1 I died during a difficult childbirth. When I woke up, I had been reborn fifteen years into the future. On my first day back, I discovered that the precious daughter I had given my life for was being bullied by my husband’s so-called “one that got away,” and her child. And my husband? He had become one of the city’s most enigmatic figures, a recluse cloaked in incense and prayer, detached from the world. So, I grabbed a fistful of his hair, slapped him three times, hard, and asked him coldly, “Is this how you honor my memory?” I forced my eyes open, a dizzying sense of disorientation washing over me. I was standing on the sidewalk next to my old high school. A few pedestrians drifted by, some casting confused glances at my stunned figure. After ten minutes of staring at the sky, I had to accept the impossible truth. Not only had I been reborn, but I had also time-traveled fifteen years into the future. Pulling myself together, I borrowed a phone from a passerby and dialed the number of the man who, before my death, had been my husband: Warren Owen. After a few rings, the call connected. “Hello, who is this?” The familiar male voice, deep and resonant, was the same, yet different. It held a new weight, a magnetic gravity it hadn't possessed before. A lump formed in my throat. My voice trembled as I spoke, on the verge of tears. “Warren, it’s Sloane. I know this is going to sound insane, but I think I might have… time-traveled? Anyway, I’m at our old high school. Can you just… come get me?” A long, heavy silence stretched from the other end of the line. Just as I was about to say something to break the tension, he let out a short, sharp laugh. It was laced with scorn. “I don’t know how you people got my number, but tell whoever put you up to this to try a more original approach next time. You think mimicking a voice is enough to get my attention? It’s pathetic. Disgusting.” His verbal assault struck me like a physical blow. My fingers went numb, and then a hot rage surged through me. Forgetting where I was, I snapped, my voice sharp and cold. “Warren Owen, have I spoiled you rotten? You can’t even recognize your own wife’s voice? Seems like you’ve wasted the last fifteen years.” The man on the other end choked. I pressed on, my voice dripping with fury. “I don’t care what hole you’ve been hiding in. You have thirty minutes to get your ass over here, or you can go dig your own grave.” I hung up, leaving the phone’s owner staring at me, mouth agape. I managed a weak, apologetic smile and handed it back. She took the phone, hesitating for a moment before asking, “Excuse me… were you talking to… Warren Owen? From Owen Industries? I’m sorry, it was on speaker, and the voice sounded like…” I blinked, then nodded, asking cautiously, “You know him?” She let out a breath of relief and waved a dismissive hand. “Who in this city doesn’t know the prince of the Owen dynasty?” Seeing my curiosity, and assuming I was a friend of his, her inner gossip columnist took over. “After Mrs. Owen died in childbirth, she left him with a daughter. Everyone thought he’d remarry soon, especially after his old flame returned to the country with such a huge splash. But instead, after building Owen Industries into an empire, he just… disappeared. Became a recluse. No one knows where he went, though he sometimes shows up at the annual company gala. But…” “But what?” I prompted. The woman leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, this is just a rumor, but they say he and his old flame are finally getting serious. People are betting he’ll come out of seclusion for her. I mean, she’s Evelyn Croft, the Oscar-winning actress. What man could resist that?” I raised an eyebrow, a cold smile touching my lips. “Looks like I’ve come all this way just in time for a wedding celebration.” Sensing the sudden chill in my demeanor, the woman quickly excused herself and hurried away. Two major shocks in a row. A wave of bitterness and grief washed over me. If Warren and his old flame were truly in love, I wouldn’t stand in their way. I had no right to expect him to mourn me for fifteen years. But my daughter… I hadn’t even met her yet. I had to know if she was okay. Knowing Warren, I had a good idea of where he would have sent her. The best private school in the city—our alma mater. I hailed a cab, and soon, the familiar, imposing gates of the school came into view. 2 Suddenly, a cacophony of jeers and laughter shattered the quiet afternoon. I looked up to see a group of preppy boys, a high-school gang in blazers and loafers, dragging a short-haired girl with a downcast gaze out of the school gates. It was classic bullying. I frowned. This was supposed to be the city’s most elite private academy. How could this be happening here? Something about the girl felt strangely familiar. I found myself following them, an inexplicable pull guiding my steps. The group ducked into a secluded alleyway. At their center stood a pretty, delicate-looking girl with long, flowing hair. But what she did next was anything but delicate. She brutally kicked the short-haired girl in the small of her back. The girl cried out in pain and collapsed to the ground. The long-haired girl sneered. “I heard Uncle Warren got you a huge birthday present. Why don’t you show everyone?” The girl on the ground clutched her backpack tighter, her body trembling. “Not this one!” The leader kicked her again, her pretty face twisted with a viciousness that didn’t belong on someone so young. She spat on the ground next to the girl’s head. “Don’t be a bitch, Sierra Owen.” The name struck my heart like a fist. Sierra. Warren and I had picked it out when I was pregnant. Whether it was a boy or a girl, the name would be Sierra. My gaze snapped to the girl on the ground. Even with her face half-hidden by her hair, I could see her bright, determined eyes. The features, so like my own… it could only be my daughter. Just then, the leader looked down at her cronies. “Grab her bag! And while you’re at it, strip her down. Let’s teach her a lesson about defying me.” My eyes narrowed. The last shred of my reason burned away in a blaze of pure fury. I wanted to tear them all limb from limb. So, Warren, I thought, my blood running cold, this is the life my daughter has been living. I grabbed a heavy wooden plank from a nearby dumpster, stormed into the alley, and shoved my way through the crowd, planting myself in front of Sierra. The long-haired girl jumped back, startled by my appearance. Then, as if triggered, she shrieked, “Who the hell are you? This has nothing to do with you! Get lost before we take you down too!” “Shut up,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “None of you are getting away with this.” A bunch of spoiled brats who hadn’t even been born when I’d single-handedly saved Warren from a team of professional kidnappers. This would be easy. 3 I cracked my knuckles. Luckily, my body still felt like it was in its twenties. Otherwise, this might have been a bit of a workout. A few minutes later, the prep-school thugs were all groaning on the grimy asphalt. I planted my foot on the long-haired girl’s face, grinding it into the pavement. It wasn’t enough. I kicked her hard in the stomach, twice, paying her back for the kicks she’d given my daughter. She coughed up a mouthful of blood and saliva, her body twitching. All her previous arrogance was gone. “My mom…” she sputtered, her words slurred. “My mom won’t let you get away with this! Uncle Warren won’t either!” “Oh? And who’s your mother?” I asked, taking a perverse pleasure in her misery. “Tell me. I’d love to know what kind of bitch raised a little monster like you.” “Her mom… her mom is Evelyn Croft.” Sierra, who had been trembling behind me, finally spoke a full sentence. She tugged timidly at the corner of my jacket. “Miss, you should go. If her mother finds out, you’ll be in danger…” That familiar name again. My heart sank. I was beginning to understand why my daughter’s life had become this. My heart ached. I pulled Sierra into my arms, stroking her soft hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” I whispered. “Mommy’s here to protect you.” Sierra’s eyes widened. “Mommy…?” she whispered back. “Are you… my mommy?” A bond between a mother and child often needs no explanation. A single look is enough. In that instant, Sierra seemed to believe that this powerful, beautiful woman standing before her was, impossibly, her mother. I helped her up, and we started to walk out of the dark, damp alley. As we emerged into the light, we ran straight into an unwelcome figure. “Dad… what are you doing here?” Sierra asked timidly. Speak of the devil. I looked up. The man in front of me had barely changed. He was broader, more muscular, and carried himself with a quiet, mature confidence, but it was him. It was as if fifteen years had left nothing more than a speck of dust on him. “Warren,” I said coolly. “Long time no see.” The moment he saw me, his eyes went red. He reached out a trembling hand, as if to touch my face, then snatched it back as if burned. “Sloane…” he stammered, completely at a loss. “It’s really you. You came back.” I felt Sierra’s hand on my arm tighten, and my expression grew colder. Warren flinched under my glare, finally taking in the scene around him. The long-haired girl I’d beaten to a pulp saw him and began crawling toward him like he was her savior, weakly pleading for him to save her, to kill the “vicious woman” who had attacked her. Warren frowned down at her, his voice edged with annoyance. “You again?” I cut him off. “What’s the matter? Are you going to kill me to avenge your precious old flame?” His frown deepened. “What old flame? You know perfectly well I don’t have one.” “I don’t care if you do or not. Warren, you’ve disappointed me more than I can say.” I tried to walk around him, pulling Sierra with me. He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. His eyes were so red they looked like they might start bleeding. “Don’t you go!” he roared, his voice cracking. “You’re not leaving me again!”
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