Chapter 2
The next morning, I walked into the dining room like I was entering a battlefield.
Mom and Dad were having their usual peaceful breakfast, discussing some charity gala. Oliver sat across from them, playing the perfect stepson—asking about Dad's golf game, complimenting Mom's new haircut. The whole scene looked so normal, so harmless.
But I watched every micro-expression on his face. Every pause. Every smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Time to see just how much he really remembered.
"Oliver," I said, settling into my chair. "I don't want the birthday party anymore."
He set down his coffee cup with deliberate care. His eyes locked onto mine. "Why not? You've been looking forward to turning eighteen for months."
"It feels like too much work." I buttered my toast, keeping my voice casual. "Plus, I don't want you giving some big speech about protecting me in front of everyone."
His eyebrows shot up. "What speech? I haven't even figured out what to say yet."
Liar. In my first life, he'd had that "formal protection" speech written and rehearsed weeks in advance.
"I want to invite Sophia to whatever we end up doing," I said, watching for his reaction.
Oliver's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "Sophia Whitmore? I thought you two weren't... didn't you have some kind of falling out?"
"What are you talking about? We get along fine."
He recovered quickly. "Oh, I just meant you haven't talked much lately."
Why would he think we had problems? Right now, Sophia and I were perfectly fine. We hadn't had our college blowout yet. Unless he was already planning it.
I decided to go for broke.
"Oliver, what if someday I didn't need your protection anymore?"
He put down his utensils completely and stared at me. "You'll always need protection, Lara. The world's more dangerous than you realize."
"But what if I insisted on being independent?"
His voice dropped lower. "Then I'd have to show you just how much you need me."
There it is. That tone. That look. Exactly the same as the night I died.
Mom looked up from her newspaper. "You two are being awfully serious this morning."
"Just discussing Lara's future," Oliver said, never taking his eyes off me.
The silence stretched between us like a loaded gun. I could feel Dad glancing back and forth, probably thinking we were having some normal sibling disagreement.
Then Oliver smiled. Not his public smile—something else entirely.
"You know, Lara, I had the strangest dream last night."
"Yeah?"
"I dreamed about the future. About things that could happen, but shouldn't."
My pulse kicked up. "What kind of things?"
"Mistakes. Things that could be avoided if someone was smart enough to see them coming."
I gripped my coffee mug tighter. "Like what?"
"Like letting important people get too lonely. Not protecting them well enough." His smile widened. "But dreams are interesting, aren't they? Sometimes they show you how to do things better the second time around."
"And if you got a second chance," I said carefully, "what would you do differently?"
Oliver leaned forward. "I'd make sure that this time, nobody could leave. Ever."
"What if they didn't want that kind of protection?"
"They'd learn to want it." His voice was soft, almost gentle. "Sometimes people need time to understand what's best for them."
"And if they kept refusing?"
"Then they'd find out that refusing isn't really an option."
My hands were shaking now. I set down my mug before he could see.
"Oliver," I said quietly, "we both know this isn't about dreams, right?"
He dropped the pretense entirely. His voice went flat, matter-of-fact. "No. We both know exactly what this is about."
"Then you know I won't make the same mistakes again."
Oliver actually laughed. "Mistakes? Lara, you never knew what was really happening. You were perfect—trusting, dependent, exactly what I needed. The only mistake was letting you get desperate enough to..." He shrugged. "Well. That won't happen this time."
"I'll never trust you again."
"You will. Because this time I know where I went wrong. This time I'll do it right."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean this time, nobody's going to interfere with us."
The way he said it made my blood freeze. "What did you do?"
Oliver checked his watch. "Funny you should ask. Sophia called me yesterday."
"What?" The word came out sharper than I intended.
"She was worried about you. I told her you've been under a lot of stress lately. That you might be having some... emotional difficulties."
No. No, no, no.
"I explained that you might need extra support from your friends right now. Especially with the pressure of turning eighteen, inheriting your trust fund, making big life decisions..." He tilted his head. "She was very understanding."
"You bastard."
"Language, Lara." But he was still smiling. "I learned from my mistakes. Last time I was too reactive, too sloppy. This time I got ahead of things."
"What else did you do?"
"I made some calls. Reached out to people who might be... relevant. Let them know you've been struggling with some mental health issues. Nothing too dramatic—just enough to make sure that if you start saying crazy things, people will understand why."
I stood up so fast my chair scraped against the floor. Dad looked over, concerned.
"Everything okay, sweetheart?"
"Fine," I managed. "Just need some air."
Oliver stood too, moving closer. "See, that's the beauty of it, Lara. You have two choices here. Work with me, let me take care of you the way I should have before. Or fight me, and watch everyone you care about write you off as unstable."
I looked him straight in the eye. "There's a third option."
"Oh?"
"I destroy you first."
For a second, something dangerous flickered across his face. Then he laughed, actually laughed.
"Now that should be interesting. Let's see who knows the rules of this game better."
The doorbell rang.
Margaret, our housekeeper, appeared in the doorway. "Miss Lara? There's a Miss Sophia Whitmore here to see you."
Oliver and I stared at each other across the dining room.
He smiled that perfect, cold smile. "Looks like the game's officially started."
Sophia's here. But is she coming as a friend or has Oliver already gotten to her? What exactly did he tell her about me?
I had about thirty seconds to figure out whether my best friend was walking into this house as my ally or my enemy.