Marcus POV
I can't stop staring at my hands.
Twenty-one-year-old hands. No wedding ring mark. No scars from the factory machines. Fingers that can still bend without pain.
"Marcus, seriously, you're freaking me out." David drops his game controller and walks over. "Did you hit your head or something? You've been sitting there for ten minutes just staring at nothing."
I look up at my best friend. My only real friend. The guy who stuck with me even when I became a broke, miserable failure. The genius who invented a gaming app that made fifty million dollars—after I refused to help him.
In my first life, I told David his ideas were stupid. I listened to Rebecca's mother instead of my own friend. I chose wrong every single time.
"David." My voice comes out rough. "That game you've been working on. The one with the puzzle dragons. Tell me about it."
His eyes light up. "Really? You actually want to hear about it? Last week you said it was a waste of time."
My chest tightens. Yeah. I said that. Twenty-four years ago, I said exactly that. And David's face fell, but he nodded and never brought it up again. Until five years later when a big company stole his idea and made billions.
"I was an idiot," I say firmly. "Tell me everything. I want to invest."
David laughs. "Invest? Dude, you have like two hundred dollars to your name. I'm not taking your ramen money."
"I'm serious." I grab his shoulders. "Your game is going to be huge. I know it. Trust me."
He stares at me like I've grown a second head. "Okay, who are you and what did you do with Marcus? Yesterday you said I should focus on 'real career opportunities' instead of games."
Yesterday for him. Twenty-four years ago for me.
"People change," I say. "Sometimes overnight."
Before David can respond, my flip phone buzzes. My heart jumps into my throat.
Another message from the unknown number?
I flip it open with shaking hands.
But it's just my mom again: "I'm making dumplings tonight. Come home for dinner? Haven't seen you in two weeks."
Relief and pain hit me at the same time. My mother. Alive. Healthy. Still believing I'll make something of myself.
In my first life, she died disappointed. Watching me slave away for Rebecca's family. Knowing I'd thrown away every opportunity.
I text back immediately: "I'll be there. Love you, Mom."
I never told her I loved her enough. Never visited enough. Too busy being Rebecca's puppet.
"Aw, mama's boy," David teases, but his smile is kind. "Your mom makes the best dumplings. Can I come?"
"Always." I mean it. David was at my mom's funeral in the original timeline. Held me while I cried. One of three people who showed up. Rebecca didn't even bother.
My phone buzzes again.
This time my whole body goes cold.
Unknown number: "Day 1 of 100. First test: Go to the campus bulletin board at 2 PM today. You'll see a flyer for a study group. Join it. She'll be there."
My hands shake so badly I almost drop the phone.
"Who keeps texting you?" David peers over my shoulder.
I snap the phone shut. "Nobody. Just... spam."
But my mind is racing. The mysterious messenger is giving me instructions. "She'll be there" has to mean Aria. But today is Saturday. Why would there be a study group before classes even start?
Unless... this is a test to see if I'll actually listen.
I check the time on my old alarm clock: 11:47 AM.
Two hours and thirteen minutes until 2 PM.
"I need to go to campus," I say, jumping up.
"Now? It's Saturday. Nothing's open except the library." David looks confused.
"Exactly." I'm already pulling on shoes. "I need to check something."
"You're acting super weird, man."
"I know." I pause at the door. "David, if I start acting different—making strange choices, taking crazy risks—just trust me, okay? I can't explain why, but I need you to trust me."
David's face gets serious. We've been roommates since freshman year. Friends since high school. He knows me better than anyone.
"Are you in trouble?" he asks quietly. "Like, real trouble? Because if you need help—"
"I'm not in trouble. I'm just... trying not to make the same mistakes." The truth, even if he can't understand it.
David nods slowly. "Okay. I trust you. But Marcus? Whatever you're doing, be careful."
If he only knew. I already died once. Careful isn't exactly my strong point.
I rush out of the dorm and across campus. June heat beats down on me. Students are everywhere, enjoying the weekend. A group plays frisbee on the quad. Couples hold hands. Everyone looks so young. So hopeful.
I was that hopeful once. Before Rebecca destroyed everything.
The campus bulletin board is near the main library. It's covered with colorful flyers—club meetings, textbook sales, roommate searches.
I check my phone: 1:58 PM.
My heart pounds. What if there's no flyer? What if this is all a hallucination? What if I'm actually still dying on that kitchen floor and this is just my brain's last desperate fantasy?
2:00 PM.
I scan the board frantically.
Tutoring. Guitar lessons. Free yoga. Campus ministry. Anime club.
Nothing about a study group.
My chest tightens. Did I fail already? Was this a test I just bombed?
Then I see it. Bottom right corner. Small white paper, half-hidden behind a pizza coupon:
ADVANCED FINANCE STUDY GROUP - First Meeting Today 3 PM - Library Room 204 - All Levels Welcome
My hands shake as I tear off one of the phone number tabs at the bottom.
The handwriting is elegant. Precise. Familiar.
I know this handwriting. I saw it on birthday cards I never appreciated. On grocery lists for a house I never visited. On a business card I threw away twenty years ago.
Aria's handwriting.
She's already here. On campus. Before classes start. Organizing study groups because she's always been three steps ahead of everyone else.
And I'm about to meet her. Really meet her. Not as the jerk who ignored her in high school. Not as the idiot who laughed at her confession.
As someone who finally sees how incredible she is.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown number: "Good. You're learning to listen. But the real test starts at 3 PM. Don't screw this up. You only get one first impression—and you already ruined it once."
The message deletes itself.
I stare at the flyer in my hand.
Forty-five minutes until 3 PM.
Forty-five minutes until I meet the woman I should have married twenty-four years ago.
The woman who became a billionaire after I broke her heart.
The woman who is my second chance at everything.
My phone buzzes one more time.
Unknown number: "P.S. - Rebecca will walk past the library at 3:15 PM. She'll see you through the window. What you do in that moment will determine everything. Choose wisely."
My blood runs ice cold.
Fifteen minutes into meeting Aria, Rebecca will appear. The woman who destroyed my life. The trap I fell into before.
And somehow, whoever is sending these messages knows exactly when it will happen.
This isn't just a second chance.
It's a test.
And failing means repeating twenty-four years of hell.