Chapter 3

Caleb and I got together freshman year, and from the very start I knew he had a girl he called his best friend.

He was a year ahead of me. Sheila was in my year.

Because of her, almost every date the two of us went on came with Sheila's shadow attached.

The thing Caleb said most about Sheila was that she had no hidden angles, that she was easygoing, that she was practically one of the guys.

She was his best friend, so whenever she went a little too far, I made myself not see it.

The truth was, Sheila had never once taken me seriously.

On our dates she'd hook her arm through Caleb's whenever she felt like it, kiss him on the cheek whenever she felt like it.

Every time, Caleb would explain it away, and Sheila would put on her fake little act and beg me to forgive her.

I ate their poisoned sweetness for a long, long time.

Senior year Caleb got into grad school, and he pushed me to go on for a graduate degree with him.

I agreed. That whole senior year I practically lived in the lab.

Caleb felt bad for me, and to his credit he never blamed me for having less time to spend with him.

Some nights I didn't come out of the lab until the small hours, and he'd wait for me the whole time without complaint.

It was exactly that year, the year of my graduate recommendation, and the way we stayed close through it, that carried us all the way to getting engaged.

The way Caleb stood by me through that whole recommendation process made me believe his heart had always centered on me.

But at today's engagement party, all he did was keep insisting Sheila was only joking.

He hadn't considered me for a second. A man like that wasn't worth spending my life on.

The wretched scenes from my last life still surface in front of me all the time. My mother raised me alone, and it wasn't easy. This time around, I'm going to protect her.

I ended the conversation with Caleb. I knew Sheila, and someone with her temperament would never let it go.

Sure enough, that same night I got a call from my advisor.

"Freya, this situation of yours has caused a bit of a stir. The department has decided to put your graduate recommendation spot on hold for now."

Professor Lambert had always treated me well. For her to call me about this herself, she must have reached the point where she couldn't hold the line for me anymore.

"I understand, Professor. Thank you."

That wasn't even the worst of it. Early the next morning, my roommate Wendy Austin called.

"Frey, go look at the school forum right now. Someone posted a work badge saying you're an escort, and screenshots from a private room. The pictures are all really blurry. I could tell at a glance it isn't you, but there are way too many blind people out there, and they're all insisting it's you."

I thanked Wendy and logged into the school forum.

Sure enough, there it was, the headline blaring: "Escort Lands a Grad Recommendation. Ridiculous."

The write-up was detailed, put together like someone writing a novel, dressed up and vivid.

The images were a blurry work badge and a few dim shots of someone working at a club.

The thread already had thousands of comments, and the heat was still climbing. I knew this was Sheila's handiwork.

I saved a screenshot of the forum's main page, then went online and looked up the IP address behind the post. As I expected, it traced back to Sheila.

The Sheila of this life was still just as full of zeal, still just as ready to pin crimes I never committed on me.

Good. I'd filed a police report and had been worried about not having evidence.

Wendy messaged me again: The talk around campus is bad right now. I'm worried it'll go against you, so maybe don't come to school for a few days.

I knew Wendy meant well. But I had to go. I needed to find evidence that would work in my favor.

I texted her back: Thanks, hon. I'll be at school soon.

And once I got there, I realized I'd made exactly the right call.