My dad collapsed from a sudden heart attack and died.

The shock hit my mom like a freight train, and she blacked out cold.

By the time I raced home from college, his body had already been reduced to ashes in the crematorium.

Grief barely had a chance to sink in before the debt collectors pounded on our door.

That was when the ugly truth emerged. My dad had secretly racked up billions in loans, saddling my mom and me.

A year later, the relentless harassment from those goons drove my mom to despair.

She ended her life, and I was forced to drop out of school, scavenging dumpsters just to scrape by.

But fate had a cruel twist in store. I spotted my "dead" dad, alive and thriving, hosting an extravagant birthday bash for his secret son.

I stormed in, desperate for answers, only to be hurled out by security.

My head cracked against the pavement, and everything went black.

When my eyes fluttered open again, I was inexplicably back on that fateful day of my dad's heart attack.

...

I bolted upright in my dorm bed, drenched in sweat.

My roommate, Alice Hoyle, hovered over me, her brow furrowed with worry. "Elena, you alright? A nightmare?"

I blinked at her familiar freckled face, then scanned the room.

It was my college dorm, and I was alive.

With doubt in my mind, I grabbed my phone and checked the date.

It was 9 a.m., August 13th. On the same day, my dad had orchestrated his "death".

I realized I had been given a second chance to change my fate.

Leaping out of bed, I fumbled for my phone to hail a cab. "Alice, cover for me in class. I need to head home."

In my previous life, the "attack" had hit at 10:30 a.m.

My mom had crumpled under the news. By the time she came to and reached me, Hank Cook's remains were already a pile of ash.

I barreled home from campus, but the grim news hadn't broken yet.

Beth Cook was in the garden watering flowers.

She had grown up as an only child in a world of privilege. Her parents had built a business empire from the ground up.

Hank had charmed his way into her heart and taken the reins of the company after their wedding. Beth, blinded by love, had happily traded boardrooms for homemaking, trusting him implicitly.

She'd been a sheltered debutante before marriage and, afterward, a pampered wife who saw the world through rose-tinted glasses.

So, when Hank's fake death blindsided her, she shattered without a hint of suspicion.

Part of me felt a twisted relief that she'd gone to her grave oblivious to the betrayal. Her "devoted" husband had a mistress on the side, complete with a ten-year-old son, and they'd plotted to stage his demise, siphon off every penny, and abandon us to rot in a sea of debt.

Beth blinked. "Sweetie, you on break already? Why didn't you call the driver to swing by and pick you up?"

I took in her elegant silk dress fluttering in the breeze, her warm smile lighting up her face. Her makeup was impeccable.

At 42, she could pass for 30, radiating that effortless glow. After Hank's fake death, she had been reduced to a gaunt, hollow-eyed shadow.

I felt a pang in my chest, vowing to shield her from that nightmare.

"Yeah, the break started early. I hitched a ride with some friends," I replied, ducking into my room to stash my bag.

Then I dialed Beth's lawyer and then my uncle, Rufus Gardner.

Glancing at the clock, I hurried downstairs. Beth's phone lay abandoned on the plush sofa. When it buzzed, I snatched it up before she could.

"Madam, hurry to the hospital. Mr. Cook had a heart attack. He didn't make it."

I drew in a steadying breath, ended the call, and pocketed a nearby decorative cone. Stepping out, I kept my tone even. "That was Laura from the office. Dad is under the weather and checked into the hospital. We should go see him right now."

Panic flickered in her eyes. "The hospital? Oh God, is it serious?"

I squeezed her hand, forcing calm into my voice. "It'll be fine, but brace yourself. It doesn't sound good."

She barely registered my words, already calling out for the driver in a frantic voice.

I motioned for the nanny and whispered quick instructions.

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded firmly. "You can count on me. I'll take care of Mrs. Cook."

We sped through the city streets.

At the hospital entrance, Laura Jenkins and her entourage were already wheeling out a covered gurney.

Spotting Beth, Laura faltered for a split second, her composed mask cracking before she plastered on a look of solemn sympathy and rushed over. "Mrs. Cook, I'm devastated to tell you this. We did everything we could, but Mr. Cook is gone."

Beth staggered, her face draining of color. The nanny was there in an instant, wrapping a supportive arm around her to keep her upright.

Ignoring Laura entirely, I flung myself at the gurney, my voice cracking in a raw, theatrical wail. "Dad, what happened? How could you leave us like this? We can't live without you."

I ripped away the white sheet, exposing his still form.

The hospital plaza buzzed with patients shuffling in and out, and my outburst drew every eye.

Laura darted forward, tugging at the sheet, but I held on like a vice.

"Miss Cook, shouldn't you be at school?" she muttered.

I whipped around, sobs choking my words. "My dad is dead, and that's what you're worried about?"

She flinched. "I didn't mean it like that. Please, restrain your grief. All these people are staring."

Ignoring her, I pounded my fists against Hank's chest in feigned anguish, the cone concealed in my palm delivering discreet jabs with each blow.

My meltdown seemed to snap Beth back. She held it together; no fainting spell this time.

She gazed at Laura, asking, "Where are you taking him?"

Laura shifted uncomfortably. "I phoned Mrs. Cook Sr., and she insisted on cremation today."

"Cremation? Oh, how poetic!" I thought.

Since Hank craved death so much, we would escort him to his fiery end.

...

Beth protested immediately, "Absolutely not. Hank deserves a proper send-off. I'll throw a grand funeral for him so that everyone can pay their respects and say goodbye."

She clung to Hank's hand, her sobs echoing through the plaza.

But delaying the cremation would give Hank a chance to escape. I couldn't let that happen.

I racked my brain for a way to sway her when Evelyn Cook's call came through, questioning Laura about the hold-up.

Laura relayed the situation, and Evelyn unleashed a torrent of venom at Beth.

Beth finally caved, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

En route, her tears flowed unchecked. "Elena, touch his hand. It's still warm, like there's life in him yet."

I obliged, my fingers brushing his skin, and furrowed my brow in mock confusion. "It's cold already. Maybe it's just from you holding it so tightly?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Laura exhaling in relief.

The "star" secretary had been a fixture in our lives since I was a kid, but I'd never suspected the depths of her betrayal: birthing his son, now ten, and colluding to destroy us for their twisted happiness ever after.

The thought fueled a burning rage. I fantasized about unleashing it, making her pay in kind.

"Try patting him gently," I suggested. "I've heard that right after passing, the departed can still sense your words and touch. It's like a final connection."

Beth nodded through her haze of grief, her fingers tracing his face tenderly, and whispered endearments.

I eased her hand aside. "He might not feel that, Mom. You need to be a bit more insistent. Louder, firmer, so his spirit knows."

Beth, ever the gentle soul, tried, but her pats were light as feathers, her voice a soft murmur.

I couldn't bear the half-measures. Shoving her aside gently, I unleashed a barrage of sharp slaps across his face, each crack punctuated by my fabricated cries of despair.

It went on until Laura finally intervened, her tone edged with annoyance. "Miss Cook, that's too much. He'd be in pain."

I paused, feigning surprise. "Pain? All I wanted was for his soul to feel our love."

In my last life, after Beth's suicide, those debt hounds turned their sights on me. They stalked my campus, terrorized my friends, and blasted my "deadbeat" status across social media until I was a pariah.

School became impossible, and jobs evaporated, not even flipping burgers, as no one wanted the drama.

I scavenged the streets, digging through filth for recyclables.

Hotel dumpsters were my lifeline for scraps when hunger clawed too deep.

It was outside one such glitzy venue that I glimpsed Hank, alive and healthy.

Blinded by hope, I charged in, clung to him as salvation, and spilled my tales of woe.

He regarded me with icy detachment, like roadkill. "Heard your mom offed herself. Should thank her for paving the way for my real family to thrive."

The words detonated in my mind, but before I could demand answers, Laura's voice cut through. "A beggar crashing our celebration? Toss her out!"

Security complied, flinging me to the curb. My skull met concrete with a sickening thud, and oblivion claimed me.

Pain? This petty slapping was a mere whisper compared to the inferno I'd endured.

...

We pulled up to the crematorium, where Evelyn paced the entrance.

Her face twisted in impatience. "What took you so long?"

Laura shot us a pointed, exasperated glance at me and Beth.

Evelyn's glare zeroed in on me like a laser. "You useless brat. Trying to doom your father's soul to eternal limbo?"

"Ma'am, what's the scheduled time?" Laura asked.

"12:45 on the dot. Don't worry. I squared it away. They'll flag us when it's go-time," Evelyn replied.

Their so-called scheme was code for the rigged swap. Someone would push Hank in front, whisk him out back, and palm off phony ashes to Beth.

Laura didn't bother verifying the clock.

Evelyn eyed Hank's shrouded form with lackluster sorrow. She pivoted to unleashing a verbal assault on Beth and me.

She branded me a worthless brat and Beth a barren witch who couldn't produce an heir.

"It's your doing, you harpy! You jinxed my boy and left him childless," she cursed.

Beth wept silently, absorbing the barbs without retort. Her mind was lost in memories of stolen kisses and whispered promises, now ashes in the wind with her "departed" love.

I couldn't fault her innocence. She'd been cocooned in luxury, her heart pure and trusting. She'd aimed to wrap me in the same bubble until Hank's scheme shattered it all.

But it had, and I'd paid the price in blood and tears.

Evelyn's tirade droned on, mingled with Beth's stifled sobs.

Earlier, I'd looped in Rufus to tamper with the clocks here, advancing them just enough to throw off their plan.

"Time's up, folks," a crisp voice announced from the office.

They scrambled, wheeling Hank toward the chamber and sliding him into the maw of the furnace.

The technician flipped the switch, and flames erupted with a whoosh, hungry tongues licking at his form.

Beth let out a guttural cry and collapsed. The nanny caught her just in time to cushion the fall.

Evelyn spun, spat disdainfully on the floor, and ignored Beath's plight.

Minutes ticked by as the blaze roared. Laura and Evelyn shared a conspiratorial nod, slipping toward the rear exit to collect their living prize.

I opened my mouth to intervene when a gruff voice boomed from behind. "We agreed on 12:30. What's with the early bird special? The clock says we've got five minutes to go."