Chapter 1

My name is Sarah Miller, and I was a damn good marketing strategist. I built my career on data, on late nights, on understanding people, and I was one step away from the executive position I had earned. That was before Chloe Davis walked into our agency.

She was a new hire, young, with a smile that seemed too bright for our gray office cubicles. On her first day, during the team introduction, she said something that made everyone pause.

"It' s so nice to meet you all. I know I' m new here, but I have a unique skill. I' m a reborn person."

A few people chuckled nervously. Mr. Thompson, our boss, just raised an eyebrow.

Chloe continued, her voice steady and confident. "I' ve lived this life before, and I remember things. Future things. For example, our big pitch for the Veridian account next week? The product they' re launching will fail spectacularly. We should advise them to pull it."

The air in the conference room grew thick. I looked at Mark, my boyfriend and colleague, who just shrugged, a small, amused smile on his face. The Veridian campaign was my project, the one that was supposed to secure my promotion. I had spent three months on it. My strategy was solid.

"Chloe, that' s... an interesting take," I said, trying to keep my voice professional. "But our data models show a strong positive reception. We have a solid plan."

"Data models don' t account for a fatal design flaw they' ll discover two days after launch," she replied calmly, looking directly at me.

Mr. Thompson, a man who only cared about results, waved his hand dismissively. "Enough of this nonsense. Sarah, stick to your plan. Chloe, get familiar with our current projects."

But Chloe' s prediction hung in the air. A week later, we won the Veridian account. I felt a surge of victory. We were all set to celebrate, and I suggested my favorite high-end restaurant, "The Gilded Spoon."

Chloe shook her head. "We can' t go there. There' s going to be a kitchen fire tonight. A bad one."

This time, more people listened. The Veridian product hadn' t failed yet, but her confidence was unnerving. Mark, ever the opportunist, suggested another place. "Just in case," he said with a wink. "Why risk it?"

We went to a boring steakhouse instead. Later that night, as I was scrolling through the news on my phone, a headline made my blood run cold. "Five-Alarm Fire Guts The Gilded Spoon, Arson Suspected."

The next morning, the office was silent. Everyone looked at Chloe with a mixture of fear and awe. Two days later, the news broke about Veridian. A critical flaw in their new tech product was discovered, forcing a massive, embarrassing recall. Our agency, by pure, dumb luck of the recall happening before our campaign launched, avoided a catastrophic association and a huge financial loss.

Chloe had been right. Twice.

From that day on, she was no longer a junior hire. She was a prophet. Mr. Thompson started consulting her on every major decision. My data-driven reports were ignored in favor of Chloe' s "foresight."

The executive position, the one with my name unofficially on it for months, was formally announced a week later.

"I' m thrilled to promote Chloe Davis to our new Head of Strategy," Mr. Thompson declared in a company-wide meeting. I felt the floor drop out from under me. I looked at Mark, expecting outrage, support, anything. He just stared straight ahead, avoiding my eyes.

That night, I told him I was going to resign. I couldn' t work in a place where my expertise meant less than a circus trick.

"You can' t do that, Sarah," he said, his voice flat.

"Why not? There' s nothing left for me here, Mark. They chose a charlatan over me."

"Because if you do," he said, finally looking at me with cold eyes, "Mr. Thompson will think you' re a flight risk. That you' re bitter."

The next day, I walked into Mr. Thompson' s office with my resignation letter. Before I could speak, he threw a folder onto the desk in front of me.

"I' m very disappointed in you, Sarah."

Inside were printouts of emails. Emails between my personal account and a senior director at Apex Innovations, our biggest rival. They were detailed discussions about me bringing our top clients, including my Veridian contacts, over to them. The emails were fake, expertly crafted, but fake.

"Where did you get these?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

"Chloe was worried about you," Mr. Thompson said, his voice dripping with condescension. "She had a feeling you were being disloyal. She asked Mark to see if he could find anything. He found these on your work computer. It seems you forgot to log out of your personal email."

I felt a wave of nausea. Mark. He had done this. He had planted these.

"This is a lie," I said, my voice rising. "Chloe is manipulating you! Mark is helping her!"

"Enough!" Mr. Thompson slammed his hand on the desk. "Chloe saved this agency from two disasters. You were jealous, and you got sloppy. Apex Innovations? I should fire you. I should sue you."

My resignation was refused. Instead, he made a public spectacle of my "betrayal."

"Given her attempted sabotage," he announced to the entire office, "Sarah Miller is being demoted. She will handle administrative duties. Office assistant. Effective immediately."

The humiliation was a physical weight. My colleagues, people I had mentored, looked at me with contempt. Mark stood beside Chloe, his arm possessively around her waist, a triumphant smirk on his face. He was her key witness, her loyal soldier.

I was stripped of my projects, my title, my dignity. They moved my things to a small, windowless desk by the noisy copy machine. My life' s work, my reputation, all destroyed by a lie.

The following weeks were a blur of misery. The whispers, the stares, the blatant disrespect. I fell into a deep, dark place. I stopped eating. I stopped sleeping. The world became gray and muffled.

One morning, I walked to the agency, the building a monument to my failure. I couldn' t face another day of it. The injustice was a poison in my veins. In my previous life, this is where my story ended. I stood at the entrance, overwhelmed by a despair so total, so absolute, that I saw no other way out. I took my own life right there on the polished marble steps of the place that had once been my dream.

...

My eyes snapped open.

The fluorescent lights of the conference room hummed above me. I was sitting at the long mahogany table. Across from me, Chloe Davis was smiling that bright, false smile.

"I know I' m new here," she said, her voice echoing in my ears like a recording. "But I have a unique skill. I' m a reborn person."

My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked at the calendar on the wall. It was the day. The day it all began. The air tasted of stale coffee and possibility.

This time, I wasn' t a victim. I was a survivor. And I was going to burn their whole charade to the ground.