Chapter 5

The European-style wall clock ticked monotonously, its hands once again irreversibly aligning at the number 12. Eight o'clock sharp.

Outside the window, the rain poured as if someone was dumping basins of water, rattling against the glass, just like the ninety-nine times before.

My phone vibrated on the coffee table, the screen blindingly bright. It was Serena's friend calling, the so-called "death notification." Serena had slit her wrists in the bathtub and sent a picture of blood everywhere to Ethan, now hovering between life and death.

Ethan practically sprang from the sofa, his face pale. He didn't even finish listening to the sobbing on the phone before grabbing the car keys from the console table and rushing out.

In the script of fate, I should have lunged at him like a madwoman right now, hugging his waist, crying, begging him not to go, or trying to snatch his keys.

In previous loops, no matter what I did, the outcome was always the same: I'd catch up to his car at that traffic light intersection, then be caught under the wheels of a heavy truck that swerved to avoid his sudden brake.

The agonizing pain of my bones being crushed to powder and internal organs rupturing instantly, even now as I stood perfectly whole, still made my teeth chatter involuntarily.

"Scarlett! Get out of the way!"

Ethan rushed to the door, instinctively shouting that line. But he froze, because there was no one blocking him.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, swirling half a glass of decanted red wine. The red liquid clung to the glass, looking remarkably like spilled blood. I didn't even turn to look at him, just gazed at the blurred traffic in the dark, rainy curtain outside.

"The roads are slick in the rain, Mr. Evans. Drive safely." I took a sip of wine. The pungent alcohol slid down my throat, suppressing the sourness churning in my stomach.

Ethan's fingers gripping the doorknob turned white from the force. He glanced back at me, his eyes filled with disbelief and an indescribable panic. It was like punching a pillow, leaving his pent-up rage with nowhere to go.

"You'd better pray Serena's okay, or I'll make you pay!" He gritted his teeth, spat out the threat, and slammed the door shut.

The loud bang of the door made the plaster on the walls seem to tremble.

I turned around, looking at the closed security door, a cynical smile on my lips. Pay? I've paid ninety-nine times, Ethan. You should be satisfied.

I walked to the balcony and watched through the rain curtain as the black Maybach shot out of the garage, like an out-of-control beast plunging into the storm.

Without my interference, he'd left three minutes earlier.

And that tired truck driver, who always passed the intersection three minutes later, arrived precisely on time as well.

I closed my eyes, silently counting down in my mind.

Ten, nine, eight...

From this distance, I couldn't hear the impact. But I could feel that momentary stillness in the air.

Half an hour later, the shrill phone ring once again pierced the deathly silence of the living room.

It was the Metropolitan General Hospital ER.

"Are you Ethan Evans' family? The patient was in a serious car accident at the Riverwalk intersection. The truck overturned and flattened the driver's side of the car. The situation is critical. Please come immediately to sign the paperwork!"

I hung up the phone and drained the last sip of red wine in my glass.

This time, it wasn't me who shattered.