Chapter 1

Ten years after I died, they finally caught the bastard. Thirteen murders. One of them — me.

The trial is livestreamed to millions.

He sits there, rattling off crime after crime. Victim locations. Body dumps. Cold, mechanical, bored.

Then he gets to number nine. Me.

He stops. Looks straight into the camera. And smiles.

"This one — oh, this one was the saddest little thing. And she deserved every second of it." His grin stretches wider. "You've got thirty minutes. Bring me her family. Every last one. Or I take it all back — every confession, every location. Gone."

"Good luck finding the rest of those bodies without me."

The internet loses its mind. My name is everywhere — trending, screaming across the live chat. Strangers are already posting, trying to track down my family.

And Lucas Crane — my Lucas — rips off his cap and grabs his phone like he wants to crush it.

"Nora." His voice is ice. "You've been partying overseas for ten goddamn years. What — you still can't let it go? You hate them that much?"

"Paying off a serial killer to put on a show? That's a new low. Even for you."

…

Ten years. The shy rookie I fell in love with is gone. Detective Captain Crane now. All sharp edges and authority. Even when he's furious, it barely shows — just his voice going dangerously quiet.

"Tomorrow is my wedding to Audrey. I put up with your bullshit for a decade, and you pull this? Now? Today?"

"Nobody's falling for it, Nora. Not anymore."

God. If I were still alive, I'd already be tripping over my own words to apologize.

But I'm not alive. I haven't been for ten years.

I can't answer him.

"The number you have dialed is no longer in service—"

He freezes. Pulls the phone away from his ear. Stares at it.

Right. I've been "overseas" for ten years. The number's been dead almost as long as I have.

All that rage — nowhere to land. Like screaming into a void.

He picks up his cap. Puts it back on. Sits down. Locks his jaw. Back to the mask.

Someone in the chat finally connects the dots.

"Wait — Nora Sinclair? THE Nora Sinclair? The architect prodigy? She vanished right after the bridge project launched!"

"Holy shit. She didn't vanish. She was KILLED."

"She was twenty-four years old."

The chat floods with grief. For me.

And Lucas — unshakable, by-the-book Lucas — suddenly can't sit still.

He's on his feet. Practically shouting at the camera.

"Nora didn't vanish. Her real identity got exposed. She was a fraud. She ditched everything and ran off to live her best life abroad."

"She nearly tanked the entire bridge project by walking away."

"If Audrey Sinclair hadn't stepped up — poured ten years of her life into finishing it — that bridge would be rubble right now."

The second Audrey's name leaves his mouth, something shifts in him. His whole face goes soft.

He sounds like a kid bragging about his first crush. Breathless. Proud. Stupid with it.

I've seen that face before.

The first time he got his commendation — Medal of Valor, youngest officer in the precinct — he grabbed my hand in front of everyone. Pulled me forward like I was the real prize.

"Everyone — this is Nora Sinclair. Ashford's most brilliant architect. And my fiancée."

"Half this medal belongs to her."

He unclipped that bronze pin from his own chest and fastened it to mine. His hands were shaking.

The whole room erupted. Wolf-whistles, cheers, someone banging on a table.

And Lucas — face red as a fire truck — kissed me right there. In front of all of them.

That was then.

Same man. Different woman.

Every medal since, every award, every proud moment — they all belong to her now. Audrey Sinclair. The real daughter. The one who replaced me in every way that mattered.

That heart of his — the one so pure it made me cry — he gave it away. Whole. Unbroken. To her.

And now, when someone says my name, all I see on his face is disgust.

"Nora — even if you paid a murderer to say you're dead, I won't buy it."

"Show your face and end this. Or I'll have you arrested."

He turns on the killer. Eyes like knives.

"Where. Is. She."

Every cop in that room drops their gaze. Nobody dares meet his stare.

But the killer? He just laughs.

"Officer." Slow. Amused. "I already told you. Thirty minutes. Bring me her family."

He lifts one finger toward the clock. Something cold and ancient in his eyes.

"Ten minutes gone. I'd hurry if I were you."