Chapter 1: Five Years Gone

I woke up five years in the future. My mouth tasted like old coffee, and my heart was hammering so hard I thought the neighbors could hear.

Suddenly, I was in a world that felt both familiar and off-kilter, like waking up after a wild party with memories that don’t quite add up.

I was married to my ex-boyfriend, Blake, who was now successful and famous.

And I was carrying his child.

But he acted like he couldn’t stand the sight of me.

I tried making him dinner, but he wouldn’t even pick up his fork. “What’d you do to dinner this time, Rachel? Poison or just the usual disaster?”

I offered to share his bed, but he sneered, “Trying to take advantage of me again while I’m upset, so you can sneak another woman into my bed?”

I suggested the three of us just live together as a family.

He immediately looked like a wounded puppy: “You still want to use the kid to humiliate me?”

God help me—could this baby not even be his?

Last night, Blake Porter wore me out until late.

Insatiable, stubborn man.

Nearly cost me half my life.

Blake.

I instinctively ordered, “Get me a glass of water.”

But there was no answer for a long time.

The silk sheets slipped off as I sat up, revealing my fitted camisole nightgown.

He was so rough last night, but there were hardly any marks on my body.

Wait—

I stared at my lower stomach in shock.

This slight bump, what’s going on?

Am I… pregnant?

My hands shook. I pressed my palm to my stomach, half-expecting it to answer back. Was this real? Or some twisted joke?

The room was unfamiliar, decorated in cool whites and grays, with luxury in every detail.

But I clearly remembered—

Last night I was with Blake in his rented apartment.

The old creaky bed squeaked all night from his rough moves…

A thousand little details didn’t add up. I looked around, trying to place myself in this new setting. The faint scent of lavender fabric softener, a monogrammed throw pillow on the window seat, the sound of distant traffic muffled by expensive double-pane glass—this was a place that screamed upper-crust suburbia, not the noisy, drafty third-floor walk-up Blake used to rent downtown. My heart thudded, disoriented.