Chapter 1

The last thing I remembered was the roar of the crowd, a faceless mob of anger and hate, their voices blending into a single, ugly sound. Then came the shoving, the sharp pain, and the sudden, chilling cold. I died on a dirty city street, surrounded by strangers who thought I was a monster, a lie fed to them by the very person who pretended to save me.

It all started with a gift. For my 25th birthday, my adoptive mother, Eleanor, gave me an antique smartwatch. It wasn't sleek or modern like the tech I designed, but heavy and ornate, with a dark, polished wood band and a brass face that seemed to absorb the light around it.

"It's a one-of-a-kind piece, darling," she had said, her voice smooth as silk. "Just for you."

I was a rising star in the tech world then, full of energy and ideas. My company was about to launch a revolutionary new product. I was happy. But the watch changed everything. The moment she clasped it around my wrist, a strange coldness seeped into my skin. In the weeks that followed, my life drained away. My hair thinned and turned gray, my skin wrinkled, and my mind grew foggy. I, Chloe, the vibrant innovator, became a frail, confused old woman.

Eleanor, a former beauty queen terrified of her fading looks, grew younger with every day I grew older. Her skin became firm, her eyes brightened. She was stealing my youth, and she wasn't subtle about it. Once the transformation was complete, she locked me in the attic of her grand house, telling the world I'd had a sudden, tragic breakdown and needed private care. She cut me off from everyone, from my friends, from my work, from my entire life.

My only hope came in the form of Bethany. She was my ex-boyfriend Ethan's new fiancée, a struggling influencer who always seemed to carry a cloud of resentment around her. She found me wasting away in that dusty attic. She looked horrified, her eyes wide with what I thought was pity.

"Chloe? Oh my god, what happened to you?" she whispered, her phone secretly recording every moment.

She helped me escape, a chaotic flight in the middle of the night. I felt a surge of gratitude, a belief that maybe I had misjudged her. I was wrong. The "safe house" she took me to was a public square. She had been live-streaming my escape, feeding her followers a twisted story she had concocted online for weeks. She told them I was a fraud who had stolen from Eleanor, a mentally unstable hermit who was a danger to society. The "favoritism" Eleanor had shown me, the "lavish gift" of the watch, was all part of Bethany's narrative of my supposed privilege.

The online trolls she had incited were waiting. They didn't see a victim, they saw the villain from Bethany's posts. They closed in, their faces contorted with rage. Bethany watched from a distance, her phone held high, a small, triumphant smile on her face as she captured my demise for her audience. The life drained out of me for the second, and final, time.

But death was not the end. I floated in a void, a disembodied consciousness, and I saw them. I saw Eleanor and Bethany toasting with champagne in Eleanor's living room. Bethany's social media following had exploded, and Eleanor was radiant, her face smooth and unlined.

"To a problem solved," Eleanor said, raising her glass.

"And to new beginnings," Bethany replied, her eyes gleaming with greed.

The injustice of it all burned through me, a rage so pure it felt like it could tear the universe apart. They had taken everything from me, my youth, my career, my life, and they celebrated over my corpse. That rage, that burning need for justice, must have been a force of its own.

Because then, I woke up.

I shot up in bed, gasping for air. My skin was smooth, my hair was thick and dark, and my body felt strong, humming with the familiar energy of my 25-year-old self. Sunlight streamed through my bedroom window. On my nightstand, my phone buzzed. The date on the screen was my 25th birthday. The day it all started.

Tears streamed down my face, not of sorrow, but of fierce, cold relief. I was back. I had a second chance. And I knew exactly what I was going to do. Downstairs, I could hear Eleanor humming, preparing for my party. The party where she would present me with a beautiful, deadly gift.

This time, the watch wouldn't be for me. This time, I was going to offer the "life-drainer" to Bethany. I would watch as she and Eleanor, two predators bound by vanity and greed, tore each other apart. This time, I would not be the victim. I would be the one who ensured justice was served.