Mira's POV
I can't breathe.
Someone grabbed me in the darkness. A hand over my mouth, an arm around my waist, pulling me backward through a door I didn't know was there. I try to scream, but the hand presses harder.
"Quiet," a woman's voice hisses in my ear. "I'm saving your life."
The door slams shut behind us. We're in some kind of tiny hallway—a servant's passage, maybe. My attacker finally releases me, and I spin around, ready to fight.
But I freeze when I see her face in the dim emergency lights.
She looks exactly like me.
Same dark hair. Same eyes. Same height. But older—maybe five years older. And there's something in her face that makes my blood run cold.
She looks broken.
"Who are you?" I gasp.
"You already know," she says sadly. "You know, even if you don't want to believe it."
My mind is running. The note. The warning about something happening "five years from now." This woman who looks like me but older.
It's impossible. It's crazy.
But I've been living an impossible, insane world for three months already.
"You're... me?" I whisper. "From the future?"
She nods slowly. "From a future that doesn't exist anymore. Because you changed it."
I press my back against the wall, trying to make sense of this. "That's not possible. I woke up on the day of the choice, three months ago. I'm living my second chance. But you—you're saying you came from—" "From the original timeline," she says. "The one where you married Ethan. The one where everything went wrong." Her voice breaks. "The one where Vivian killed us both."
My stomach drops. "Killed us?"
"She pushed our car off a bridge," the older Mira says simply. "Jealous because she thought we had the perfect marriage while hers was going apart. She never knew the truth—that Ethan was using us, cheating on us, spending our money. She only saw the fake happiness we showed everyone. " I remember that car. That bridge. The cold water.
I remember dying.
"But I'm here now," I say. "I changed things. I picked Adrian instead. Vivian got Ethan. She got what she wanted. So why—"
"Because someone else came back too," the older Mira says quickly. "Someone who wants revenge. Someone who's trying to make sure we die anyway, just in a different way."
Before I can ask who, shouting bursts from the study we just left. Adrian's voice, loud and panicked: "Search every room! Find her now!"
My husband. Worried about me.
In my first life, Ethan never sounded like that when I was in danger. He sounded angry. Inconvenienced.
"I need to go back," I say. "Adrian is—"
"Wait." The older Mira grabs my arm. "You need to understand something first. The person hunting us—they're not from five years in the future. They're from the same day we both woke up in. The same moment of rebirth."
My blood runs cold. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying we're not the only ones who got a second chance," she says. "Vivian got one too."
The words hit me like a truck.
Vivian. My sister. The one who killed me in the first reality.
She remembers too.
"No," I breathe. "She can't. She's been acting normal. She picked Ethan. She's been living her life like—"
"Like she's playing a role," the older Mira finishes. "Because she is. She remembers killing you. She remembers the guilt. And she's afraid that in this new timeline, you'll figure it out and take revenge."
My mind spins back through the last three months. Vivian's smug smile when she thought she was picking Adrian. Her shock when I took him instead. The way she's been watching me at family dinners, always careful, always planning.
I thought she was just being her usual competitive self.
But what if she's been planning for me to attack her? What if every smile was a defense? Every exchange a test to see if I remembered?
"The shooter tonight," I say slowly. "Was that—"
"Her," the older Mira confirms. "Or someone she hired. She's trying to kill you first, before you can hurt her. She thinks it's self-defense."
"But I wasn't going to hurt her!" My voice echoes in the small hallway. "I just wanted to live my life differently. I wanted to build my own happiness and let her have Ethan and—"
"She doesn't know that," the older Mira says sadly. "All she knows is that you changed your mind. You took Adrian when you were meant to take Ethan. To her, that looks like you're playing a game. Like you're planning something."
Footsteps pound past our secret door. Adrian's voice again: "Check the parks! The garage! Everywhere!"
I need to tell him I'm okay. I need to—
"There's more," the older Mira says, and something in her tone makes me freeze. "The poison they found in your jacket pocket. Do you know what it's really for?"
I shake my head.
"It's the same poison someone's been using on Adrian's mother," she says softly. "Slowly killing her for three years. And I know who's doing it."
My heart stops. "Who?" "Ethan. " The name hangs in the air like poison itself. " He's been killing Mrs. Blackwell since before we ever met him," the older Mira continues. "Slowly, carefully, making it look like normal illness. Because when she dies, Adrian gets everything—and Ethan planned to take it from him."
"How?" But even as I ask, pieces start clicking together.
"In the original universe, Ethan married you. He seemed weak, useless. Everyone thought Adrian was the strong one. But it was all an act." The older Mira's voice shakes. "Ethan wanted everyone to doubt him while he slowly destroyed his family from the inside. The drug. The manipulation. The affairs that kept us from noticing what he was really doing. " I feel sick. " And when Mrs. Blackwell died—" "Adrian would have inherited the company. But Ethan, married to me and managing my money, would have been in position to challenge him. To take everything." She drinks hard. "That was always the plan. Marry the rich girl. Use her money. Destroy his brother. Take the empire."
"But I didn't marry him this time," I whisper.
"Exactly," the older Mira says. "So now he needs a new plan. And that plan involves—"
A crash from somewhere in the house cuts her off. More shouting. A woman's scream.
The older Mira's face goes white. "We're out of time. They've started."
"Started what?"
She doesn't answer. Instead, she puts something into my hand—a small envelope, sealed with wax.
"Give this to Adrian," she says quickly. "When you understand everything. When you're ready to believe the impossible. Not before."
"What is it?"
"Proof," she says simply. "Of who really died five years ago. And who's been pretending to be alive ever since."
Before I can ask what that means, she pushes me toward the door.
"Go. Now. Your guy needs you. And Mira—" She grabs my shoulders, looking into my eyes with desperate focus. "Trust Adrian with everything. He's the only one who never lies."
Then she shoves me through the door and slams it shut behind me.
I stumble into the hallway just as Adrian rounds the turn. His face fills with relief.
"Mira! Thank God. Are you—"
"Adrian," I interrupt excitedly. "We need to talk. Right now. About Ethan. About your mother. About—"
"Miss Chen?"
We both spin around.
Detective Sarah Lin stands at the end of the hallway, surrounded by two police officers. Her face is grim.
"Mira Chen," she says formally. "You're under arrest for the attempted murder of Eleanor Blackwell."
Adrian steps in front of me immediately. "That's absurd. My wife would never—"
"We have evidence," Detective Lin interrupts. "The poison found in her jacket. Her anonymous financial link to your family. And—" She pauses, looking truly sorry. "A witness who says they saw her entering your mother's facility in Switzerland two weeks ago."
My blood turns to ice. "I've never been to Switzerland." " The security video says otherwise."
She holds up a tablet, and my whole world tilts.
Because on the screen, clear as day, is video of someone who looks exactly like me going into a medical facility.
Same hair. Same face. Same body.
But it's not me.
Detective Lin reaches for the handcuffs. "You have the right to remain silent—"
"Wait!" I pull the envelope from my pocket—the one the older Mira gave me. "Before you arrest me, you need to see this. Please. It explains everything."
Adrian takes the envelope, breaks the seal, and pulls out a single picture.
His face goes totally white.
"What is it?" I ask.
He doesn't answer. He just shows me the picture.
It's a picture of two people standing side by side. Identical women.
Both of them are me.
Or they look like me.
But written on the back, in handwriting I know as my own, are four words that make my entire reality crumble:
"Only one is real."