from my first life is th

ight of the ceiling a

ed long-lost brother, Wesley, standing outsi

of my family's manor, fr

I' m

of that same manor, the air thick with the scent of roasted duck

g her pen nervously against a notepad. My younger sister, Gabby, a wi

e he was

uneral, claiming to be the Fowler son lost years ago. A

able, a smug, theatric

aid, his voice a low hum. "Since I've retur

a mask of concern and exhaustion.

over us. He was a good actor. He looked hau

usekeeper for thirty years, who was clearing the p

o a whisper. "I see a darkness around her. A

, please. Are we r

pped, her voice tight with str

this scene perfectly. In my past life, I had

en. Dead. A black widow bite. The coroner ca

rophecy had

rst step in his p

Nicole, my beautiful, treacherous fiancée, sitting

e whispered, her voice like hone

at had watched me burn, and I felt nothi