Part 1My Sister-in-Law's Hit-and-Run, My Life in Ruins

Amber totaled my Porsche at 125 mph, killing a family of three—then gave my name to police.

"Idiots who couldn't look both ways!" she spat. "I'm a Chase heir—who'd dare touch me?"

Last life, she'd borrowed my car "to visit parents." Instead, she ran over a young family—twice. When their relatives came demanding justice, she sneered: "Three cheap lives want my attention?"

That mob butchered me in my living room. My fortune went to Amber. My grieving father drove off a cliff after her online smear campaign.

Now I've rewound to that day—when she steals my car, my name, and three lives.

* * *

I remember bleeding out from a dozen stab wounds. Before the world went dark, I heard my sister-in-law’s triumphant laugh.

“Oh, Wendy,” she’d cooed, “I’m just as smart as you, just as pretty. Why did you get to marry Leo? The handsome one, the successful one? Well, now you’re both dead, and all that money… it’s finally mine.”

Her laughter was the last thing I heard as I died, my eyes wide open with rage.

Perhaps fate itself pitied the injustice I’d suffered, because I was given a second chance.

I’m reborn. It’s the day the victims’ family comes for me.

The clamor of taxi drivers hawking for fares outside the airport terminal fills the air. A surge of adrenaline, cold and sharp, courses through me.

I clutch my phone, waiting. Three seconds later, just as I predicted, it rings. It’s Amber.

“Wendy! Oh my god, you won’t believe what happened! Someone sideswiped the car while it was parked!”

The same lie she told me last time. Back then, thinking of her husband, Mark, working his back-breaking construction job and Amber having no income, I told her not to worry about the repairs.

“Amber, do you need to pay them? It’s my car, I’ll cover it.”

I repeat the same line, a perfect echo of my past self.

“Yes, yes! I didn’t want to file an insurance claim without you here… It’s just… a few ten thousand dollars. You’re not mad, are you? When will you be home?”

“Of course not. I’m almost home now. I’ll wire you the money right away.”

“Wait! No, don’t send it to me—”

I hang up before she can finish.

Last time, she had me wire the money directly to the victims’ family. That wire transfer was the nail in my coffin, the ultimate proof of my “guilt.” Her asking when I’d be home was to time the mob’s arrival perfectly.

But I am no longer the naive, trusting Wendy Chase.

If she wants to play a game, I’ll play to win.

The debt for my own brutal murder, and for my father being shattered to pieces at the bottom of a ravine… I will collect on every last drop.