Chapter 1

The first thing I felt was a dull ache in my left wrist, a persistent throb under a tight bandage. The second was the blinding white light that burned my eyes even through closed lids. A rhythmic, high-pitched beeping sound drilled into my ears, one beat at a time. I tried to move, but my body felt heavy, disconnected from my mind.

I forced my eyes open, squinting against the sterile brightness of the hospital room. Everything was white and smelled of antiseptic. I was alone. My mind was a complete blank, a fuzzy, empty space where memories should have been. Where was I? What happened?

"Did you hear? The guy in 302, Ethan, tried it again." A voice drifted from the hallway, low but clear.

"The one married to CEO Sterling? God, what a drama queen. This is what, the third time this year?" another voice replied, laced with disdain. "Some people will do anything for attention."

Ethan. They were talking about me. But their words made no sense. I had never been a drama queen. I hated clingy, desperate people. The thought of being one of them made my stomach turn. And married? To CEO Sterling? I knew that name. Sophia Sterling. She was the girl I had a hopeless crush on in high school, the one who was always out of my league. It was impossible.

A nurse walked in, her face a mask of professional boredom. She checked my IV drip without making eye contact.

"You're awake," she stated, not asked. "Dr. Reynolds will be in to see you shortly. Your wife has been notified."

Her words hit me like a physical blow. Wife. It wasn't a mistake.

"I'm not… I'm not married," I stammered, my voice raspy.

The nurse finally looked at me, a flicker of irritation in her eyes. "Look, Mr. Vance. We don't have time for these games. You slit your wrist. You're lucky the cut wasn't deeper. Now please, just rest."

She turned and left before I could process what she said. I stared down at my bandaged wrist. The dull ache suddenly sharpened into a sickening reality. I did this? I tried to kill myself? The idea was so foreign, so repulsive, I felt a wave of nausea.

I pushed myself up, my muscles screaming in protest. I stumbled out of bed and into the small, attached bathroom. I gripped the sides of the sink, my knuckles white, and forced myself to look in the mirror.

The face that stared back was not the one I knew. It was me, but older. The boyish features of my eighteen-year-old self were gone, replaced by the tired, gaunt face of a man in his early twenties. There were dark circles under my eyes and a hollowness in my cheeks that spoke of long-term stress. I looked… defeated. The date on a newspaper left on the counter read October 26, 2023. Five years. I had lost five years of my life.

I was Ethan Vance, twenty-three years old. And according to the nurse, I was the pathetic, attention-seeking husband of Sophia Sterling. I had tried to kill myself to get her attention. A cold dread washed over me, a feeling of absolute disgust for the man I had apparently become. This wasn't me. The person they described, the person who did this to himself, was a stranger. And I wanted nothing to do with him.