The alarm went off at six in the morning, loud enough to rip Emma Hayes straight out of death.

She sat up so fast that the silk sheets slid from her shoulders and pooled around her waist. For a few terrifying seconds, she could not understand why she was breathing, why her heart was pounding inside her chest, why there was no blood in her mouth, and why the smell around her was not hospital disinfectant or cold marble but Ryan Carter’s expensive cedarwood cologne.

Emma stared at the bedroom in front of her.

The wide windows were covered by soft gray curtains. The chandelier above the bed threw pale gold light across the ceiling. Her dressing table stood beside the wall, still arranged with the skin-care products Ryan’s sponsors had sent her because she was “Mrs. Carter,” wife of America’s favorite hockey star.

This room was familiar.

Too familiar.

Her fingers tightened around the blanket as she turned toward the nightstand.

Her phone screen glowed.

March 18.

Three years earlier.

Emma stopped breathing.

“No,” she whispered. “No way.”

She grabbed the phone with shaking hands, unlocked it, and checked again. The date did not change. The year did not change. Her calendar still showed the charity gala Ryan was supposed to attend tonight, the same event where Sophia would wear that silver dress and laugh as if she had not already been sleeping with Emma’s husband behind her back.

Emma pressed one hand over her mouth.

She was back.

She was alive.

The last thing she remembered from her previous life was not the fall itself, though the memory of her body hitting the bottom of the stairs was still sharp enough to make her stomach twist. What she remembered most clearly was Ryan standing above her, his face pale but not destroyed, his hand still gripping the railing.

“Ryan,” she had choked out, reaching for him. “Help me.”

He had taken one step down.

Then he had stopped.

Behind him, Sophia had whispered, “Ryan, don’t touch her. If you call an ambulance now, she’ll ruin both of us.”

Emma had heard every word.

She had heard Ryan’s breathing, uneven and panicked. She had heard Sophia crying, but not from guilt. Sophia had cried because Emma’s death would be inconvenient. Because there would be questions. Because there would be police.

And Ryan, the man Emma had loved since college, the man whose career she had built with her own hands, had not saved her.

Later, after the darkness swallowed her, Emma thought it was over.

But somehow, her soul had lingered.

She had watched them stand in her living room after the police left, pretending to be devastated in front of everyone, then dropping the act the second they were alone.

Ryan had poured whiskey with shaking hands.

Sophia had sat on Emma’s couch with Emma’s cashmere blanket over her lap.

“She was going to expose us,” Sophia had said softly.

Ryan had stared into his glass. “She controlled everything.”

Sophia had looked at him with fake sympathy. “She loved you too much. That was her problem.”

“No,” Ryan had said, his voice turning bitter. “She loved controlling me. My schedule, my interviews, my contracts, my diet, my image. I couldn’t even breathe without Emma telling me how it would affect the team.”

Emma remembered standing there, invisible and dead, wanting to scream.

She had handled his schedule because he forgot half his meetings. She had managed his interviews because he lost his temper with reporters. She had checked his contracts because his first agent had almost signed away his image rights for half their worth.

She had protected him.

Ryan had called it control.

Sophia had walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Now you’re free.”

Ryan had closed his eyes and let her hold him.

“Yeah,” he had whispered. “Finally.”

Emma laughed now, but the sound came out broken.

Free.

He had been free for exactly eight months before his perfect life started rotting in public.

Without Emma, Ryan missed training twice in one week. Then came the nightclub photos, the model in Miami, the drunk fight outside a hotel, and the lawsuit from a woman who said Ryan’s people had paid her to stay quiet. Except Ryan no longer had Emma to make problems disappear before they reached the press.

Sophia did not care about his reputation. She cared about the money, the penthouse, the designer bags, and the attention she got from being seen beside him.

When Ryan’s performance dropped, she blamed pressure. When sponsors pulled out, she blamed the media. When the team doctor warned him about his physical decline, Sophia found a private trainer who gave him something to “boost his energy.”

Emma had watched Ryan fail a drug test.

She had watched his team suspend him.

She had watched the league turn its back on him.

The golden boy of American hockey became a scandal people laughed about on morning shows.

And Sophia? She left when the money dried up.

Emma slowly lowered the phone.

In her first life, she had died loving Ryan Carter.

In this life, she woke up knowing exactly how he would destroy himself.

The bedroom door opened.

Emma’s entire body went still.

Ryan walked in wearing gray sweatpants and a black team hoodie, his dark blond hair damp from the shower, his face still carrying that effortless, arrogant beauty that had once made magazines call him “the prince of the ice.”

He smiled when he saw her sitting up.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

Emma looked at him and felt nothing but a cold, steady disgust.

Ryan crossed the room and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You okay? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“I had a bad dream,” Emma said.

Her voice sounded calm. That surprised her.

Ryan sat on the edge of the bed and studied her face. “About what?”

“You.”

He laughed, warm and easy, as if that answer amused him. “Was I at least hot in the dream?”

Emma looked at the man who had let her bleed out at the bottom of the stairs.

“You were exactly yourself.”

Something in her tone made his smile pause for half a second, but Ryan Carter had never liked uncomfortable emotions, so he ignored it.

“I’ve got practice at eight,” he said, reaching for the watch on his wrist. “Then a sponsor lunch, then the gala tonight. You remembered, right?”

“Of course I remembered.”

“You always do.” He leaned back on one hand and gave her the charming smile he used whenever he wanted something. “That’s why I married you.”

Emma’s lips curved slightly. “Because I remember your schedule?”

“Because you remember everything I forget.”

In her first life, that sentence would have made her feel needed. Loved, even.

Now it sounded like a confession.

Ryan needed her because she was useful.

Not because he valued her.

“Is Sophia coming tonight?” Emma asked.

Ryan’s fingers stopped on the strap of his watch.

It was brief. Almost nothing. But Emma saw it.

“Sophia?” he asked casually. “I think so. Why?”

“You tell me.”

He looked up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Emma shrugged and reached for the water glass on her nightstand. “Nothing. She just asked me yesterday what color I was wearing, and I wondered why she cared so much.”

Ryan smiled again, but this time it was thinner. “You know Sophia. She likes attention.”

Yes, Emma thought. Especially yours.

“She’s your best friend,” Ryan added.

Emma took a slow sip of water. “Is she?”

Ryan frowned. “What’s going on with you this morning?”

“I told you. Bad dream.”

“You’re being weird.”

“And you’re being defensive.”

He blinked, then laughed like she had said something ridiculous. “Defensive? About Sophia? Come on, Em.”

The nickname made her skin crawl.

Ryan reached for her hand, but Emma moved first, setting the glass down before he could touch her. His eyes narrowed a little.

“Did something happen?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“What does that mean?”

Emma looked straight at him. “It means I’m tired of cleaning up messes before they happen.”

Ryan stared at her for a moment, then stood. “Okay, I don’t have time for one of your cryptic moods.”

In her previous life, that would have hurt.

This time, Emma smiled.

“You never did.”

Ryan grabbed his gym bag from the chair near the closet. “I’ll be home by six. Wear the navy dress tonight. The one with the open back. The photographers loved it last time.”

Emma tilted her head. “Do you want your wife there, or do you want a good picture?”

Ryan turned back, irritated now. “Why are you picking a fight?”

“I’m asking a question.”

“You’re my wife. The picture matters because we matter.”

The lie came so smoothly that Emma almost admired it.

Almost.

Ryan stepped closer, lowering his voice the way he did when he wanted to end an argument without actually listening. “Look, tonight is important. The foundation donors will be there, the team owner will be there, and Coach might bring up the contract extension. I need everything to look perfect.”

There it was again.

Not be perfect.

Look perfect.

Emma folded her hands in her lap. “Then I guess I’ll do what I always do.”

Ryan relaxed immediately, because he heard surrender where there was only strategy.

“Thank you.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek this time. “I knew I could count on you.”

Emma kept her face still until he left the bedroom.

The door clicked shut.

She waited until she heard his footsteps fade down the hallway, then she threw the blanket aside and walked to her desk.

Her laptop was exactly where she remembered leaving it. The password was still their anniversary, a fact that suddenly felt pathetic enough to make her laugh.

She opened a new folder.

For a long moment, her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Then she typed:

Evidence Against Ryan Carter.

Inside that folder, she created three more.

Affair.

Money.

Career Misconduct.

Emma sat back and stared at the screen.

In her first life, she had wasted years trying to be the perfect wife.

In this life, she would be the perfect witness.

Her phone buzzed on the bed.

She glanced over, expecting a message from Ryan, maybe some lazy apology meant to smooth over the tension before tonight.

Instead, the notification showed an unknown sender.

Emma picked up the phone.

The message had no words.

Only one attachment.

She opened it.

The photo loaded slowly, pixel by pixel, until the image sharpened enough for her to see a hotel entrance, a black SUV, Ryan’s hand on Sophia’s lower back, and Sophia looking up at him with the intimate smile she had once saved for Emma when pretending to be her best friend.

The timestamp was from last night.

Emma stared at the photo for several seconds.

Then she saved it to the new folder and whispered to the empty room, “Thank you for making this easy.”

A second message arrived.

This time, there were five words.

He has done worse.

Emma didn't sleep much that night.

Not because she was heartbroken.

That version of her had died once already.

It was because every time she closed her eyes, she kept remembering things she had ignored in her previous life.

The late-night text messages Ryan claimed were from teammates.

The sudden business trips Sophia somehow always knew about before Emma did.

The way Sophia constantly touched Ryan's arm whenever they were in the same room.

Back then, Emma had called it friendship.

Now she called it exactly what it was.

A warning she had been too blind to see.

The next morning, Emma was sitting at the kitchen island with her laptop open when Ryan walked downstairs.

He looked freshly showered and irritatingly handsome.

The kind of man people trusted immediately.

The kind of man who could smile while ruining your life.

"Morning."

Emma looked up briefly.

"Morning."

Ryan paused.

His eyebrows pulled together.

"That's it?"

"What?"

"No coffee waiting for me?"

Emma almost laughed.

For years she had woken up before him.

Made breakfast.

Prepared his schedule.

Answered emails.

Reviewed contracts.

She had practically managed his entire existence.

And somehow he'd convinced himself that was normal.

"There's coffee in the machine," Emma said.

Ryan stared.

"You didn't make any?"

"No."

"You always make coffee."

Emma took a sip from her own mug.

"And you always know where the coffee maker is."

For a moment he looked confused.

Then slightly annoyed.

"Are you still upset about yesterday?"

Emma closed her laptop.

"Ryan, if you have something to say, just say it."

He sighed.

"Okay. You're acting weird."

"There it is."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Ryan sat across from her.

"You haven't been yourself lately."

Emma leaned back.

The irony almost made her smile.

Of course she wasn't herself.

Because the version of Emma he knew had spent years putting him first.

That woman no longer existed.

"What exactly am I supposed to be doing?" she asked.

Ryan frowned.

"What?"

"What would make me normal again?"

His expression tightened.

"You know what I mean."

"No, I really don't."

"Emma—"

"Do you mean cooking for you?"

His jaw flexed.

"That's not fair."

"Do you mean handling your sponsorship meetings?"

"That's part of your job."

Emma laughed.

Actually laughed.

Ryan looked startled.

"What?"

"My job?"

"You're my manager."

"No."

Emma held his gaze.

"I'm your wife."

For several seconds neither spoke.

Ryan was the first to look away.

A small victory.

A very small one.

But Emma would take it.

His phone suddenly buzzed.

Ryan immediately reached for it.

Too quickly.

Emma noticed.

So did he.

For a split second they looked at each other.

Then Ryan casually flipped the phone over.

Screen down.

Emma almost smiled.

Guilty people were predictable.

"Who was it?" she asked.

"No one."

"No one texted you?"

Ryan stood.

"I have practice."

"That's not what I asked."

His expression hardened slightly.

"I said it was nobody."

Emma nodded.

"Then it shouldn't be a problem if I look."

Ryan froze.

The silence lasted maybe two seconds.

Three at most.

Then he laughed.

The sound felt forced.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"You don't trust me?"

Emma looked directly into his eyes.

Not anymore.

But she couldn't say that.

Not yet.

Instead she shrugged.

"You're acting weird."

Ryan stared at her.

Then he grabbed his bag.

"I'll see you tonight."

Without another word he left.

The moment the front door closed, Emma opened her laptop again.

She typed one name into the search bar.

Sophia Bennett.

Thousands of photos appeared.

Sophia at fashion events.

Sophia at restaurants.

Sophia on social media.

Sophia posing in designer clothes she definitely couldn't afford on her salary.

Emma clicked through image after image.

Then she stopped.

A photograph from six months earlier.

Ryan's charity game.

Emma zoomed in.

There.

Standing near the VIP entrance.

Sophia.

Ryan.

And something she'd never noticed before.

Ryan's hand.

Resting against Sophia's lower back.

Not inappropriate enough for strangers to question.

But intimate enough that a wife should have.

Emma stared at the screen.

How many signs had she missed?

How many lies had she accepted?

Her phone rang.

Marcus.

She answered immediately.

"Please tell me you have good news."

"I have interesting news."

Emma sat up straighter.

"I'll take interesting."

Marcus laughed.

"I reviewed the financial records."

"And?"

"And your husband is hiding money."

Emma wasn't surprised.

"What kind of money?"

"Several private accounts."

Her eyes narrowed.

"How much?"

"Just under three million dollars."

Emma went silent.

Ryan had told her repeatedly they needed to be careful financially.

Ryan had claimed several investments weren't performing well.

Ryan had insisted they delay certain projects.

Meanwhile he was secretly hiding millions.

"Anything else?"

Marcus hesitated.

"Actually yes."

Emma's stomach tightened.

"What?"

"One of the accounts has regular transfers."

"To who?"

Marcus read from his notes.

"S. Bennett."

Emma closed her eyes.

Of course.

Of course.

"How much?"

"About ten thousand a month."

A bitter laugh escaped her.

Ryan wasn't just sleeping with Sophia.

He was funding her life.

"Emma?"

"I'm here."

"You okay?"

"No."

She looked out the kitchen window.

"But I will be."

After ending the call, Emma drove downtown.

Not to confront Sophia.

Not yet.

Instead she went somewhere she hadn't visited in years.

A design studio.

The place where she'd worked before Ryan's career took over her life.

The receptionist smiled politely.

"Can I help you?"

Emma returned the smile.

"I hope so."

An hour later she was sitting across from Olivia Avery, one of the most respected designers in New York.

Olivia flipped through Emma's portfolio.

The older woman became quieter with every page.

Finally she looked up.

"Why did you stop?"

Emma blinked.

"What?"

"This."

Olivia tapped the portfolio.

"You should've had your own company years ago."

The words hit harder than Emma expected.

Because nobody had said anything like that in a long time.

Ryan's dreams.

Ryan's career.

Ryan's future.

Everything had always been about Ryan.

Not Emma.

Not anymore.

Olivia slid a folder across the desk.

"I have a project."

Emma opened it.

Luxury hotel redesign.

Multi-million dollar budget.

Lead designer position.

Her heartbeat accelerated.

"You want me?"

"I want talent."

Olivia smiled.

"You happen to qualify."

For the first time since waking up in the past, Emma felt genuinely hopeful.

Maybe her future wasn't just revenge.

Maybe it could be something better.

Something bigger.

Her phone buzzed again.

This time it was Sophia.

Emma answered.

"Hey."

"Emma!"

Sophia sounded excited.

Too excited.

"I'm having lunch near Madison Avenue. Come meet me."

Emma looked at the clock.

Interesting.

Madison Avenue.

Only three blocks from Ryan's training facility.

Coincidence?

Not a chance.

"Sure," Emma said.

"I'll be there."

An hour later Emma walked into the restaurant.

Sophia was already seated.

And Ryan was sitting across from her.

The three of them stared at each other.

For one brief moment.

Nobody spoke.

Then Sophia smiled.

"Oh."

Her voice was sweet.

Far too sweet.

"I didn't realize Ryan would get here first."

Emma looked from Sophia to Ryan.

Then she smiled too.

Because for the first time.

She wasn't the woman being betrayed.

She was the woman gathering evidence.

And suddenly that changed everything.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

Ryan sat on one side of the table.

Sophia sat on the other.

Emma stood beside them holding her purse.

The scene would've looked completely normal to anyone else.

Three friends meeting for lunch.

A husband.

A wife.

A best friend.

But Emma knew exactly what she was looking at.

Two cheaters.

And one woman they thought was stupid.

Sophia recovered first.

She stood up with a bright smile and pulled Emma into a hug.

"Thank God you're here. I was worried you wouldn't come."

Emma smiled back.

"Why wouldn't I come?"

Sophia's expression froze for the smallest fraction of a second.

Because she didn't have an answer.

Ryan pulled out a chair.

"Sit down."

Emma took the seat beside her husband.

Across from Sophia.

A waiter approached.

They ordered drinks.

The moment he left, Sophia immediately started talking.

That was another thing Emma had only recognized after her rebirth.

Sophia hated silence.

Because silence gave other people time to think.

"So," Sophia said brightly, "are you excited for tonight?"

Emma looked up from the menu.

"The gala?"

"Of course the gala."

Ryan took a sip of water.

"My coach said half the league will be there."

"That's great."

Sophia leaned forward.

"And you'll be wearing the navy dress, right?"

There it was again.

The obsession.

Emma smiled.

"Why do you keep asking?"

Sophia laughed.

"I don't know. I was just curious."

"No, you weren't."

Ryan looked between them.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing."

Emma picked up her menu.

"Sophia just seems very invested in my wardrobe choices."

Sophia's smile tightened.

"You're imagining things."

"Maybe."

Emma lowered the menu.

"Then what are you wearing tonight?"

Sophia hesitated.

Just long enough.

Then she answered.

"A silver dress."

Emma almost laughed.

Of course.

The exact same dress.

Just like before.

The same silver dress Sophia had worn in Emma's previous life.

The one that looked almost identical to Emma's navy gown under ballroom lighting.

Back then Emma thought it was coincidence.

Now she knew better.

Sophia wasn't competing with Emma.

She was replacing her.

Lunch arrived before anyone could continue.

For a few minutes the conversation shifted toward hockey.

Ryan talked about sponsorship deals.

Sophia listened like every word was fascinating.

Emma noticed something she'd missed before.

Sophia barely looked at her.

Almost every glance went to Ryan.

Every smile.

Every laugh.

Every touch.

Even now Sophia's fingers brushed Ryan's wrist while reaching for a bread basket.

The contact lasted less than a second.

But it happened.

Ryan didn't move away.

Emma watched the interaction calmly.

Then she asked,

"Ryan, how much are they paying you for the new campaign?"

Ryan looked up.

"What?"

"The sports drink campaign."

"Oh."

He relaxed.

"Three million."

Sophia nearly choked on her water.

Emma noticed.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Ryan frowned.

"You okay?"

Sophia laughed nervously.

"Wrong pipe."

Emma smiled.

Because now she knew something else.

Sophia didn't know about that contract.

Meaning Ryan hadn't told her everything.

Good.

That might become useful later.

After lunch ended, Ryan left first for training.

Sophia insisted on walking Emma to her car.

Emma almost declined.

Then changed her mind.

Sometimes the best way to catch a liar was to let them talk.

The afternoon sun reflected off nearby buildings as they walked down the sidewalk.

Sophia hooked her arm through Emma's.

Just like always.

The gesture used to feel comforting.

Now it felt disgusting.

"You seem different lately."

Emma glanced at her.

"Different how?"

"I don't know."

Sophia shrugged.

"You seem distant."

Emma smiled.

"Maybe I'm growing up."

Sophia laughed.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm starting to pay attention."

The smile slowly disappeared from Sophia's face.

"What exactly are you paying attention to?"

Emma stopped beside her car.

For one second.

Just one.

She considered telling the truth.

I know you're sleeping with my husband.

I know he's paying your bills.

I know you've been lying to me for years.

Instead she unlocked her car.

"Everything."

Then she got inside and drove away.

At six o'clock that evening, Emma stood in front of her bedroom mirror.

The navy dress fit perfectly.

Sophisticated.

Elegant.

Expensive.

Not because Ryan bought it.

Because Emma had bought it herself.

Years ago.

Back when she still had her own income.

Her own dreams.

Her own identity.

The woman staring back from the mirror looked stronger than the woman who had died.

That was enough.

Ryan appeared in the doorway.

For a moment he simply stared.

"Damn."

Emma raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"You look incredible."

The compliment would've meant everything once.

Now it meant almost nothing.

"Thanks."

Ryan stepped closer.

His expression softened.

"Seriously. You look amazing."

Emma reached for her earrings.

"We should go."

Something flickered across Ryan's face.

Disappointment.

Maybe he expected her to blush.

Maybe he expected gratitude.

Instead he got indifference.

And he clearly didn't know what to do with it.

The charity gala occupied one of Manhattan's most luxurious hotels.

Photographers crowded the entrance.

Flashbulbs exploded everywhere.

Ryan immediately transformed.

The public version of Ryan Carter appeared.

The charming smile.

The easy confidence.

The perfect husband image.

His hand settled on Emma's waist as they entered.

To anyone watching, they looked happy.

Emma almost admired the performance.

Inside the ballroom, hundreds of guests mingled beneath crystal chandeliers.

Ryan was quickly pulled away by sponsors.

Leaving Emma alone.

Exactly as she'd expected.

Ten minutes later Sophia appeared.

Silver dress.

Just as predicted.

She looked beautiful.

And she knew it.

Several guests immediately complimented her appearance.

Sophia soaked up the attention.

Then she approached Emma.

"Do I look okay?"

Emma nearly laughed.

That question was always a trap.

"No."

Sophia blinked.

"What?"

Emma smiled sweetly.

"I'm kidding."

Sophia forced a laugh.

For a moment neither woman spoke.

Then Sophia leaned closer.

"People keep mistaking me for Ryan's wife."

Emma stared at her.

There it was.

The challenge.

Finally.

Sophia wanted a reaction.

Jealousy.

Anger.

Pain.

Anything.

Instead Emma smiled.

"That must be embarrassing."

Sophia's smile froze.

"What?"

Emma took a sip of champagne.

"Being mistaken for someone you're not."

Several nearby guests glanced over.

Sophia's face tightened.

Emma continued.

"Although I suppose mistakes happen."

A few people chuckled.

Sophia's cheeks reddened.

For the first time all night, Emma saw genuine anger flash across her face.

Good.

Let her be angry.

Sophia had earned it.

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.

"Emma?"

Emma turned.

A tall woman approached.

Olivia Avery.

The designer she'd met earlier that day.

Sophia immediately recognized the name.

Everyone in New York's design industry knew Olivia Avery.

Olivia smiled.

"I've been looking for you."

Emma returned the smile.

"Really?"

"Of course."

Olivia placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm very excited about our project."

Nearby conversations suddenly quieted.

Sophia looked confused.

Ryan had just returned.

He frowned.

"What project?"

Olivia blinked.

"You didn't tell your husband?"

Emma smiled.

"No. It slipped my mind."

Ryan stared.

"What project?"

Olivia answered for her.

"Emma will be leading the redesign of the Westbridge Luxury Hotel."

Several people nearby reacted immediately.

That project was famous.

Huge budget.

Huge publicity.

Huge opportunity.

Ryan looked genuinely shocked.

"You got that project?"

Emma nodded.

"Looks like it."

Sophia's smile completely disappeared.

Because for the first time all evening.

The attention wasn't on her.

It wasn't even on Ryan.

It was on Emma.

And Sophia hated it.

Absolutely hated it.

The rest of the conversation blurred together.

People approached Emma.

Complimented her work.

Asked questions.

Requested meetings.

By the time the crowd finally dispersed, Ryan looked irritated.

Sophia looked furious.

And Emma felt something she hadn't felt in years.

Power.

Not borrowed from Ryan's fame.

Not attached to his career.

Her own.

As the gala began winding down, Emma excused herself and headed toward the women's restroom.

Halfway there, her phone buzzed.

A message from the private investigator.

Emma opened it.

Then stopped walking.

The attached file was a video.

Hotel surveillance footage.

The timestamp was from two nights ago.

Emma pressed play.

The grainy footage showed Ryan stepping out of an elevator.

A few seconds later Sophia appeared.

Laughing.

Touching his chest.

Then Ryan grabbed her.

And kissed her.

Not a friendly kiss.

Not a drunken mistake.

A kiss that lasted long enough to destroy a marriage.

Emma stared at the screen.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then she saved the video.

Backed it up.

And uploaded it to three separate cloud accounts.

When she finally looked up, her reflection stared back from a nearby mirror.

Calm.

For the first time since her rebirth, Emma had undeniable proof.

Not suspicion.

Not intuition.

Not memories from another life.

Real evidence.

The kind that could destroy careers.

Destroy reputations.

Destroy marriages.

Her phone buzzed again.

A second message appeared.

The investigator had sent only one sentence.

There are more videos.

Emma slowly smiled.

Because Ryan Carter had no idea his life was about to fall apart.