Chapter 2

I didn't go to the hospital.

I was stuck in the hospital for three whole years in my previous life, so now catching a whiff of disinfectant makes me sick to my stomach.

I went back to my apartment.

The moment I opened the door, I froze.

The living room had been rearranged.

My sofa had been moved, and there was a bunch of fresh lilies on the coffee table. Lilies were Camille's favorite, but I was allergic to them.

The photos on the wall had been swapped out, too. Where my college graduation photo used to hang, there was now an artsy portrait of Camille.

She was wearing a white chiffon dress, her profile turned toward the camera, wearing a gentle, but totally insincere smile.

I stared at that photo for three seconds, then reached out, yanked it off the wall, and tossed it straight into the trash.

Then I walked into the bedroom and yanked open the closet.

Sure enough, most of my clothes were gone, replaced by Camille's cheap, gaudy dresses.

She actually took all my stuff.

She took every piece of clothing that I had worked tirelessly to afford, carefully picked out, and saved up for, over to the apartment Karson had bought for me.

Now, she and Karson are living there.

I took a deep breath, pulled out my phone, and snapped a dozen photos of the closet, the living room, the bedroom, the lilies, and that artsy photo tossed in the trash.

I got it all on camera. Then, I started gathering my things.

This time around, I didn't care about any of that stuff anymore.

I only grabbed my passport, my bank card, and my diary.

That diary was the only thing I carried over from my previous life after time-traveling.

I flipped to the first page. It was something I wrote when I was eighteen. [Today, Karson looked at me. He must have a thing for me.

[Today, Karson actually talked to me. He told me to get out of the way. Sure, his tone was kind of mean, but hey, he actually spoke to me.

[Today, Karson...]

My diary was stuffed with nothing but him. From eighteen to twenty-eight, all I ever wrote about was Karson.

I flipped through the pages until I found the last few entries.

These were written right before I got locked up in the mental hospital in my previous life. [Karson said Camille was better than me.

[Mom said I was immature. Henry said I was heartless. Everyone was defending Camille.

[But I was the one who took the hit for Karson. I was the one.]

My handwriting turned into a scrawl, the last few lines barely legible.

I closed the diary and slipped it into my bag.

These things weren't here for me to reminisce. They were here to remind me, to remind me how stupid I used to be.

After I finished packing, my mom called. "Yvette, did you know Camille got hurt? Why aren't you at the hospital checking on her? She's been taking care of Karson for you for so long. How can you be so ungrateful?"

Was that even something a mother should say?

I nearly got killed, and she didn't ask if I was okay. The first thing she said was to go visit that parasite who stole my place.

"Mom, who told you she was taking care of Karson for me?" I asked calmly.

"Henry said so. While you were gone, Camille was the one running around after Karson. If it weren't for her, someone else would've snatched him up by now," she said.

Henry said so. Henry was my brother, and we grew up together. But to him, Camille, his cousin, was more important than his own sister.

"Mom, I was never gone," I said. "I've always been here."

"What are you talking about? Weren't you in the hospital? If Camille hadn't handled everything for you, you wouldn't have gotten in to see a specialist," Mom said.

I had heard all this before.

In my previous life, I let all that nonsense get to me. I really believed Camille was some kind of saint to me, that I owed her big time.

But what was the truth?

During those three years I was stuck in the hospital, Camille never bothered to visit me once.

She was too busy strutting around in my clothes, crashing at my place, and snatching up my guy.

Karson let his private doctor reach those so-called specialists. As for that so-called treatment, Graham Group covered all the expenses.

Camille's only real contribution was crying crocodile tears in front of everyone, acting like she was heartbroken for me, saying she'd gladly take my pain if she could.

She was all talk, nothing real.

"Mom, I'm fine, no need to worry," I said. "I've got stuff to do, so I'm hanging up."

"Why are you acting like this? Camille—" she snapped.

I hung up. Then I shot Henry a message. [Henry, you know exactly how much Camille took from me. Tell her to return everything within three days, or I'll report it to the police.]

Three seconds later, Henry called, "Yvette, are you crazy? Camille's your cousin. Why would you call the cops on her? She borrowed your clothes. What's the big deal? Seriously, is it worth all this drama?"

She's worn my clothes for three years, yet he called it borrowing.

Henry tried calling again, but I didn't pick up. He called again and again, but I didn't answer any of them.

Finally, he texted me: [Yvette, don't regret this.]

What I regret most was not seeing their true colors sooner in my previous life.

I took a shower, changed into fresh clothes, and sat down on the couch to start planning what I was going to do next.

This time, I wasn't going to be Karson's accessory anymore.

I was going to be myself.

No, I was going to become someone far stronger than I'd ever been.

I would be strong enough for all of them to only look up to me, strong enough to make Karson bow before me and beg for forgiveness, and strong enough to crush Camille's phony facade until there was nothing left but dust.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, it was an unknown number.

I answered, and a woman's voice, thick with tears, came on the line. "Yvette, it's Camille."

Camille was calling me from a new number.

She said, "Yvette, I know you're upset with me, but I swear I didn't mean it. I love Karson so much.

"When I jumped in front of that knife for him today, all I could think was, I couldn't let him get hurt. Can you understand me?"

Listening to her recite those lines she'd clearly practiced, I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.

"Camille," I said, "that knife you took today? It grazed your arm, didn't hit the bone. Three stitches, right?"

There was silence on the other end.

I continued, "Do you have any idea what those three stab wounds I took for you were like?

"One went straight through my shoulder blade, another slashed across my entire back, and the deepest one stabbed right into my abdomen, tearing up my spleen.

"I spent two months in the ICU and three years in a regular hospital room.

"You're crying your heart out over three stitches, but I had forty-seven and didn't shed a single tear. And you're telling me you love him that much?"

I let out a cold laugh. "You don't love him. What you really love is his money, his power, and the title of Mrs. Graham."

Camille's voice suddenly went sharp. "That's not true. I really do love Karson."

"Oh, really?" I shot back. "Then tell me, do you know what he's allergic to? Do you know what he does first thing every morning? Do you know why he never touches cilantro?"

There was dead silence on the other end.

I continued, "Camille, you can copy my clothes, my makeup, the way I talk, but there's one thing you'll never have, no matter how hard you try."

"What?" Camille asked instinctively.

"Real love." I hung up and blocked her number.

Camille thought he won, but the game was only getting started.

*****

The next morning at ten sharp, I walked into the conference room at Wealth & Success Magazine.

The woman who came to meet me looked about thirty, rocking short hair and glasses, totally professional vibes.

Her name was Harper Ward, the deputy editor-in-chief of the magazine.

"Ms. York, can you tell me more about that story you mentioned?" Harper got straight to the point.

I slid the file I'd prepped last night across the table to her.

It was everything I'd spent the whole night putting together, including Karson's shady business deals over the years, his secret connections with certain officials, and all the ways he'd squeezed his employees dry.

Back in my previous life, when I was his personal assistant, I'd handled all of this myself.

I kept a backup.

It wasn't because I had some grand scheme. I was stupid enough to believe all this could be some kind of secret bond between us.

But to him, I was a walking USB drive.

Harper looked over the files, her eyes going wide in disbelief. "Is all of this actually true?"

"Every word is true," I said. "You can check for yourself. But let me warn you. Once this goes public, Karson will do whatever it takes to get back at you. Can your magazine take the heat?"

Harper pushed up her glasses, giving me a sly smile. "Ms. York, maybe you don't know who really owns Wealth & Success Magazine."

"Who?"

"Spencer Foster."

That name sent ripples through me, like someone had dropped a stone in my calm heart.

Spencer was Karson's arch-nemesis.

The two biggest players in Liverside's business scene have been at each other's throats for over ten years, and neither has ever managed to beat the other.

If Spencer got his hands on this dirt...

Harper stood up and reached out her hand. "Ms. York, pleasure working with you."

I took her hand. "Pleasure working with you."

After leaving the magazine, I stood by the curb, watching the traffic flow past.

The sun was out, warming me all over.

I took a deep breath, and it felt like every pore in my body was saying it was good to be alive.

My phone rang. This time, it was Mia, Karson's secretary. "Yvette, Karson wants you at the hospital as soon as possible."

"What's up?" I asked.

"He said you need to apologize to Camille," Mia replied.

I let out a laugh. I apologized to Camille? Karson must have got it all backwards.

"Tell Karson," I said, "I am done apologizing to anyone."

After hanging up, I flagged down a cab.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

I thought for a second. "Liverside Hospital."

I wasn't there to say sorry to Camille. I was about to drop a bombshell on her.

The cab pulled up to the hospital entrance. As soon as I stepped out, I spotted Simon, Karson's assistant, waiting by the front steps.

Simon wasn't a bad guy, but he sure wasn't good either. In my previous life, his attitude toward me always depended on how Karson treated me. He was the kind who always sided with whoever was on top.

"Yvette, you're finally here," Simon said, stepping up and lowering his voice. "Mr. Graham's pissed. Watch what you say."

I shot him a look. "Why should I watch what I say?"

Simon hesitated. "Yesterday, you didn't shield Mr. Graham, did you? If Ms. Jordan hadn't rushed in, Mr. Graham would've..."

"What? Got hurt?" I cut him off. "Simon, who signs your paycheck?"

"Mr. Graham, of course," he replied.

"And what's your job?"

"To keep Mr. Graham safe."

"So where were you yesterday?"

Simon opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

He was off having a smoke at the other end of the parking lot. By the time he heard the commotion and rushed over, Camille was already collapsed in Karson's arms.

"So," I said, "the one who should be apologizing isn't me. It's you."

Simon's face changed colors, and he clammed up, looking totally embarrassed.

I walked into the hospital and took the elevator straight up to the eighth floor, the VIP ward.

The hallway was carpeted, oil paintings lined the walls, and a faint floral scent lingered in the air. It didn't feel like a hospital at all, more like a five-star hotel.

Karson made sure Camille got the best room there was.

Of course, she did. After all, she took a knife for him, though it was only three stitches.

I stopped outside Room 808. The door was slightly ajar, and voices drifted out.

"Karson, don't blame Yvette. Maybe she got scared and froze up." Camille's voice was weak and gentle, every word oozing with understanding.

"Scared?" Karson's voice was icy. "She's been with me for years. She's seen it all. You really think she'd get scared?"

"Maybe Yvette's been really tired lately, not herself."

"So because she's not herself lately, she gets to ignore my safety? Camille, don't cover for her. I saw everything with my own eyes yesterday."

"But Karson, Yvette has stuck by you for so many years."

"Enough. I'm done talking about her."

Peeking through the crack in the door, I saw Karson sitting by the hospital bed, holding Camille's hand, his gaze locked on the bandage on her arm, his eyes full of worry and care.

He never looked at me like that.

I pushed the door open. The room instantly fell silent.

Camille was the first to react. Her eyes welled up with tears, her voice trembling. "Yvette, you're here."

She tried to sit up, but the sudden movement tugged at her wound, making her suck in a sharp breath from the pain.

Karson immediately reached out to support her, then turned to me, his gaze icy. "You've got some nerve showing up here."

I set my bag down on the couch and settled in calmly. "Wasn't it you who told me to come?"

Karson stood up, towering over me. "I told you to come and apologize to Camille."

Yvette leaned back on the couch, propping one leg over the other. "Apologize? For what?"

Karson said, "You stood by and watched yesterday, and Camille got hurt because of you. Shouldn't you be apologizing?"

I looked him dead in the eye and said, "Karson, keeping you safe is your security team's job, not mine. I've worked for you for ten years, and nowhere in my contract does it say I have to play human shield for you.

"Not jumping in yesterday? That was my choice, not my mistake. "Camille decided to play hero. That was her call, not my problem."

"You want me to apologize? Fine. But first, have Simon say sorry. Have Joseph say sorry. Get your whole security team to apologize.

"They're the ones cashing your checks and slacking off when it counts. Let them go first, then maybe I'll think about apologizing to Camille."

The room was so quiet that I could hear the drip-drip of the IV.

Karson's face was stormy, his jaw clenched so hard it looked like he might blow up any second.

Camille was curled up behind him, tears shimmering in her eyes, her lips quivering. She looked like the picture of misery.

"Yvette," Karson said, his voice low and dangerous, "you've changed."

"I haven't changed," I shot back. "What's changed is what you expect from me. Before, you wanted me as your assistant. Now you want me to be your shield. Karson, don't you think you're asking for a bit too much?"

Karson wanted to say something, but was cut off.

"Karson," Camille suddenly piped up, her voice barely more than a sigh. "Please, don't blame Yvette. It's all on me. I shouldn't have jumped in like that. I was so worried about you, I couldn't stop myself."

She was only halfway through before tears started rolling down her cheeks.

It was the perfect amount of crying, enough to tug at Karson's heartstrings, but not so much that anyone could accuse her of putting on a show.

Karson instantly turned and wrapped her in his arms, his tone softening. "Camille, none of this is your fault. You protected me. I should be the one thanking you."

He patted Camille on the back, then turned to me, his stare going icy again. "Yvette, from today on, you're off the job. You'll get paid, but don't bother showing up.

"Once I decide what to do with you, you'll hear from me."

Getting me suspended was Karson's go-to move. First, he'd bench me, then drag out the punishment as long as he could.

In my previous life, he suspended me three times. Every single time, I had to humble myself and beg for forgiveness before he'd mercifully let me crawl back.

But this time, I stood up and grabbed my bag. "No need. I quit."

Karson's pupils contracted in shock. I guess he never saw me quitting coming. To him, the idea of my ever walking away was unthinkable.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Absolutely," I said, pulling out the resignation letter I'd already prepared and placing it on the coffee table. "Mr. Graham, thanks for everything over the past ten years."

Thanks for opening my eyes to how harsh the world could be.

Thanks for teaching me that being sincere meant nothing.

Thanks for showing me, never count on anyone but yourself.

I turned and walked out of the room, Camille's sobs trailing behind me. "Yvette, don't go."

Her crying sounded so sweet, so sickeningly sweet that it made me want to throw up.

As I stepped into the elevator and the doors started to close, I spotted a man standing at the far end of the hallway.

He was wearing a dark overcoat, tall and slender, his jawline sharp and icy.

He seemed to sense my stare and tilted his head, glancing in my direction.

The instant our eyes locked, I knew exactly who he was. It was Spencer.

The elevator doors slid shut.

I leaned against the elevator wall, slowly exhaling.

Was Spencer showing up at the hospital a coincidence, or did he do it on purpose?

If it was intentional, who was he looking for?

Was he looking for Karson, or was he looking for me?

My phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number popped up. [Ms. York, I've heard so much about you. I heard you've got some pretty interesting stuff. Interested in meeting up? From Spencer]

I stared at the message for five seconds, my lips curling into a sly smile. Well, this got interesting.

In my previous life, the only thing I remembered about Spencer was that he was Karson's sworn enemy.

Karson hated him so much that he'd grit his teeth whenever Spencer's name came up. Hearing it would make him fly into a rage.

Anyone who could make Karson lose it like that had to be pretty interesting.

I shot back a quick reply: [When and where?]

He replied instantly: [7 PM tonight, at Yummdin House. Say my name when you get there.]

Yummdin House was the most exclusive restaurant in Liverside, perched on the top floor of the tallest skyscraper downtown. Word was that one had to book a table three months in advance.

Spencer really lived up to his reputation. He loved putting on a grand show.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and stepped out of the hospital.

The sun was out, warm and bright. The sky was clear and blue. Everything was falling perfectly into place, as I hoped.

Camille thought she'd already won, and Karson was sure he had everything under control.

But what they didn't realize was that the real storm was starting to brew.