I woke up in a hospital room that probably cost more per night than my entire previous life's salary, which was weird because I was pretty sure I'd died broke.
Also weird: I definitely remembered dying.
Like, fully dying. Cold prison cell, shitty thin blanket, the whole tragic backstory. I was a maid—trusted the wrong rich people, got framed for theft when their dipshit son got caught stealing from daddy's company. I took the fall because I was stupid enough to think loyalty meant something.
Spoiler: it doesn't.
I died in that cell.
And apparently respawned into a different rich-people nightmare because the universe has a sense of humor and it's mean.
I tried to sit up and my ribs immediately said "absolutely the fuck not."
Right. The stairs.
Someone pushed me down a flight of marble stairs two days ago. I remember the hand on my back, the moment of "oh shit I'm actually flying," and then nothing.
The door opened and a woman who looked like she drank champagne for breakfast walked in.
Designer everything. Face like winter. The kind of person who'd apologize to a chair before sitting in it but wouldn't blink at firing someone on Christmas.
Mrs. Hargrove. My "mother."
Well. This body's mother.
She looked at me like I was a stain on her Italian marble floors.
"You're awake." She didn't even come close to the bed. "The doctors say you'll be fine. No permanent damage."
I blinked at her. Tried to look confused and grateful. "I'm so sorry for worrying everyone—"
"You slipped on the stairs." She said it like she was reading me my rights. "Careless. We've lived in this house for twenty years and this has never happened before."
Lying liar who lies.
But I kept my face soft. "I don't really remember what happened."
"Head trauma," she said dismissively. "It'll pass. The gala is in three months. I expect you'll be fully recovered by then."
Not "I'm glad you're okay."
Not "we were so worried."
Just "be healed in time for the party."
Cool cool cool.
"Of course," I said quietly.
She left without another word.
I waited until the door clicked shut, then looked at the ceiling.
"What a warm and loving family," I said to absolutely nobody.
This was fine. This was great actually.
Because I'd already died once playing the "sweet and trusting" role, and let me tell you—never again.
---
Twenty minutes later, a nurse came in.
Young. Jumpy. The kind of person who'd apologize if you stepped on her foot.
"Miss Hargrove? Just need to check your vitals real quick."
"No problem." I gave her a smile. The nice kind. The one that made people think you weren't a threat.
She came over with the blood pressure cuff, wrapping it around my arm like she was defusing a bomb.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
"Like I went base-jumping without a parachute."
She laughed nervously. "Yeah. That was a really bad fall."
"Has it happened before?"
Her hands froze. "What?"
"Someone falling on that staircase. Has it happened before?"
She looked at the door. At me. At the door again.
"I really shouldn't—"
"I'm not trying to get you in trouble," I said gently. "I just want to know if I should be worried."
She bit her lip.
Then leaned in.
"Your sister," she whispered. "Victoria. She fell there too. Like three months ago."
My heart rate monitor beeped.
The nurse looked alarmed. "Are you okay??"
"Fine." I forced myself to breathe normally. "Just surprised. She never mentioned it."
"Oh. Well. Maybe she didn't want to scare you."
Or maybe she was testing the fucking method.
But I just nodded. "That makes sense. Thank you for telling me."
She looked relieved that I wasn't going to report her and finished up quickly.
The second she left, I grabbed my phone.
Three missed calls from "Father."
Two texts from "Victoria."
> OMG are you okay??? I heard what happened!!
> Everyone's so worried about you. Please text back when you wake up ❤️
I stared at that little heart emoji for a solid ten seconds.
The audacity.
This girl pushed me down the stairs and then sent me a heart emoji.
I almost respected it.
Almost.
I texted back:
> I'm okay! Just really sore. Miss you ❤️
Her reply was instant.
> Oh thank God!! I was SO scared. I'm coming to see you tomorrow okay? Rest up!! ❤️❤️❤️
Three hearts.
She was really selling it.
I opened my photos and started scrolling.
Original Raquel had been a chronic over-sharer. Tons of family photos where she's smiling like a golden retriever and everyone else looks dead inside.
But there was one useful shot—blurry picture of her dad's study, taken like a week ago.
I zoomed in.
On the desk, half-buried under files: Kane Industries - Merger Proposal.
The marriage contract.
Apparently I was engaged to some CEO named Dominic Kane. Cold. Controlling. Built an empire out of pure spite or something.
Original Raquel had been terrified of him.
Original Raquel had been terrified of him.
But Original Raquel also got shoved down the stairs, so maybe her judgment wasn't great.
I stared at the photo.
A marriage contract meant security. Protection. A name scary enough that even my psycho "sister" would have to back off.
I didn't need love.
I needed leverage.
And Dominic Kane had it.
I deleted my browsing history and put the phone down.
Three months until the gala.
Two weeks until classes started.
Plenty of time to figure out this new life and make sure I didn't end up in another "mysterious accident."
Victoria showed up the next day like she was auditioning for Concerned Sister of the Year.
She burst into the room in a cloud of expensive perfume and fake tears.
"Raquel! Oh my God, are you okay??"
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it like we were in a Hallmark movie.
"I'm fine," I said. Kept my voice soft. Vulnerable. "Just really sore."
"I was so worried." Her eyes were shiny but no actual tears fell. Professional move. Crying ruins your makeup. "When I heard you fell I just—I can't even—"
"It's okay. I'm okay."
She sat on the edge of my bed, still death-gripping my hand.
"That staircase," she said, shaking her head. "It's so dangerous. I keep telling Mother we need better lighting or a railing or something. Someone's going to get seriously hurt."
"Someone already did."
She blinked. "Right. Of course. I just meant—you know what I mean."
"Yeah."
She smiled. Perfect. Sympathetic. Practiced.
"I'm just so glad you're okay. We need you, Raq. Especially with the gala coming up."
"Wouldn't miss it."
"That's my girl." She squeezed my hand again. "Oh! And classes start in two weeks. Are you still planning on going back?"
"Definitely."
"Good! I was worried you'd want to take the semester off. But you've always been so strong."
Strong. Right.
"I try," I said.
"You're amazing." She stood up, smoothing her dress. It probably cost more than a semester's tuition. "I should let you rest. But call me if you need anything, okay? Anything."
"I will."
She leaned down and kissed my forehead.
It felt like a declaration of war.
"Love you," she whispered.
"Love you too."
She left in a swirl of designer fabric and lies.
I waited.
Counted to sixty.
Then I smiled at the ceiling.
"Oh, bitch," I said to the empty room. "You have no idea what's coming."
Because here's the thing about people like Victoria:
They're great at playing the victim.
But they're shit at spotting a villain.
And I died once playing nice.
Not this time.
This time, I was playing for keeps.
My phone buzzed just as I was settling into the satisfaction of planning Victoria's downfall.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
Heard you took a fall. That's pretty careless of you.
I stared at the message.
Who the fuck—
Another text came through.
It's Adrian. Got your number from Victoria. She's worried about you.
Adrian Whitmore.
Of course.
School golden boy. Old money. Obscenely handsome in that "I've never been told no" kind of way. Played varsity everything. Had a fan club that was somehow both ironic and dead serious.
And he was obsessed with me.
Or—obsessed with Original Raquel.
Who, tragically, had been obsessed right back.
I scrolled up through the message history.
Yep. Months of this shit.
Him sending demanding texts like "Where are you?" and "Why weren't you at lunch?" and "You looked tired today. You should take better care of yourself."
Her replying with shit like "Sorry! I'll do better!" and heart emojis.
I felt embarrassed for her.
My phone buzzed again.
You're not going to reply? That's rude.
I snorted.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
I typed:
Sorry, who is this again?
The three dots appeared immediately.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Very funny. I literally just told you.
Are you okay or not?
I could hear the ego bruising through the screen.
I'm fine. Thanks for checking.
Victoria didn't need to bother you.
The reply was instant.
She didn't bother me. I wanted to check on you myself.
You should be more careful. That staircase is dangerous.
I paused.
Stared at that message.
That staircase is dangerous.
Everyone kept saying that.
Like it was the staircase's fault.
I'll keep that in mind.
Thanks again.
I was about to put the phone down when another message came through.
I'll come visit tomorrow.
Not "Can I visit?"
Not "Would you like me to visit?"
Just—I'll come visit.
Like he was doing me a favor.
I typed:
You really don't have to.
No need to bother.
His reply came fast.
It's not a bother. I want to see you.
Make sure you're actually okay.
Victoria said you looked pretty bad.
Of course Victoria told him I looked bad.
Of course she was playing the worried sister while simultaneously making sure he knew I was currently at my least hot.
Strategic queen.
Wrong target, but I had to respect the hustle.
I stared at Adrian's messages.
Then I smiled.
Typed:
That's really sweet of you.
Victoria's lucky to have such a caring friend.
I watched the three dots appear.
Disappear.
Appear.
Disappear.
Then:
What?
I'm not coming to see Victoria. I'm coming to see YOU.
Obviously.
Obviously.
God, the audacity of men who've never been rejected.
Oh! Sorry, I just thought since you two are so close...
But yeah, if you want to visit that's fine I guess.
The "I guess" was deliberious.
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Fine you guess??
I'm taking time out of my day and you GUESS it's fine?
I grinned at my phone.
Hook, line, and sinker.
I mean I'm really tired and the doctors said I need rest.
But if it's important to you, you can come.
I'd hate to be rude.
I could practically feel him short-circuiting.
This boy was used to girls falling over themselves when he showed interest.
And here I was, essentially patting him on the head and saying "sure, kiddo."
His next message took a full three minutes.
Tomorrow. 2pm. I'll bring food.
You probably hate hospital food.
No "is 2pm okay?"
Just—I'll be there. Deal with it.
I replied:
You're so thoughtful ❤️
Victoria's really lucky you care so much about her friends.
I put the phone down before he could respond.
Stared at the ceiling.
Smiled.
Because here's what I knew about Adrian Whitmore from Original Raquel's memories:
He liked the chase. Hated being ignored. Got obsessed when girls didn't worship him.
And Victoria?
Victoria had been trying to get his attention for months.
Showed up to his games. Laughed at his jokes. Played the perfect supporting character.
And he barely looked at her.
Because he was too busy being weird and possessive about me.
Well.
Not me.
Original Raquel.
Who'd eaten it up like a golden retriever getting head pats.
But I wasn't Original Raquel.
And if Victoria wanted to plot against me over some mediocre rich boy?
Fine.
I'd let her.
Let her think Adrian was the prize.
Let her scheme and manipulate and work herself into knots trying to "steal" him.
Meanwhile, I'd be walking down the aisle in three months to marry a billionaire CEO who could buy Adrian's entire bloodline as a tax write-off.
My phone buzzed one more time.
Stop calling me Victoria's friend.
I'm YOUR friend.
And you're being weird.
I turned my phone off.
Closed my eyes.
And laughed.
Oh, this was going to be so much fun.