Chapter 3

With the revelation that Sarah also remembered our past life, my path became clearer than ever. My goal wasn't just to build a new life for myself, it was to completely and utterly detach from the black hole that was her existence. I focused on my studies with a singular intensity. I aced my final exams and got an early acceptance letter from my dream university, a top-tier engineering school on the other side of the country. I was getting out.

The town, however, was a pressure cooker. Everyone had taken a side, and most of them were on Sarah's. She played the part of the jilted, abandoned woman perfectly.

One afternoon, I was at the town's only decent coffee shop, meeting with my parents to celebrate my acceptance. We were sitting at a small table, my mom beaming with pride, my dad giving me a firm, approving nod. It was a rare moment of peace.

Then the door swung open, and in walked Sarah, with Chloe flanking her like a loyal attack dog.

They saw me immediately. Sarah's eyes narrowed, and she strode directly to our table.

"Well, well, look who it is," she said, her voice loud enough for the entire coffee shop to hear. "Celebrating something, Alex?"

My dad stood up slightly. "Sarah, this is a private family matter."

"Oh, I'm sure it is," Sarah said with a saccharine smile, ignoring him and focusing on me. "I heard you got into that fancy school. Must be nice. Leaving everyone behind to rot while you go off and live your perfect little life."

The other patrons were starting to stare. Conversations lulled.

"I'm happy for him," my mom said, her voice tight. "He's worked very hard."

"Oh, I'm sure he has," Chloe chimed in, stepping forward. "He's worked very hard at being a heartless jerk. Abandoning the girl who loved him when she needed him most."

Sarah was a master manipulator. She let her lower lip tremble just a little. A tear welled up in her eye, but didn't fall. "I just don't understand what I did to deserve this, Alex. I thought you cared about me."

Her performance was flawless. Murmurs of sympathy rippled through the coffee shop. I saw an older woman shake her head in disapproval, looking directly at me. I was trapped, publicly shamed by a narrative she had expertly crafted. I was the villain in the story of Saint Sarah.

I just stayed silent, looking at her, my face a mask of indifference. My lack of reaction seemed to infuriate her more than any angry denial would have.

Just then, the door opened again. This time, it was Mark.

He walked in with an easy swagger, a charismatic smile on his face that didn't reach his cold eyes. He sized up the scene in an instant, his gaze landing on Sarah's tearful face, then on me.

"Hey, baby," he said, walking over and wrapping a protective arm around Sarah's shoulders. "Is this guy bothering you?"

"Mark," Sarah sobbed, leaning into him. "He's just being so cruel."

Mark's smile became a thin line. He looked at me, then at my parents. "You need to learn some manners," he said to me, his voice dangerously soft. "You don't make a lady cry."

"We were just leaving," my dad said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

Mark took a step forward, blocking our way. "I don't think so. I think Alex owes my girl an apology."

Before I could say anything, he shoved me, hard. I stumbled back, knocking into our table. Coffee cups clattered to the floor, shattering. My mom gasped.

I regained my balance, my hands clenched into fists. But I remembered my last life. I remembered the warehouse. Violence was his game, and I wouldn't play it.

"We're not doing this, Mark," I said, keeping my voice level.

He laughed. "Oh, I think we are."

He lunged, but not at me. He moved with a snake's speed and grabbed my mother's arm. He yanked her forward, positioning her between us. My blood ran cold.

"Let her go," I snarled, the calm facade finally breaking.

"Apologize to Sarah first," Mark said, his grip tightening on my mom's arm. She winced in pain. The whole coffee shop was silent, watching in horror.

"Mark, stop it! That's his mom!" even Sarah looked a little shocked, her act faltering for a second.

He ignored her. His eyes were locked on me, enjoying my fury, my helplessness. This was his power. Not just hurting me, but hurting what I loved.

As his knuckles whitened on my mother's arm, I saw it with chilling clarity. This wasn't just about Sarah. This was about dominance. He was a predator, and he was marking his territory.

"You're a coward, Mark," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "You only feel strong when you're hurting people who can't fight back. Women. Old men. That's all you are."

His face contorted in a flash of fury. He shoved my mom away-she stumbled into my dad's arms-and swung a heavy fist at my face.

Pain exploded on my jaw. I fell backward, my head hitting the hard floor. Stars burst behind my eyes. He stood over me, ready to kick, a triumphant sneer on his face. This was it. It was happening again.

But as he drew his leg back, a sound cut through the air.

A siren.

It was faint at first, then rapidly grew louder, closer. One siren became two. Red and blue lights flashed through the coffee shop windows, washing over Mark's stunned face.

The door burst open, and two uniformed officers stormed in, followed by a man in a sharp suit.

"FBI! Nobody move!" the man in the suit commanded, his voice booming with authority. "Mark Jensen, you're under arrest."