1: 1

In my past life, my wife's best friend got drunk and begged me to drive her home.

Out of kindness, I drove her back, tucked her in under the covers, and even made her some sobering-up broth.

The next morning, before dawn, she showed up at our door insisting that I'd forced myself on her while she was drunk.

She was a social-media influencer, and she used her fans and the outrage to run a live stream across every platform, forcing me to confess to a crime.

My chance at an overseas promotion was stolen out from under me, and I was dragged into an alley and beaten until I had a concussion.

My elderly mother was so upset she suffered a heart attack and never got out of bed again.

My wife, holding our newborn daughter, had nowhere to turn for help. She was shoved and fell into the river.

Reborn now, and here was the best friend gripping my wife's hand, her eyes rimmed red.

"I've had too much to drink. Let Bruce Harding drive me home, okay?"

Expressionless, I tapped open my phone.

"I'll book you a driver on the Uber app. Fifteen to start, I'll cover it."

……

Paula Fox froze for two seconds, a flicker of shock crossing her eyes.

She clearly hadn't expected me to refuse so flatly.

"Bruce, you… you haven't been drinking. Why won't you drive?"

Then she slumped limply against my wife's shoulder, her gaze bleary, her face flushed a burning red.

Her eyes drifted toward me, sly and half-hidden.

She mumbled drunken nonsense, reeking of alcohol.

"Going home all alone scares me so much."

My wife, Jessica Swanson, soothed her, then turned to me. "Bruce, couldn't you just take her home first?"

I didn't answer. I only kept refreshing the Uber app.

In my last life, I hadn't thought much of it. I just did what my wife said and drove her friend home.

I never imagined she'd come with a video, live-streaming it everywhere, insisting I had assaulted her.

My wife had defended me in tears, even digging out old award certificates from times I'd helped people, trying to prove there was just a misunderstanding with Paula.

And still she was shoved into the river.

While I knelt in front of the complex's security guard, begging for the footage, the guard looked right through me.

In the end I was dragged into an alley, left disabled for life.

This time, I would never let that tragedy play out again.

I turned to the drunk-acting Paula and asked my wife for her home address.

Before I could finish typing it in, Paula suddenly seemed to snap awake. Her hand shot out and clamped around my wrist.

Her eyes were clear.

Nothing like someone who'd had too much to drink.

"Bruce, an Uber is such a hassle."

"Haven't you heard about male drivers getting handsy with women passengers at night?"

Those eyes were like hooks, and as she said the last part, they swept over me.

It was a plain, open invitation.

I narrowed my eyes, studying her.

But Jessica noticed nothing off, and chimed right in, afraid her friend might be in danger.

"The rides are recorded the whole way, they're very safe."

"Or you could have Miles take her."

As I said it, I turned to look at my buddy. He was allergic to alcohol and hadn't touched a drop all through dinner.

If he did it, maybe things would turn out differently.

But I never expected that when I turned back, the man who never touched alcohol had picked up his glass and drained every last drop of the beer in it!

"Don't you not drink?"

Miles Dickerson gave a sheepish grin, red creeping across his cheeks at a visible pace.

"Feeling good today, wanted a taste. My head's spinning, can't help it, gonna have to leave it to you."

With that he flopped back against his chair, nearly toppling over.

I looked at Paula again and caught the quick little smile flickering at the corner of her mouth.

Her gaze was aimed right past me, at Miles behind me.

In my past life I'd been busy hunting for my car keys, and never noticed a single move she made.

Only now did it finally click.

Two days ago I'd clearly posted online that I'd taken antibiotics and couldn't drink.

One was my friend, one was my wife's friend, with no connection between them, and yet they'd both shown up outside my building at the same time.

Could this have something to do with how I was framed?

I couldn't make sense of it no matter how I tried.

But I still didn't forget to book her an Uber.

"Don't worry, these rides have recording and cameras, the car's a safe space."

Paula bit down hard on her lip, then tumbled into my wife's arms with brimming eyes and suddenly burst into tears.

"Jess, I never thought Bruce hated me this much. He won't even drive me home."

"Three years ago, I got off a business flight and didn't get back till ten. I was almost molested…"

My wife leaned in and wiped the tears from the corner of her eye.

I'd heard a little about that incident too.

Supposedly she'd worried about it for a long time afterward, jumping at shadows.

"Bruce." My wife lowered her voice, apology in her eyes. "Jess is very timid. Just help her out, please."

My face gave nothing away as I coldly tapped open my phone.

"I'm afraid not."

"Because the car's already waiting downstairs."

2: 2

Paula froze where she stood, her fingertips curling.

She was so stunned she forgot to close her mouth.

"Bruce, I never took you for someone this cold-blooded. A girl going home alone at night is dangerous enough, and she's been drinking on top of that."

"And you're just going to leave her to it?"

Miles's tone was theatrical, as if by not driving her I'd committed some terrible wrong.

"Bruce, I'm sorry. I've become a burden to you."

Paula swayed to her feet, ready to apologize to me.

Her body tipped, and she looked like she was about to fall straight toward me.

"Paula!"

My wife moved fast and caught her.

The flash of resentment in Paula's eyes chilled me.

As if—

as if my wife wasn't supposed to have caught her.

Our daughter started crying in the bedroom.

My wife went to soothe her, and Miles, Paula, and I headed downstairs, one after another.

Then Paula suddenly braced herself against the wall and gagged, slumping into the back seat like she'd lost consciousness.

She mumbled my wife's name under her breath.

"Paula, maybe I should just go back with you."

My wife looked at her friend, her mind still on our daughter.

I saw the difficult spot she was in and suggested Miles drive her instead.

"Me? I barely know her."

He brushed it off completely.

I glanced at the two of them, and suddenly I smiled.

Fine.

Interesting.

"I'll drive her."

This was something I needed to get to the bottom of.

Without another word I walked back to my room, found the sports action camera, clipped it to my belt, and covered it with my shirt.

Coming back down, I saw Miles standing by the car, his eyes sweeping over me with a trace of unease.

"But my wife's coming with me."

Paula's closed eyes snapped open, then she quickly pretended to just be shifting in her sleep and rolled over.

My wife sat in the back.

I took the front passenger seat myself.

The scenery on both sides slid past in a blur.

In my last life, at exactly this hour, I drove Paula home.

Worried she'd get carsick and fall, I even buckled her seatbelt for her.

Not one word the whole way.

Yet the dashcam footage clearly showed me stroking her thigh while we waited at a red light.

Even more absurd, she had cameras installed in both her living room and her bedroom.

The footage showed me half-carrying her back into her room, my hands all over her.

She even had a DNA test report on me.

Every piece of evidence pointed straight at me.

Overnight, my world was turned upside down and left in ruins.

My mother's hair went white because of it, and the online comments enraged her into a heart attack.

While my mind churned through all of it, the Uber pulled to a smooth stop outside her complex.

My wife supported Paula, who couldn't stand steady.

"You just had the baby not long ago. Let me."

I bent down and hooked my arm under Paula, who was still faking her drunkenness, keeping as normal a distance from her as I could.

My wife on one side, me on the other.

Only this time, I deliberately stepped back a couple of paces.

I let my wife hold her up and lay her down on the bed.

"Thirsty... Jessica, my stomach's off. I want some of that sobering-up broth you make."

I entertain clients a lot, and my wife, afraid I'd ruin my health drinking, had learned how to make sobering-up broth.

So of course she didn't hesitate and turned to go make it.

The pot had barely started to steam when I got a call from Miles. His voice was frantic, and a child was wailing in the background.

"Bruce, we've got a problem. Get your wife back here, fast."

3: 3

I turned the speaker up all the way.

Miles's voice came through.

"The baby's got to be hungry. She won't stop crying, and I can't keep her calm."

Jessica panicked and grabbed the phone.

But the second the baby heard her voice, she cried even harder.

"Bruce, I'm coming home now. Keep an eye on the sobering-up broth. When it's done, just give it to Paula."

I nodded.

Hung up.

What perfect timing.

Jessica had barely gotten the baby down. She'd been gone less than ten minutes.

Then the baby woke up crying, out of nowhere.

Normally, at this hour, she slept straight through to the middle of the night.

I clenched my fist without a word.

The broth in the pot was still bubbling, steam rising off it.

A faint voice drifted from the bedroom.

"Jessica, I don't have any strength. Feed me, okay?"

Jessica had made a point of telling her before she left.

The corner of my mouth curled into a cold smile. I kept my voice low.

"Jessica went home."

The room went quiet for two seconds.

"Bruce, I'm so worn out. Help me."

In my last life, she'd used the exact same trick.

I never laid a hand on her.

And yet the surveillance footage appeared right on cue.

She'd claimed I'd slipped her something shady, and that between that and the alcohol, she'd lost her senses.

Face cold, I walked to the kitchen and filled a bowl with the broth.

Set it on the coffee table.

"It's in the living room. Come get it yourself."

I turned to leave.

Dialed Jessica's number.

Before it connected, Paula came running out.

The corners of her eyes were flushed a sultry red, the buttons at her collar hanging loose, the curve of her collarbone bare.

No pants.

"Bruce, don't go. I'm scared here alone."

Her fingers hooked into the hem of my shirt, and she leaned in.

I twisted aside. She caught nothing but air.

Paula bit her lower lip and said nothing.

Her fingers went to her collar and undid another button.

Like a lamb to the slaughter.

She came toward me barefoot.

I raised my phone and aimed it right at her.

For a second Paula froze.

Jessica's puzzled voice came through the receiver.

"Paula, what are you doing?"