Chapter 1

The night before my wedding, I called Julian pretending to be my eighteen-year-old self.

I was full of hope.

"Julian, how are we at twenty-seven? Are we getting married? Are we… happy?"

There was a long silence on the other end.

Then Julian's exhausted voice came through.

"Not really."

"Emma, my whole life has been thrown away on you."

"I'm begging you. If there's a next life, let me go."

I froze. For a moment, I thought I'd misheard.

When I came back to myself, I called my mother with trembling hands, crying.

"Mom, I—"

"I know." My mother cut me off, sighing with tender affection. "You're eighteen-year-old Emma, aren't you?"

"That poor boy Julian hasn't had it easy. He's been in love with Serena for five years, and because of you, they've had to smother it all this time."

"Emma, listen to Mom—if there's a next life, if there's a heaven, let him and Serena be together. Pray for them. Let go. That's what a good girl does."

The tears went cold on my face.

Trembling, I dialed one last number—my own sister, Serena.

She was in bed with Julian on the other end, sobbing under her breath as they made love.

"Emma, forgive me. Just tonight. He belongs to me only for tonight."

"I won't fight you for him in this life. I only beg you—in the next, step aside for me."

I hung up with tears streaming down my face. Something in me died completely.

No need for a next life. No need for heaven.

In this life, I would give them what they wanted.

…

Julian didn't come home until the next morning.

He shrugged off his coat, hung it up, and glanced at me carelessly.

"Why are you up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep," I answered evenly.

I paused, then said, "Julian, let's call off the wedding."

He froze, turned his head, and met my slightly swollen eyes.

"You… are you joking?"

"I played a game last night." I looked straight at him. "That Call Your Future Self challenge on social media."

Julian's hand stilled.

He looked at me, and the color drained from his face bit by bit.

"Emma, are you testing me?"

I let out a bitter laugh. I never imagined his first response would be an accusation, before any explanation.

"If I don't test you, am I supposed to stay in the dark my whole life, playing the fool?"

"Julian." My eyes reddened. "The two of you—aren't you disgusted with yourselves?"

Slap. His hand cracked across my face and my head snapped sideways.

I covered my cheek, dazed.

Julian stared at his own hand, stunned. He looked as if even he hadn't expected to hit me.

He pressed his lips together, lowered his hand, and looked at me heavily.

"Emma, if you have ugly things to say, aim them at me. I won't have anyone insulting her."

Every drop of blood in my body rushed to my head.

Eyes burning, I raised my hand and slapped him back, hard.

"How dare you hit me!"

"Julian, from the day I was born, not even my parents have ever laid a hand on me!"

But this second slap didn't land. Julian caught my arm in an iron grip.

He gave a cold smirk. "Your parents?"

"Serena and I—your parents know everything. Did you know that?"

"Last Thanksgiving, the moment you walked through the door, before you even sat down, your mother was tugging at you, insisting on dragging you to the Beverly Center. Your father claimed he had to run out and buy a pumpkin pie."

He leaned down, his tone playful.

"Your entire family has been running interference for us."

My head jerked up. I stared at him, unable to believe it.

He released me with contempt.

"Emma, wake up."

"If I were you, I'd make good use of what little guilt your future husband still has left for you."

"After all—not even your parents love you."