Chapter 2

Alexis bolted upright from the pitch-black smoke, her fingers clawing into the crisp cotton bedsheets beneath her.

The sharp smell of hospital disinfectant replaced the stench of gasoline. Instead of roaring flames, a heart monitor beeped steadily beside her ear. Panting hard in a sweat-soaked gray hospital gown, she looked down at the back of her hands. Her skin was pale, smooth, and completely unburned.

"Oh my God, Alexis! You're finally awake! The doctor said it was just heatstroke and low blood sugar from fainting, but you scared me half to death!"

A blonde girl sitting by the bed dropped her paring knife and threw her arms around her. Alexis turned her stiff neck and looked into a pair of clear, anxious blue eyes.

With her sharp wavy bob, Paige Frost was a financial prodigy and her closest friend. The last thing Alexis remembered from her past life was a late-night phone call two years from now—Paige had swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills in a tiny forty-square-meter London rental apartment, leaving behind an empty funeral and a stack of rejected law firm debt notices.

Alexis raised a trembling hand to touch Paige's warm cheek, her voice choking up.

"Paige... you're still here? I'm not... I'm not dead?"

Paige pressed the back of her hand against Alexis's forehead and laughed softly.

"What are you talking about? You slipped from heatstroke at your engagement warm-up cocktail party in Central Park. You've only been here at Mount Sinai Hospital for three hours."

Alexis's head buzzed as her eyes locked onto the digital calendar on the nightstand: May 17, three years ago.

She had come back. Her fingers dug into the blanket as a layer of ice settled deep in her eyes. In her past life, she had laid in this exact ward for two hours like a fool, waiting for the man who was currently shacking up with Bobbye behind her back.

Her parents were still alive, and the Davenport semiconductor patents were still safe.

Paige rolled her eyes beside the bed, crossing her arms in annoyance.

"And don't even get me started on your precious fiancé. You've been here for three hours, and that guy hasn't even shown his face or picked up his phone. God knows which woman he was fooling around with."

Hearing Paige voice the exact truth she already knew, Alexis didn't panic or cry as she used to. Instead, she leaned back against the soft pillow and let out a slow breath.

"Paige, call the front desk and cancel his visit. Tell them I'm not seeing anyone today."

Paige froze, half a peeled apple hanging in her hand.

"What did you say? Didn't you used to lose your mind if you didn't see Colby for one minute? You wouldn't even let me say a single bad word about him."

Alexis turned toward the Manhattan skyline outside the window, the corner of her mouth curving into a cold smirk.

"I was blind before. Blocking him once lets him know I'm no longer at his beck and call. Letting him in later will show me how he plans to put on his act."

Her custom phone buzzed on the nightstand, flashing the name "Dad (Branch Davenport)" on the screen. Her eyes reddened instantly, and she swiped the answer button with a shaking finger.

"Dad..."

Her father's steady, caring voice came through the speaker.

"Alexis, I heard you're at Mount Sinai? Your mother and I are driving back from the Connecticut R&D base right now. How are you feeling?"

Hearing the warm voice of the father who had burned to death in her last life, Alexis swallowed the lump in her throat, her knuckles whitening.

"I'm fine, Dad, just a little tired. Drive safely with Mom."

"That's good. Bobbye just called us crying, saying it was all her fault for not taking care of you. That girl is too sensitive," Branch sighed.

Alexis's eyes turned cold. In her past life, that exact phone call had made her mother feel guilty enough to take Bobbye to Fifth Avenue the next day and buy her a jewelry set meant for Alexis.

"Dad, never mind her. When we get back to the Long Island estate tonight, I have something critical to discuss with you about independent escrow and anti-theft protocols for our core semiconductor patents," Alexis said, enunciating every word.

When she hung up, her knuckles were white around the phone. She buried her face against her knees for three seconds in silent tears before throwing off the covers and stepping onto the carpet. Walking into the marble bathroom, she splashed freezing tap water onto her twenty-two-year-old face. Looking in the mirror, she rubbed her left wrist—the skin was unbroken, yet the phantom ache of hemp rope lingered.

She walked out of the bathroom and grabbed her black cashmere trench coat from the rack.

"Paige, walk with me. This room is making me sick."