Chapter 13

I propped my chin up with one hand while the teacher wrote on the board. The sound of pens scratching against paper filled the room.

I was doing my best to keep up the appearance of being a slacker, like Chloe, without even bothering to open a book.

My eyes were fixed on the board, but my mind was elsewhere.

Right now, I was living as Chloe Watson. Her life and status were miles below what I was used to. It made everything harder.

I needed to come up with a solid plan.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from Chloe’s mom. “We’re going to a gallery this afternoon. I’ve already gotten you out of class.”

Richard Shane had gained quite a reputation in recent years, becoming one of the top artists in the country. His name carried weight in the industry.

I had always gone out of my way to avoid hearing about him. In my mind, as long as I didn’t acknowledge his success, it was like he didn’t exist in my world.

The gallery exhibition went smoothly. I had to admit, Richard’s work was an undeniable visual feast.

I used the excuse of not feeling well to leave early. As I stepped outside, a sleek black car pulled up at the curb.

A young man stepped out from the driver’s seat and hurried over to open the back door.

The first thing I noticed was a pair of polished black shoes, toes resting firmly on the shadowy patterns of the fallen leaves.

He wore a navy blue, tailored suit, his fingers tapping quickly on his phone. Then he paused, raising his head without warning, and our eyes met.

Sharp, almond-shaped eyes, both refined and ruthless, with a thin scar running along his eyebrow. There was something dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

It was Ethan Clint. Why was he in Charleston?

Ethan didn’t say a word. He just stared at me.

His jaw was clenched tight, and his eyes were stormy.

I had a gut feeling—he recognized me, the soul beneath this body. He knew I was Olivia.

He suddenly stepped forward, bending down to wrap his arms around me.

“Olivia,” he breathed, his voice deep and rough in my ear. “Welcome back.”

His familiar scent flooded my senses.

My mind exploded. He recognized me. Ethan Clint recognized me immediately.

Leaning into his chest, I glanced up at the scar above his brow.

That scar—Ethan got it trying to catch me when I jumped out of a tree. I don’t even remember why I climbed up that day, just that getting up was easy, but getting down was terrifying.

Ethan had stood below with his arms outstretched, promising he’d catch me. It wasn’t long after I’d been adopted into the Clint family, and I didn’t fully trust him yet, but for some reason, I jumped anyway.

He held me tight, not letting me get hurt at all. But he broke his arm in the process, and the cut above his brow came from hitting his head on a rock.

I had no idea how to explain to him why I was in someone else’s body, or why I hadn’t come looking for him sooner.

But it was like he knew. He patted my head gently and said, “You don’t have to explain.”

“What are you doing in Charleston?” I asked.

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and said casually, “Just handling some business.”

He lifted my face, carefully inspecting every inch. His brow furrowed, and he tapped my forehead lightly. “This face… doesn’t look as good as yours.”

Thank God Chloe hasn’t shown up—this could’ve been really awkward.

The corners of his deep-set eyes softened slightly as he asked, “I can’t take you away just yet, can I?”

I shook my head. I was still Chloe Watson, and I couldn’t just leave with Ethan Clint.

He stroked my hair, just like he used to, and said, “Olivia, we need to talk.”

Out of nowhere, I blurted, “Did you hold a funeral for me?”

There was a brief flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “Yeah, I did.”

“Was it grand?”

He was silent for a moment before replying, “It was.”

Even if the funeral had been grand, the only attendees would’ve been people with business ties to the Clint family. I never had any real friends.

He leaned against the car, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one. The thick smoke swirled around his piercing gaze.

He silently took a few drags, and without thinking, I reached for his cigarette pack—just like I used to. He caught my hand, flicking the ash from his cigarette.

“Has this body even hit legal age?” he asked.

I smirked. “Just turned 18. I’ve got college entrance exams coming up.”

He smiled with his mouth, but there wasn’t any humor in his eyes.

He patted my hand and refused. “High school seniors aren’t allowed to smoke.”

I shot back, “I smoked when I was a senior, and you didn’t stop me then.”

He chuckled. “I wasn’t in the country back then. Too far away to stop you.”

He lifted his wrist to check his watch, then glanced behind me. “There’s a kid across the street staring at us. Do you know him?”

I turned around. Across the road, Ricky Shane was glaring at us, his eyes narrowed and his fists clenched tightly, knuckles white.

I snorted. “Oh, I know him, alright.”

15

Ignoring Ricky Shane's rage, I turned back to continue talking to Ethan. He was my strength, my anchor. Somewhere along the line, I'd grown to rely on him completely. As long as he was around, nothing scared me.

"That guy's name is Ricky Shane. He's this body’s brother," I paused, then added, "stepbrother."

I could feel Ricky’s eyes boring into my back, but Ethan just glanced over my shoulder, sizing him up. "He’s got a thing for his sister."

I blinked, surprised. "How do you know that?"

Ethan returned his gaze to me, his expression unreadable. "I’m not blind."

He suddenly frowned, grabbing my wrist and rolling up my sleeve, exposing the scars on my arm. "What’s this about?"

"That’s the girl’s doing, not mine."

I was debating whether or not to tell Ethan the deal Chloe had proposed: if I killed Ricky, I could keep her body. I knew Ethan would have no problem burying Ricky six feet under without hesitation.

But I couldn’t let him do that. He’d worked so hard to clean up the Clint family’s reputation, ridding it of all the shady stuff. His hands didn’t need more blood on them.

While I was still talking to Ethan, I misjudged Ricky's possessiveness and underestimated his anger.

I didn’t expect Ricky to charge toward us.

His face was twisted with fury, and before I could grab his arm to stop him, he shoved me aside and stormed toward Ethan, who had his back turned while talking on the phone. Without warning, Ricky yanked Ethan by the collar and punched him hard in the jaw.

Ricky had put his full strength into that punch. Ethan, caught off guard, stumbled back, blood trickling from his mouth.

In all the years I’d known Ethan, I had never seen anyone hit him. My voice shook with fury.

"Ricky Shane, have you lost your damn mind?"

Ethan wiped the blood from his mouth, his expression darkening like a storm on the horizon. He tilted his head slightly, stepped forward, and grabbed Ricky by the throat. "You little punk."

Ethan moved so fast that Ricky didn’t even have time to react. His face turned bright red as he struggled to breathe, unable to speak a word.

Ethan had him completely overpowered, his grip unyielding.

I’d always known Ethan had a rough side. From the day I met him, he’d been wild to the core. A street kid at heart. Ricky, raised in comfort and luxury, didn’t stand a chance.

Ethan’s knuckles whitened, and for a second, it looked like he might actually strangle him. His brow furrowed, and with a swift motion, he let go. Ricky collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Ethan pressed his shoe against Ricky’s chin, looking down at him like he was nothing more than a stray dog.

The showdown between a grown man and a teenage boy ended with the teenager thoroughly humiliated.

16

I stood there, wide-eyed, watching the whole scene unfold. I wasn’t new to seeing Ethan fight, but this time I wasn’t Olivia Dawner—I was Chloe Watson—and I didn’t know how I was supposed to react as her.

Behind me, I heard a woman’s shrill cry, "Ricky!"

Chloe’s mother, Diane, came rushing over in her high heels, kneeling beside Ricky. Following close behind her was Richard Shane, his face like thunder.

Ethan smirked, his eyes flicking from Ricky to Richard, lifting his chin slightly as he said, "Seems like your son wasn’t raised with much discipline."

Richard’s eyes darted between Ethan and his son. For a moment, he looked shocked, but he quickly recovered his composure.

"My apologies, Mr. Clint," Richard said, his tone smooth but strained.

He didn’t need to ask what had happened; the blood on Ethan’s lip made it obvious. Men like Ethan didn’t get into fights with high schoolers without good reason.

Diane helped Ricky to his feet. He grimaced, his face taut with barely-contained anger.

Richard turned to his son and said through clenched teeth, "Apologize to Mr. Clint."

Ricky stubbornly refused to say a word.

I thought Ethan might step in to defuse the tension, but he didn’t. He was really waiting for Ricky to apologize.

The atmosphere grew heavier, the standoff dragging on.

I finally stepped forward, trying to smooth things over. "I’ll apologize on my brother’s behalf. I’m sorry."

Ethan glanced at Ricky and then back at Richard, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. "Looks like your daughter’s got more manners than your son, Mr. Shane."

Richard and Diane both plastered on awkward smiles, but I could feel Ethan’s gaze lingering on me.

Watching the way Richard acted around Ethan, I knew instantly—Ethan was the main financial backer behind the art gallery Richard was working on.

Ricky kept his head down, his fists clenched, fury practically radiating off him. The tension was suffocating.

Out of nowhere, Chloe appeared. She stood right beside Ricky, leaned in close to me, and whispered in my ear, "Olivia, you’re in trouble now."