Chapter 1 · After Meeting My 18‑Year‑Old Self

Honestly, my thirtieth year was a total disaster.

I missed out on a promotion and ended up quitting my job, broke up with my hotshot CEO boyfriend just when we were about to tie the knot, and couldn't even face my family during the holidays.

On the darkest day of my life, I came face-to-face with my eighteen-year-old self.

I thought she'd be totally disappointed in me, but instead, she started squealing with excitement.

"You're loaded! You can just buy anything you feel like!"

"Oh my god, you even got to sleep with such a hot, exciting guy!"

"You're such a badass! Wait, no, I'm the badass!"

"Future me, are you like a winner at life or what?"

*****

After my hotshot CEO boyfriend popped the question, we ended up having our most explosive fight ever.

"You knew what kind of guy I was from the start, right? If you didn't get promoted, that's your problem, not mine," Ryan Pierce said.

I just thought it was absurd. How was it not his fault?

Everyone in the company knew office romance was strictly forbidden.

To protect his reputation, I was willing to be invisible; even if we bumped into each other downstairs, I had to pretend we barely knew each other.

But did he ever care?

My voice was shaking with anger.

"Ryan, when you were having lunch with Emily Clarke in the company cafeteria, or walking around together, did you ever think about keeping things low-key?

"Why do you think the execs gave Emily such high marks? Because they saw how close you two were! They all thought she was the one you were looking out for, and they were all trying to get on your good side!"

Ryan frowned, as if I was talking nonsense. "You're being absurd. We're all just colleagues. I can't just pretend she doesn't exist, right?"

I sucked in a deep breath.

Then I said, "Everyone in the company is gossiping about you favoring Emily, and you just keep your mouth shut. Meanwhile, I'm your real fiancée, but I have to hide like a thief.

"I'm the one who landed all the toughest clients, pulled countless all-nighters to hit the company's core targets. I had double the targets on my back, and what do I get?"

Ryan stood his ground.

"I didn't give anyone any special treatment. The promotion list was decided by the execs' votes. I made sure everything was fair for you. If you missed out, that's on you. And now you're putting this on me?" he said.

Looking at how self-righteous he was, the man in front of me felt like a complete stranger.

I started to wonder: was he really faithful? Did he really not pull any strings for that girl?

Ryan would never come clean. He'd never explain, never apologize.

"Let's break up," I said softly. "I'm quitting."

Ryan's face turned grim, and he replied coldly. "Whatever."

It felt so cold that day as I walked out of Ryan's place.

I felt like a total failure.

I'd hit thirty.

After years of messy history with Ryan, he'd only just proposed last month.

Eight years at the company, and I was finally about to become an industry expert.

But overnight, it was all gone.

I felt like a beaten stray dog, hollow-eyed, just drifting through the streets.

A crowd was gathered around a fight, yelling and causing a scene, and my gaze was pulled in by the chaos.

"Officer, over here! This guy's drunk and beating his wife; he's doing it right out in the open!"

The crowd was chattering, whispering things like, "What kind of man hits his wife?" But nobody actually did anything. They all just hung back, watching the show.

The drunk guy was still shouting his head off.

"It's my right as a man to hit my wife! Not even God himself can tell me what to do!"

In the middle of the crowd, a young girl was grabbing his arm in a death grip, forcing him to stay put while she called the cops, and she didn't let go until the police finally arrived.

"I'm a badass heroine, doing the right thing! Scumbags like him belong behind bars and should get dumped ASAP!" she said.

Just like everyone else, I stayed on the sidelines, watching from a distance. No matter how much I sympathized with her, there was no way I was going to get my hands dirty in that mess.

Life and Ryan had taught me the hard way to mind my own business and keep a cold, detached eye on everything.

But as I watched the young girl through the crowd, my heart suddenly skipped a beat.

Her face was so young, so bold, and had that reckless, fearless look, like she had no clue how tough the world could really be.

It was me, at eighteen.

Eighteen-year-old Sophie seemed to sense my gaze and whipped her head around.

The moment our eyes met, she froze.

After talking to the cops, she rushed straight up to me.

"Whoa, you look exactly like me! What year is it right now?" she asked.

"It's 2037," I replied.

Her young mind processed it instantly; she got it right away.

"Oh my god! I really time-traveled! So this is what I look like at thirty?!"

She grabbed my cold hand, her excitement bubbling over.

"Future me! What are the odds?!"

Chapter 1

Honestly, my thirtieth year was a total disaster.

I missed out on a promotion and ended up quitting my job, broke up with my hotshot CEO boyfriend just when we were about to tie the knot, and couldn't even face my family during the holidays.

On the darkest day of my life, I came face-to-face with my eighteen-year-old self.

I thought she'd be totally disappointed in me, but instead, she started squealing with excitement.

"You're loaded! You can just buy anything you feel like!"

"Oh my god, you even got to sleep with such a hot, exciting guy!"

"You're such a badass! Wait, no, I'm the badass!"

"Future me, are you like a winner at life or what?"

*****

After my hotshot CEO boyfriend popped the question, we ended up having our most explosive fight ever.

"You knew what kind of guy I was from the start, right? If you didn't get promoted, that's your problem, not mine," Ryan Pierce said.

I just thought it was absurd. How was it not his fault?

Everyone in the company knew office romance was strictly forbidden.

To protect his reputation, I was willing to be invisible; even if we bumped into each other downstairs, I had to pretend we barely knew each other.

But did he ever care?

My voice was shaking with anger.

"Ryan, when you were having lunch with Emily Clarke in the company cafeteria, or walking around together, did you ever think about keeping things low-key?

Ryan frowned, as if I was talking nonsense. "You're being absurd. We're all just colleagues. I can't just pretend she doesn't exist, right?"

I sucked in a deep breath.

Then I said, "Everyone in the company is gossiping about you favoring Emily, and you just keep your mouth shut. Meanwhile, I'm your real fiancée, but I have to hide like a thief.

"I'm the one who landed all the toughest clients, pulled countless all-nighters to hit the company's core targets. I had double the targets on my back, and what do I get?"

Ryan stood his ground.

Looking at how self-righteous he was, the man in front of me felt like a complete stranger.

I started to wonder: was he really faithful? Did he really not pull any strings for that girl?

Ryan would never come clean. He'd never explain, never apologize.

"Let's break up," I said softly. "I'm quitting."

Ryan's face turned grim, and he replied coldly. "Whatever."

It felt so cold that day as I walked out of Ryan's place.

I felt like a total failure.

I'd hit thirty.

After years of messy history with Ryan, he'd only just proposed last month.

Eight years at the company, and I was finally about to become an industry expert.

But overnight, it was all gone.

I felt like a beaten stray dog, hollow-eyed, just drifting through the streets.

A crowd was gathered around a fight, yelling and causing a scene, and my gaze was pulled in by the chaos.

"Officer, over here! This guy's drunk and beating his wife; he's doing it right out in the open!"

The crowd was chattering, whispering things like, "What kind of man hits his wife?" But nobody actually did anything. They all just hung back, watching the show.

The drunk guy was still shouting his head off.

"It's my right as a man to hit my wife! Not even God himself can tell me what to do!"

In the middle of the crowd, a young girl was grabbing his arm in a death grip, forcing him to stay put while she called the cops, and she didn't let go until the police finally arrived.

"I'm a badass heroine, doing the right thing! Scumbags like him belong behind bars and should get dumped ASAP!" she said.

Just like everyone else, I stayed on the sidelines, watching from a distance. No matter how much I sympathized with her, there was no way I was going to get my hands dirty in that mess.

Life and Ryan had taught me the hard way to mind my own business and keep a cold, detached eye on everything.

But as I watched the young girl through the crowd, my heart suddenly skipped a beat.

Her face was so young, so bold, and had that reckless, fearless look, like she had no clue how tough the world could really be.

It was me, at eighteen.

Eighteen-year-old Sophie seemed to sense my gaze and whipped her head around.

The moment our eyes met, she froze.

After talking to the cops, she rushed straight up to me.

"Whoa, you look exactly like me! What year is it right now?" she asked.

"It's 2037," I replied.

Her young mind processed it instantly; she got it right away.

"Oh my god! I really time-traveled! So this is what I look like at thirty?!"

She grabbed my cold hand, her excitement bubbling over.

"Future me! What are the odds?!"