Chapter 4No More Saving You In This Life

Over the next week, I moved my documents and jewelry to a safe deposit box. Adrian had already flagged the Millers' unauthorized withdrawals.

The day of the fire arrived.

Richard and Martha were headed to a charity gala. It was just me, Grant, and Sienna in the house. At dinner, Sienna claimed she was feeling faint.

Grant dropped his fork immediately. "We’re going to the ER."

"No," she whispered, clutching his arm. "I just need to rest. Evelyn... would you mind if I left my door open tonight? I’m a little scared being in that back room alone."

My hand froze on my glass. "Sure. Leave it open."

Grant frowned. "Why are you scared? It's just a house."

Sienna looked down, playing the victim perfectly. "I don't know. I just have a bad feeling."

I took a sip of my water. "That back room is right next to the old electrical panel, Sienna. You should be careful."

Grant stilled. He looked at me, his eyes sharp. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Just a reminder about fire safety," I said. "The wiring in this place is ancient."

Sienna gave a forced laugh. "Evelyn, you’ve been saying such creepy things lately."

"Have I? Maybe I’m just tired."

After dinner, I helped Sienna shut her door halfway. She stood in the doorway, her fingers hovering over the frame. "Evelyn... do you hate me?"

"You're overthinking it," I said.

Grant walked up behind her, putting a hand on her waist—a gesture he thought I couldn't see. "If she hated you, she wouldn't let you stay here, Sienna. She’s just being Evelyn."

He said it with such confidence, like he actually knew me. I watched them disappear into the room together. The door clicked shut.

I went to my room and grabbed the bag I’d packed days ago. Before I left, I unplugged everything in my room and put an old, frayed phone charger into a plastic bag. Adrian had already sent a private investigator to take photos of the electrical panel. There were fresh scratches on the breakers.

In my last life, I thought the fire was a tragic accident. Grant said it was an accident. The Millers said it was an accident. And I, with my melted face, accepted the blame they piled on me.

But this time, I had looked. Someone had tampered with the wires. Maybe they just wanted to scare me. Maybe they wanted a small, "controlled" fire to make the house feel unsafe so I’d agree to move into a smaller condo they’d picked out—one without my name on the deed.

But fire doesn't listen to plans.

I walked to the front door and let myself out. I didn't stop until I was three blocks away at a 24-hour diner. I ordered a huge meal.

"Eating all that by yourself?" the waitress asked.

"I’m celebrating," I said.

The sirens started thirty minutes later. People in the diner turned toward the window. "Looks like something’s going up on Oak Street."

My phone lit up. Grant. I didn't answer.

Then Martha. I didn't answer.

I finished my meal, paid the bill, and walked back toward the smoke.

The street was blocked by fire trucks. The air was thick with the smell of scorched insulation and wet ash. I saw the gurneys being rolled out.

Grant’s face was covered in gauze. His arms were wrapped. He was conscious, thrashing against the straps. "My face! What happened to my face? Doctor, tell me!"

On the other gurney, Sienna was hysterical. "Grant! It hurts! Someone give me a mirror! Am I ugly?"

Martha arrived and nearly collapsed. "Grant! Oh my god, my son!"

Richard was white as a sheet, demanding answers from the fire chief. I stood at the back of the crowd, watching the spectacle.

Martha spotted me. She lunged, grabbing my arm so hard her nails dug in. "Where were you? Why weren't you with him? You were supposed to be there!"

She didn't get to finish her tirade. Two police officers stepped forward.

"Richard Miller? Martha Miller?"

Richard turned, confused. "Yes?"

"You're being brought in for questioning regarding the suspected embezzlement of Evelyn Lane’s estate. Please come with us."