Chapter 1
The dawn of my surgery, Ethan signed the consent form. Not to save me – but to take my bone marrow.
After his sister, Chloe, was diagnosed with severe aplastic anemia, he and my stepmother, Victoria, conspired to trick me into the hospital.
My bone marrow saved Chloe. I, on the other hand, developed a post-op infection and never left my bed again.
I was barely twenty-six, and my immune system had completely crashed.
The day the infection spread, he told me our entire marriage was for Chloe’s illness, that he’d checked my genetic match before marrying me.
He said, "Your bone marrow saved a life. It was worth it."
Perhaps my very bones were screaming for justice on my behalf.
When I opened my eyes again, I’d moved out of that city before he could find me.
As for Chloe’s illness, this time, let's see how you protect her.
"Skylar, your dad’s last words, the night he left us, were for me to take good care of you."
My phone screen lit up for three seconds. Incoming call, my stepmother, Victoria.
I answered.
"What do you want?"
"I’ve been looking for you for two years, and you haven't returned a single call. If your dad knew how you were treating me—"
"He won't know now."
A few seconds of silence on her end.
"Skylar, there's someone who wants to meet you. He says you're fated to meet."
"His name is Ethan."
The name drilled into my ear like an ice pick stabbing the back of my neck.
"He says you two are a good match to get to know each other. His family is in pharmaceuticals, he's a good person, I’ve vetted him for you—"
I hit End Call. Turned off my phone. Threw it in the drawer.
Two years. New city, new number, new company. I thought I’d run far enough.
The next day at work, a bouquet of white Eustoma flowers sat on my desk.
Harper poked her head over from the next cubicle. "Who sent them? A delivery guy came up specially early this morning."
I flipped open the card at the bottom of the bouquet. Printed text, one sentence.
"Hello, Skylar."
No signature. But I recognized the flowers.
In my last life, at our wedding, he personally chose white Eustoma as the main flower. Their language was unchanging love.
I tossed the card and the flowers into the trash.
Harper nearly spat out her coffee. "That's decisive, even for you."
"The sender isn't a good person."
"An ex?"
"Worse than an ex."
Her eyebrows furrowed, and her mouth opened, but she didn't press for details.
At noon, I went out for coffee. A black car was parked outside the shop.
The window rolled down halfway, revealing a face I’d seen repeatedly in countless nightmares.
He had high brows, a straight nose, and a sharp jawline.
The first time I saw him in my last life, my heart skipped a beat. Now, seeing him, all I felt was a sour twist in my stomach.
"Skylar." He called my name the exact same way as in my last life, with a slight upward lilt at the end.
"Who are you?"
"Ethan. Your stepmother should have mentioned me."
"She’s mentioned a lot of scammers."
He gave a small smile. The kind that was gentle, disarming. He used to smile like that, making you drop your guard instantly.
"I’m not a scammer. I just wanted to buy you a coffee."
"No thanks."
"Five minutes is all I need." He looked at me, utterly sincere. "There's something I absolutely have to tell you in person. It's about you."
About you. That’s how he started last time. A hook impossible to refuse, luring me willingly into his cage.
"You checked my genetic match."
His pupils contracted. But quickly returned to normal.
"What match? I don't understand."
"If you don't understand, why are you looking for me?"
"Just to get acquainted." He pulled a business card from his pocket and held it out. "I'm working on a rare disease charity foundation—"
"New packaging, same old trick."
His hand froze in mid-air.
"Last life, you used a class reunion."
The moment those words slipped out, I knew I’d said too much.
"Last life?" His brows subtly furrowed.
"I meant the last time. The last time you contacted Victoria, you made up an excuse then too."
No one took the business card. He retracted his hand and looked at me for a few seconds.
"Skylar, you've misunderstood me."
"No. I understand you perfectly."
I turned and walked three steps before his voice caught up from behind. Not rushed or annoyed, even carrying a hint of a smile.
"Skylar, my sister is dying."
I stopped.
Not out of softness. But because he’d never said those words in my last life.
Back then, he’d wrapped the truth in ten layers of sugar coating, waiting until I was married, on the operating table, to tear off the paper.
"Her name is Chloe, she’s twenty-three, and she has severe aplastic anemia. No one in our family is a match. The national bone marrow registry can't find a suitable donor either."
His voice was as calm as if he were reading a medical chart.
"Only you. Your HLA match is perfect with hers. Ten out of ten loci, a complete match. That's a one in a hundred thousand probability."
The wind blew. My coffee grew cold.
He stood in the late autumn light, smiling gently, like a kind-hearted person asking for help.
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Your genes can save her."
"They're my genes. Not your tools."
His smile finally cracked.
"I never thought of you as a tool."
I turned and walked into the office building. The moment the glass doors closed, I saw the expression on his face in the reflection. It was no longer gentle.
"Skylar, if you don't help her, can you live with yourself?"