Chapter 1

The smell of burning rubber and the sharp, final crunch of metal were the last things I remembered.

Then, I woke up.

My eyes snapped open to the gentle morning light filtering through my bedroom window. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of a life that shouldn't exist. I sat up, my hands flying to my stomach. It was flat. The baby was gone.

No. Not gone. Not yet.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I grabbed it, my fingers trembling. The date was exactly one year ago. The day it all began.

On the screen was a notification from Instagram. My video, the one of me packing a perfect lunch for my husband, Mark, had just gone viral. A million views overnight. The comments were a mix of awe and aspiration.

Then, a new notification popped up. A tag in a post by Jessica "Jessi" Vance.

I didn't need to click it. I knew the words by heart. I remembered the firestorm they ignited.

"Amelia Reed: The Tradwife Betraying Her Gender."

In my first life, I cried. I tried to defend myself. I told Mark we should ignore it. That naivete led to my ruin. Jessi' s mob descended, doxxing us, sending death threats. We sued for defamation, and in response, Jessi faked an overdose on a livestream, turning the entire world against us. Mark lost his job. We lost our home. And then, one of her radicalized followers ran my car off the road.

This time, there would be no tears. Not real ones, anyway.

I stared at my reflection in the dark screen of my phone. The same beautiful face, the same innocent eyes. But behind them, something was different. Something was cold and hard and hungry for revenge.

Mark walked into the room, a towel around his waist, his hair damp from the shower. He saw my face and his smile faltered.

"Amy? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," I said, my voice smooth as silk. "Just a little overwhelmed by all the attention."

I showed him the phone. He saw Jessi's post and his face darkened with anger.

"Who the hell is this? What gives her the right to say that about you?"

In my first life, he said the exact same thing. And I told him to let it go.

This time, I looked up at him, my eyes wide and shimmering with manufactured tears.

"Mark, I'm scared."

His arms were around me instantly. "Don't be. It's just some crazy person online. We'll get our lawyer to send her a cease and desist. We'll fight this."

"No," I whispered, burying my face in his chest. "Don't fight her. Not like that."

I pulled back, my face a perfect mask of vulnerability. "She wants a fight. If we fight, we give her exactly what she wants. I think… I think I should talk to them. My followers. I should go live."

He looked hesitant. "Are you sure? They're a mob."

"They're not all like her," I said softly. "Some of them are just confused. I need to show them who I really am."

He finally nodded, his love for me overriding his caution. That was his weakness. A weakness I would now use.

An hour later, I was in my pristine, sun-drenched kitchen. The camera was on. I had set up the ingredients for a sourdough loaf, the very thing that started this whole mess.

I hit 'Go Live'.

The viewer count shot up. One thousand. Ten thousand. A hundred thousand. The comments flew by, a river of hatred, fueled by Jessi's podcast that had just dropped.

"Traitor."

"Go back to the 50s."

"Your husband owns you."

I took a deep breath, and on cue, a single, perfect tear rolled down my cheek. I didn't sob. I just let it fall, a silent testament to my pain.

"Hi everyone," my voice trembled, but it was clear. "I see your comments. I know a lot of you are angry with me."

I wiped the tear away gracefully.

"I never wanted to be a symbol of anything. I'm just a woman who loves her husband. Who loves making a home for her family. I didn't think that was a bad thing."

I began kneading the dough, my movements fluid and practiced.

"Jessi Vance says I'm a traitor to my gender. Maybe she's right. Maybe I'm not the kind of woman she thinks I should be."

Another tear fell, splashing onto the flour-dusted countertop.

"But this is who I am. And I'm not ashamed. I just wanted to bake with you all today. To share something I love. If you still hate me after that… I'll understand."

I continued to bake in silence, my beautiful, sad face reflected in the polished chrome of my mixer. I didn't have to look at the comments. I could feel the tide turning. The hate was being drowned out by a tsunami of sympathy.

My new empire was being built on a foundation of their pity. And my revenge had just begun.