It started with a laugh.
Not Hazel's.
Madison's.
Sharp. Almost too amused.
She had returned the next afternoon, this time uninvited, with two iced coffees and a smirk like she knew exactly what she was doing.
"I thought we could catch up," Madison said sweetly. "You know, old times."
Hazel tried to smile. "Sure."
They sat in the sunroom, surrounded by curated succulents and silence thick enough to chew.
Madison sipped her coffee and watched Hazel too closely.
"You don't wear lipstick anymore."
Hazel blinked. "What?"
"Erin used to have a rule: 'No nude lips unless you're dead or crying,' remember?"
Hazel gave a tight shrug. "Maybe I'm both."
Madison chuckled. "Right…"
She leaned forward, tapping her nails on the marble table.
"You know, I keep thinking about that weekend in Mykonos. You went crazy because the villa had no still water. Adrian had to fly in six crates."
Hazel hesitated.
Madison's eyes narrowed. "But when I brought it up earlier, you didn't even flinch. Didn't remember."
Hazel looked down at her coffee. "A lot's happened since then."
"Mmm. Trauma-induced personality shift. How very… soap opera."
Hazel smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You done testing me?"
Madison grinned. "Never."
⸻
That night, Hazel sat in the library, trying to read. Her eyes kept drifting.
To the portrait above the fireplace.
It was of Erin, painted last year. Cold eyes. Flawless poise. A woman carved from marble and money.
"I'm not her," Hazel whispered.
The door creaked open.
Adrian.
He didn't speak, but his eyes flicked from her to the painting.
"You're quieter," he said suddenly.
Hazel jumped slightly. "What?"
"You used to fill every room with sound," he said. "Now you listen more."
She swallowed. "Is that… bad?"
He shook his head slowly. "No. Just different."
A pause.
Then, his gaze sharpened. "You remember what you said to me in Madrid? After the press conference?"
Hazel froze.
Her mind scrambled.
Madrid. Press. Erin's memory drawer was locked.
She could only guess.
"I… said I was proud of you," she tried.
Adrian didn't move. Didn't react.
But he knew.
And she knew he knew.
He left without another word.
⸻
The next day, Hazel found something in the study drawer while looking for a pen.
An old USB stick.
She turned it in her fingers.
No label.
She stared at it for a long time before plugging it into her laptop.
The folder opened.
Videos.
Hundreds.
Erin. At events. With friends. Alone. Dancing. Screaming. Crying. Laughing.
A whole life captured in fragmented pixels.
Hazel watched five seconds of one clip—Erin berating a florist for using the wrong shade of white.
Then closed it.
Hard.
She wasn't ready.
Because for the first time since waking in Erin's body…
She was scared.
Not of being found out.
But of discovering she didn't want to give this life back.