough, Callum had switched my daily vitamins with a slow-acting cardiac suppressant. It had mimicked the symptoms of a natural heart condition—fatigue, shortness of breath, occasional fainting.

By the time I was rushed to the hospital, three doctors had signed off on "sudden cardiac arrest." Clean. Untraceable.

Callum had even cried at my funeral. Sienna told reporters she had "lost a sister."

The memory made my stomach churn.

I flushed every pill down the toilet and replaced them with identical-looking vitamin capsules I bought from the pharmacy near campus during my lunch break.

When I came back home that afternoon, I noticed something that I had been too naive to catch the first time around.

Sienna was already in my house.

She was sitting on my couch, drinking from my favorite mug, laughing at something on her phone. When she saw me, she jumped up with exaggerated excitement.

"Ivy! I came over to surprise you! Callum mentioned you weren't feeling well last night, so I brought you soup."

She held up a thermos with both hands, her doe eyes wide and glistening.

In my past life, I had hugged her gratefully and drank every drop.

This time, I stared at the thermos for a long moment.

"That's so sweet of you, Sienna." I took it from her hands. "But I just ate. I'll save it for later."

I set it on the kitchen counter and made a mental note to have it tested.

Sienna's smile didn't waver, but her fingers twitched. "You should really drink it while it's hot, babe. I made it with that high-collagen bone broth you love—"

"I said I'll drink it later."

The sharpness in my voice surprised her. She blinked, then quickly recovered. "Of course! No pressure."

She settled back onto my couch as if she owned it. I studied her face—the delicate features, the perfectly tousled hair, the designer dress that I now realized I had probably paid for.

"So," she said casually, "Callum told me you poured out the anniversary wine last night. Are you two fighting?"

There it was. The fishing expedition.

"Not at all," I replied calmly. "I've just been rethinking some of my habits lately."

"What do you mean?"

I looked her dead in the eye. "I've been too trusting, Sienna. Of people. Of things people hand me. I think it's time I started being more careful."

For the first time, I saw something cold flash behind her warm expression. It disappeared immediately, replaced by a concerned pout.

"Ivy, you're scaring me. Did something happen?"

"Nothing happened." I smiled. "Yet."

After she left, I poured the soup into a sealed container and drove it to a private lab I had found online—one that had no connection to any Aldridge-affiliated hospitals.

Three hours later, the results came back.

The soup contained trace amounts of the same cardiac suppressant that had killed me in my past life.

I sat in my car in the lab parking lot, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

Part of me had still been hoping—praying—that maybe I was wrong. Maybe the rebirth had scrambled my memories. Maybe Callum really did love me and Sienna really was my friend.

But the lab report didn't lie.

They were actively trying to kill me. Right now. Today.

I took a shaky breath and pulled out my phone.

Before I could do anything about Callum and Sienna, I needed allies. Real ones.

I scrolled through my contacts and stopped on a name I had ignored for the past three years because Callum had told me he was "a bad influence."

My older cousin, Dominic Wren—the only other person in the world who had a stake in protecting the Wren family fortune.

In my past life, Callum had successfully isolated me from Dominic by convincing me that he was trying to steal my inheritance.

I had believed him. I had cut Dominic off completely.

Six months after my death, Dominic had publicly accused Callum of foul play. But without evidence, the case went nowhere—and Dominic was found dead in his apartment a year later.

The official ruling was suicide.

I knew better now.

My finger hovered over Dominic's number. Then I pressed call.

It rang twice before a gruff, surprised voice answered. "Ivy? Is that really you?"

My throat tightened. "Dom. I need your help."

A pause. Then, quietly: "I've been waiting three years for you to say that."