Chapter 1

On my wedding day, I got a call from an unknown number.

The voice on the other end was a woman, and it sounded strangely familiar.

"Listen, don't freak out. I'm you from the future. Your husband is a psycho killer, and tonight, he's going to try to murder you."

Ethan Locke and I had grown up together. He was such a total coward—he wouldn't even hurt a chicken if his life depended on it.

I just thought it was some dumb prank and was ready to hang up.

But the voice didn't stop.

"I know you think Ethan's such a coward that he wouldn't even hurt a chicken, and you're about to hang up. But if you don't want to end up dying over and over again like I did, you have to believe me."

"Go to the bathroom right now. There's a knife hidden in the tank behind the toilet. That's what he's going to use to kill you tonight."

I opened up the toilet tank, and sure enough, there was a knife hidden inside.

Terrified, I rushed out of the hotel.

But the moment I stepped outside, a speeding car hit me—I was dead on the spot.

On the other end of the line, I heard a cold, cruel laugh.

"Finally! I managed to get you killed!"

I just couldn't wrap my head around who was on the other end of that call.

Blinking awake, I found myself back in the hotel room—and my phone was ringing again.

*****

My eyes opened once more.

In the hotel suite, the joyful wedding decorations glared back at me.

This was the fourth time.

I was wiped out, inside and out.

Right on cue, my phone started ringing again—like the grim reaper was calling my name.

I stared at that unknown number, a chill running down my spine.

The last three times I died were pure hell—guts spilled, bones crushed, heart frozen mid-beat.

The agony and suffocation still tingled in my nerves.

However, I answered the call.

"Stay calm. I'm you from the future," I heard myself say.

I recognized that voice instantly—it was familiar, and dripping with hate.

"Your husband, Ethan, is a psycho killer. Tonight, he's planning to kill you.

"Head to the bathroom. Check the tank behind the toilet—there's a knife hidden inside. That's the weapon he'll use on you."

Here we went again with the same spiel.

I fell for it all three times.

The first time, I grabbed the knife and ran out of the hotel, thinking I'd finally escaped—only to get hit by a runaway car and die on the spot.

The second time, I stormed up to Ethan with the knife, demanding answers. He looked completely stunned, tried to snatch the blade from me, and in the chaos, the knife ended up stabbing me in the stomach.

The third time, I barricaded myself in the room, locked the door, and refused to let anyone in.

When the time was up, my heart just stopped—I suffocated, dying right there in the room.

Every time I died, that cruel laugh came through the phone.

"Finally! I got you killed! Idiot, you can't run from this."

I couldn't stand that voice.

This time, I gripped my phone tightly, contemplating.

I didn't move or go to the bathroom.

Instead, I gripped the phone, my voice rough and shaky. "Who are you, really?"

There was a second of dead silence on the line.

Then, the voice suddenly went sharp, almost screeching. "Moron! You wanna die all over again?

"Are you crazy? I'm your future self! I'm trying to save your life here!

"Think you're safe just hiding in here? Go grab the knife! Get out of there!"

I just tuned out her ranting and demanded, "Who are you?

"Why do you even know about the knife in the toilet tank?

"Why are you so obsessed with me taking that knife?

"Why are you so hell-bent on getting me killed?"

The voice on the other end was screaming, totally losing it, "You psycho! You don't believe me? Fine, then die now!

"You think skipping the knife means you're safe? He'll choke you out! He'll suffocate you with a pillow!

"Your only shot at survival is to grab that knife and run!"

Just then, the doorknob turned.

I hung up and snapped my head toward the door.

Ethan walked in, carrying a bowl of soup.

He was dressed to the nines in a sharp suit, his hair perfectly styled. When he saw me, he gave me a gentle smile.

"Honey, you're awake? Why do you look so pale?" he asked, concern in his voice.

Ethan hurried over, but ended up tripping as he walked. "Ah!"

Half the hangover soup spilled, and the scalding hot broth splashed onto his hand.

He shook his hand in pain, his face twisted up.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm so clumsy. Did I burn you? Let me see," he mumbled, his ears burning red.

He reached out to take my hand, but hesitated and pulled back, not wanting to get soup on me.

This was the so-called psycho killer the voice warned me about?

A killer who couldn't even carry a bowl of soup without spilling it?

Cold dread crept over me, my mind a tangled mess.

I pressed my hand to my forehead, pretending to feel dizzy. "Ethan, I'm not feeling so good."

"Is it your blood sugar? Hang on, I'll get you some candy," he said, turning to leave.

"No, that's not it," I said, grabbing his arm.

I looked him straight in the eye. "I heard the hotel left us some kind of wedding surprise in the bathroom. Can you go see if you can find it?"

"A surprise?" Ethan looked taken aback. "What surprise? Why didn't I know about this?"

"I don't really know, I think it's... hidden. It's in the toilet tank." I replied, keeping my voice steady.

"Huh?" Ethan's face twisted into an amused grin. "The toilet tank? The hotel sure likes to play games. Alright, wait here, I'll go check it out."

Even though he looked puzzled, he still did as I asked and walked toward the bathroom.

"This is so weird," he muttered under his breath.

I held my breath, keeping a close eye on him.

From the bathroom, I heard the splash of water, then Ethan's startled voice.

"Whoa, what is this?" he called out.

He came out holding a knife, its blade flashing cold and sharp under the lights.

The knife looked fancy, with these weird, creepy patterns carved into it.

"Honey, this thing looks way too real," Ethan said, eyes wide in disbelief.

Out of curiosity, Ethan reached out and touched the blade with his finger.

"Ow—" He sucked in a breath as blood instantly started to bead on his fingertip.

"Wait, this thing's actually real?" Ethan flinched, dropping the knife with a loud clatter.

He snatched up a tissue and pressed it to his finger, muttering, "What kind of surprise is this? Seriously, I almost had a heart attack.

"Seriously, what kind of hotel gives you something like this? This is so creepy!"

Ethan was awkward as hell—no way he was faking it.