Adrian's POV
The picture in my hand can't be real.
Two Miras. Standing side by side. Identical in every way.
"That's impossible," I say, but my voice sounds hollow even to me.
Detective Lin reaches for the picture. "Mr. Blackwell, what is that?"
I pull it away, protecting Mira automatically. "Give us one minute. Please."
"Sir, I have a warrant for—"
"One minute!" My voice rings through the hallway. "Then you can arrest whoever you want. But give me sixty seconds to understand what's happening to my wife."
The detective hesitates, then nods. "One minute. Clock's ticking."
I grab Mira's hand and pull her into the nearest room—my father's library. I lock the door behind us.
"Adrian—" Mira starts.
"Who gave you this photo?" I demand.
"Someone who looks exactly like me," she says, and her voice is shaking. " She said she's from the original reality. The one where I married Ethan. She said—" Mira stops, seeming to struggle with what to say next. " She said someone's pretending to be living who should be dead. "
My blood runs cold. "My mother."
"No!" Mira grabs my arms. "Not your mother. Someone else. Someone who—"
A phone rings. Not mine. Not Mira's.
It's coming from inside the library.
We both turn toward the sound. There, on my father's desk, a cell phone rattles. A phone I've never seen before.
"Don't answer it," Mira says.
But I'm already moving toward it. Because written on the screen is a single word: WATCH.
I pick up the phone. The screen changes to a video call.
A figure appears—dressed in black, face hidden, voice disguised by a modulator.
"Hello, Adrian," the mechanical voice says. "We finally meet properly."
"Who are you?" I demand.
"Someone who's been dead for three months," the figure answers. "Or rather, someone who should have stayed dead."
Mira moves beside me, looking at the screen. "What do you want?"
"Justice," the voice says simply. "You stole my life, Mira. You woke up on that day and changed everything. You took my choice. My future. My second chance."
Understanding hits me like lightning. "You're another Mira."
"Very smart," the figure says. "Yes. I'm the Mira who should have woken up in the past. The one who should have gotten the second chance. But somehow, she—" the figure points at my wife "—got there first. Took my place. Lived my life."
"That's insane," I say.
"Is it?" The mechanical voice sounds almost amused. "You're holding a picture of two identical women. Your wife just told you someone who looks exactly like her gave her that envelope. And you've been married to Mira for three months—have you ever thought why she sometimes seems to know things she shouldn't? Why she's so good at business? Why she chose you when everyone else chooses Ethan?"
I have wondered. Late at night, when Mira thinks I'm asleep, I've watched her stare at her hands like she's surprised they're hers. I've heard her whisper names of people we haven't met yet. I've seen her flinch away from Vivian like her sister is dangerous.
I thought she was just nervous. Adjusting to marriage.
But what if it's more than that?
"What do you want?" Mira asks the person on screen.
"I want what you took," the voice answers. "My life back. My choice. My Adrian."
The way the figure says "my Adrian" makes my skin crawl.
"You can't have him," Mira says strongly. "I'm his wife."
"Are you?" The figure laughs—a bitter, broken sound even through the voice modulator. "Or are you just a thief wearing stolen skin? Tell me, Mira, do you ever wonder if you're even real? If you're the real Mira Chen, or just a copy? A ghost? A mistake?"
"Stop," I order. "Whatever game you're playing—"
"It's not a game," the person interrupts. "It's life. Only one of us can live in this timeline, Adrian. One original Mira. One real wife. And I was here first."
"You're wrong," Mira says, but her voice wavers. "I woke up three months ago. I made my choice. I've been living—"
"Have you checked the date recently?" the person asks softly.
Mira and I both freeze.
"What?" Mira whispers.
"The date," the figure repeats. "Today. Right now. What day is it?"
I pull out my phone naturally, checking the screen.
And my blood turns to ice.
"That's impossible," I breathe.
Because my phone says it's six months ago. The night of the dinner. The night of the choice.
"No," Mira grabs my phone, looking at the screen. "No, we've been married for three months. We've had dinners and talks and—"
"Did you?" the figure asks. "Or did you dream it? Did you live three months, Adrian? Or did you live one very long night?"
I try to remember. The wedding. Our first dinner. The day Mira found my mother's secret.
But the images feel hazy. Blurred. Like I'm trying to remember a dream.
"You're messing with our heads," I say, but my voice shakes.
"Am I?" The person leans closer to the camera. "Then explain why everyone outside this room thinks tonight is the gala. Explain why Vivian is about to choose between you and your brother. Explain why your father is about to announce the marriage arrangement—for the first time."
"We're living in a loop," Mira whispers. "Someone trapped us in the same night, making us live it over and over—"
"Not someone," the person interrupts. "You. You did this, Mira. When you changed your choice, when you broke the timeline, you locked everyone in this moment. And the only way to break free—"
The video cuts out quickly.
The lights in the library flicker.
And then, from somewhere in the house, we hear it.
My father's voice, booming and formal: "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending tonight's dinner. I have an announcement to make regarding my boys' futures."
No. That's impossible. He made that announcement hours ago. We've been living the fallout. The shooting. The questioning. The— "Adrian." Mira's hand grips mine, cold and shivering. "What's happening?"
I pull her toward the library door, open it, and step into the hallway.
Everything looks different. Wrong.
The emergency lights are gone. The red glow. The chaos. Instead, everything is bright and sleek. Party music plays. Guests laugh and drink champagne.
Like nothing happened.
Like the shooting never happened.
"We need to find my father," I say. "Now."
We rush through the house. Everyone we pass is dressed for a party, smiling, partying. No fear. No fear. No memory of sounds.
We reach the big ballroom.
And my heart stops.
Because standing at the center of the room, exactly where they were hours ago, are Vivian and Mira Chen.
Two women I remember.
But beside them, looking nervous and unsure, is a third woman.
She has Mira's face. Mira's hair. Mira's everything.
"Oh my God," my Mira breathes beside me. "There are three of us."
My father's voice rings out across the ballroom: "My kids must marry by year's end to secure their inheritances. Tonight, the Chen sisters will make their pick. Ladies—" he points to the three identical women "—which Blackwell brother do you choose?"
And all three Miras turn to look at me.