Chapter 2

The heat of the studio lights burned against my cheeks.

The ringing in my ears hadn't faded yet, and Selena's face — twisted with fury — was already filling my entire field of vision.

Smack.

The thick stack of love letters and the pregnancy test hit the bridge of my nose like a wave of papers. The sharp edge of one page sliced a thin cut across my cheek.

The pain was real.

I wasn't dead.

I gulped air in ragged breaths. The burning sensation in my chest — the one the chemical solvent had carved into me — still lingered like a phantom. But everything around me was undeniably, unmistakably real. Three years in the past.

My antique restoration studio. The anniversary livestream.

"Quinn! Have you no shame!"

Selena's voice was sharp enough to blow out the microphone.

She was dressed in a tailored designer suit, four broad-shouldered bodyguards behind her, completely blocking the front entrance to my studio.

The viewer count in the top corner of the stream was climbing at a terrifying rate.

One million. Two million. Three million.

Selena was my top donor and one of the most well-known socialites in the industry. She'd commissioned over a million dollars' worth of restoration work from me. Every time I went live, she'd throw in massive tips and push my stream to the top of the platform.

Everyone had assumed she was here today to cheer me on.

Then she dropped the pregnancy test on my worktable.

"Everyone, take a good look! This is the so-called 'genius jewelry restorer' you've all been worshipping!"

Selena jabbed her finger in my face, her hand trembling.

"She's been living off my fiancé Ethan's money, playing the independent woman act — all while carrying his bastard behind closed doors!"

"Quinn, you've been spending my money and sleeping with my man. Don't you ever have nightmares?"

After a stunned silence, the comment section detonated.

"Oh my god, this is INSANE."

"Top donor exposing the other woman live? Let's gooo!"

"I literally just bought one of her mystery restoration boxes. Disgusting. I want a refund."

"Looks innocent on the outside and pulls this garbage. Unbelievable."

"Cancel her. This kind of trash influencer needs to be gone."

The curses and insults rolled across the screen like a tidal wave.

My fingertips rested on the edge of the worktable. They'd gone cold and numb.

I knew this.

I knew all of this.

It was the same day in my previous life. The same livestream.

I had just finished showing the world a sapphire tiara I'd spent six months restoring when Selena stormed in with her people.

Back then, my first instinct hadn't been to fight back. It had been fear. Fear that the studio's reputation would be destroyed. Fear that clients would cancel. Fear that years of work would collapse overnight.

Vivian had been standing beside me, eyes red, grabbing my arm in a panic.

"Quinn, cut the stream!"

"These people online just want drama. The longer you stream, the worse it gets. Selena's furious right now — let's apologize to her privately, refund whatever she needs, and stop this before it spirals."

I had believed her.

I'd cut the stream in a panic.

Afterward, Vivian wrote a public statement on my behalf.

Not a single line admitted I'd been the other woman — but every sentence implied I was "naive," "deceived by Ethan," and "willing to take full responsibility."

The next day, Selena brought people to wreck my studio.

Irreplaceable antiques were smashed to pieces. Restoration chemicals soaked the floor.

Then came the solvent leak in the basement.

I was locked inside. The fumes crept down my throat, slow and patient.

From behind the door, I heard Vivian's voice.

"I told you to sign the studio over to me. You had to be stubborn. Now look — your name is ruined, your reputation is gone. This place was always going to be mine in the end."

In that moment, every unanswered question fell into place.

Now, I was back at the starting point of my own destruction.

A cup of warm water appeared at my elbow.

Vivian's voice dropped low — still wearing that mask of frantic concern.

"Quinn, you look terrible. Listen to me — don't go head to head with Selena right now."

"She's furious. Just back down a little. Tell her you didn't know Ethan was engaged. Keep her calm for now and I'll handle the PR afterward."

The rim of the cup was half an inch from my hand.

I didn't take it.

Vivian had been my college roommate. My co-founder and operations director at the studio. I handled restoration, authentication, and on-camera work. She handled business development, advertising, and community management.

The studio had grown from a basement workshop to ten million followers. She'd had a real hand in that.

In my previous life, I'd believed that too.

Right up until I was choking on poison gas and heard her laugh.

Vivian noticed I hadn't taken the water. Something flickered behind her eyes — a split-second stiffness she almost managed to hide.

Then the mask of worry slid back into place.

"Quinn, the comment section is already filling up with reports. We built this business on our reputation. That's everything."

Reputation is everything.

But in my previous life, caring too much about my reputation was exactly what got me killed.

I took a slow breath, looked past Vivian, and fixed my gaze on Selena's furious face.

I didn't cut the stream.

Instead, I grabbed the backup phone from its stand, brought the lens in close, and pointed it directly at Selena — and at the pregnancy test sitting on my worktable.

"I'm not cutting the stream."

My voice was quiet, but it landed like a stone in the silence.

Vivian's lips twitched.

"Quinn, are you out of your mind?!"

"I'm not the one who's lost their mind."

I steadied the camera and looked directly into the lens.

"Selena. Since you've decided I've been involved with Ethan, let's settle this properly."

"You're saying I'm carrying Ethan's child. That I've been taking his money."

"Fine. Then call Ethan. Right now."

"In front of everyone watching — I want to ask him myself where this child came from."