Chapter 1 1

The last thing I saw was the grime on the prison infirmary ceiling.

Then a needle in my arm.

My son, Noah, his face a blur of shame and something harder, stood with Julian Vance.

Julian, always smiling that cold smile.

They said it was an accident. An overdose.

I knew better.

My six years with Isabella, Izzy, flashed. The love I thought was real.

Then, black.

I woke up.

Sunlight. Clean sheets. The smell of expensive flowers.

My heart hammered. This wasn't prison.

I sat up. My body ached, but it was a familiar ache, not the prison kind.

This was the Davenport mansion. Beacon Hill.

Six years earlier.

The day they found Izzy. The day my first life ended.

A second chance. I wouldn't waste it.

Izzy stood across the vast living room.

She wore a silk robe, her blonde hair perfect.

She looked at me, her eyes blank.

"Liam," she said, her voice cool, distant. "It's... strange. I don't remember you."

Amnesia. Again.

The first time, after her car crash, it was real. I found her, cared for her. We built a life. A son.

This time, it was a lie. I saw it in the flicker of her eyes.

Her mother, Eleanor Davenport, glided in.

Pearls. A Chanel suit. Her face was a mask of polite disdain.

"Mr. Callahan," Eleanor said. "Isabella has been through a terrible ordeal. Her memory of the... recent past... is gone."

She meant her memory of me, of our life in Philadelphia, our small apartment, my garage.

"We appreciate you bringing her to us."

Appreciate. Like I was a delivery boy.

Eleanor opened a slim leather checkbook.

"A million dollars," she stated, not asked. "For your trouble. And for your silence."

My past self would have raged. Argued. Pleaded for Izzy to remember.

This self, the one who'd seen the end, knew better.

There was no love here. Only transactions.

I met Eleanor's gaze.

"Thank you, Mrs. Davenport," I said. My voice was calm, steady. It surprised even me.

"I accept."

A flicker of surprise in Eleanor's eyes. Izzy looked away.

"I'll need a flight to Los Angeles," I added. "In three days."

Eleanor nodded, a curt, dismissive gesture. The deal was done. My past was being erased with a signature and a plane ticket.