Chapter 1

My eyes shot open.

The bitter, almost burnt taste of espresso flooded my mouth, a shock that yanked me out of a nightmare I couldn't quite grasp. The memory was a ghost, a cold spot in my mind, but the feelings were real: betrayal, public humiliation, and a deep, bone-chilling despair.

I was in "The Daily Grind," our favorite coffee shop. Across from me sat my boyfriend, Ethan Lester, scrolling through his phone. We were supposed to be celebrating. We' d just put a deposit down on an apartment together, a huge step. I was paying for most of it, but Ethan insisted on calling it "our" achievement.

"It's just so... corporate," a voice said, dripping with fake sweetness.

I looked up. It was Sabrina Chavez, the barista. She was staring at my new work laptop, a top-of-the-line machine my company had just issued me. Her smile was wide, but her eyes were small and hard.

"I mean, it's a great laptop, Jocelyn. Must be nice. Ethan works so hard for his money, it' s good you have a job that lets you... you know, afford the finer things."

The words were a perfect echo of the nightmare. My blood ran cold. In that fading dream, these same words were the first pebbles in an avalanche that buried me.

Ethan looked up, a slight frown on his face. He never liked it when anyone mentioned I made more money than him. He saw himself as a protector, an old-fashioned provider, even though his freelance graphic design work was sporadic at best.

"Sabrina's just saying you're successful, babe," he said, but his tone was defensive. "It's a compliment."

"Is it?" I asked, my voice flat.

Sabrina' s folksy, small-town-girl act was something Ethan found charming. I used to think it was harmless. Now, I saw the venom coiled beneath it. She wanted him. More than that, she wanted my life, and she saw me as an obstacle to be removed.

The dream, the memory-it was coming back in sharp, painful flashes. A spilled coffee. A piercing gun. A Hepatitis C diagnosis. A viral video. My career in ruins. My life ending with a handful of pills.

I was back. I was here, on the day it all began.

And this time, I would not be the victim.

Sabrina picked up two steaming mugs. "Here are your lattes! Careful, they're hot!"

She started towards our table. Her eyes were locked on Ethan, a picture of adoration. Then, just like in my memory, her foot "slipped." She lunged forward, the hot coffee aimed directly at me. In her other hand, barely concealed by a rag, was the gleaming metal of a piercing gun.

The instrument of my death in another life.

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