Chapter 1

The day my adopted sister died, My brother took six bullets for me in a Vegas casino.

Right before he did, he leaned in and whispered that he wished I'd never been born.

He sold me to the highest bidder. Stood there in his three-piece suit while strangers ran their eyes over me like I was livestock. I begged him. I clawed at his sleeve. I said his name over and over until my voice gave out.

He never even blinked.

"If you hadn't needed that kidney, Zoe would still be alive. She died on that table because of you, Grace. You're going to spend the rest of your life paying for it."

That was supposed to be the night I died.

Then the gunmen came through the doors.

Bullets. Screaming. Glass everywhere. And before I could even move, Caleb threw himself on top of me and took every single shot.

He coughed blood into my hair. Warm. Wet.

"If there's a next life," he whispered, "don't be my sister. Zoe was enough. Zoe was always enough."

I picked up his gun. Pressed the barrel under my chin.

And pulled the trigger.

Then I open my eyes.

"Grace Hartley! You held Zoe's hand under boiling water — over a piece of candy?! She saved your life, and this is how you treat her? How are you my sister?"

That voice.

His voice.

Furious. Alive.

I blink. The room swims into place — white curtains, hospital bed, that sharp antiseptic smell. Zoe sitting up against the pillows, hand wrapped in gauze. Caleb standing over me, jaw locked, fists shaking at his sides.

Five years ago. The day I burned her.

I'm back.

I'm really back.

I stare at him. No bullet holes. No blood on his lips. Just my brother, healthy and whole and furious, breathing right in front of me.

My throat closes. I shove the tears down so hard it hurts.

"I'm sorry, Caleb."

My voice comes out wrong — too quiet, too rough.

"I shouldn't have hurt her."

He freezes.

I almost laugh. Of course he froze. In this lifetime, I have never once apologized to him.

That stupid piece of candy — he was the one who gave it to me. The day our parents died. Sixteen years old, eyes red and raw, pressing it into my palm like it was the only thing he had left to give me. "Don't cry, Gracie. I've got you. I'll take care of you, I swear."

He doesn't even remember. He was a kid drowning under the weight of a dead family. I can't hold that against him.

I turn to the bed. Look Zoe right in the eye.

"I'm sorry, Zoe. I won't fight you over him anymore. I'm done."

Zoe's lashes flutter. Her eyes well up right on schedule. "Grace, I didn't mean to step on your candy, please don't be—"

I don't let her finish.

I reach for the electric kettle on the nightstand — water still steaming, just boiled — and pour it straight down my own arm.

The pain is white-hot. My knees nearly give. Cold sweat soaks through the back of my shirt. My breath comes out in short, broken pieces.

"Is that enough?"

Nobody moves. Nobody even breathes.

Then Caleb lunges. Grabs my wrist so hard it hurts.

"Grace — are you out of your mind?!"

He doesn't wait for an answer. He whips around and roars at the assistant in the doorway:

"Don't just stand there — get a doctor!"

And just like that, my chest goes warm.

Right now, in this exact second, he still cares enough to yell. His eyes aren't ice yet. They aren't disgust yet.

It's nice. Even if I know it isn't really mine. Even if I know how this story ends.

I let his hand stay on my wrist for one more second. Just one.

Then Zoe sniffles. Tugs at the hem of his shirt with her good hand.

"Caleb… I know she wants you all to herself. But hurting herself just to get your attention? That's not okay…"

She turns to me. Tears spilling. Perfect.

"Grace, you and Caleb are real siblings. I'm the outsider. Please — please — stop hurting yourself, okay?"

The hand around my wrist goes still.

I watch his face turn cold again. Slow. One degree at a time. The worry drains out of him, and something harder takes its place.

I shut my mouth. I was about to defend myself. There's no point. There never was.

"For one second," he says quietly, "I actually thought you'd changed. What's wrong with you, Grace? Are you even my sister?"

In my last life, he said so much worse. This is nothing. This barely scratches.

I lower my head. Soft. Obedient.

"Whatever you say, Caleb."

"You—"

He chokes on it. Points at me. Can't find a single word. Then he turns away and snaps at his assistant without looking back:

"Take her. Bandage her arm. Keep her out of Zoe's sight — I don't want her upsetting Zoe again."

I nod. Step back. Walk out without a sound.

But I don't go to the nurse's station.

Because the second I opened my eyes in this body, I felt it. That deep, familiar ache crawling up from my lower back into every nerve ending I have. Sharp. Heavy. Wrong.

The kidney disease.

That's right. This is the day they diagnose me. In my last life, this is exactly the day.

Without a transplant, I have two weeks. Maybe less.

And this time?

This time, Caleb — I'm not asking for your kidney.

I'm not asking for your love either.

This time, I'm just going to disappear.