Chapter 1

The night I had drunken sex with Aaliyah, she'd just broken up with her boyfriend Logan.

In the end, she married me.

My marriage was quiet and happy. I once thought we'd be together forever.

Until Logan died of illness, and she went to his funeral.

That's when she found out Logan had originally wanted to get back together with her—but he'd walked in on us having sex, so he gave up.

Aaliyah hated me to the bone after that.

She insisted on divorcing me and humiliated me in every way she could.

As I lay dying, she leaned in and whispered in my ear:

"Your love disgusts me."

When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the night she and Logan broke up.

This time, when she tried to seduce me, I grabbed my coat, ran out of the room, and knocked on her ex-boyfriend's door.

Logan froze when he saw me.

His eyes were red and swollen—he'd clearly been crying. "Charles? What are you—"

"Logan." I tried to keep my voice steady. "Can I come in and talk?"

The living room was a mess. Half a birthday cake sat on the table.

I gave him a small smile and got straight to the point:

"I came to apologize for my sister. She forgot your birthday—that was her fault."

Logan pressed his lips together, silent.

"It's not that she doesn't love you. She's just never been good at expressing herself. After you said you wanted to break up, she went to a bar to drink alone."

I paused. "Logan, go find her."

In my last life, even after Aaliyah married me, she'd drink alone every year on Logan's birthday.

She never got over him.

Logan looked at me, then suddenly smiled—though his tears fell harder.

"Aaliyah's so cold and distant. How did she end up with such a sweet brother like you?"

"I'm going right now."

"Thank you, Charles."

After I told Logan which bar Aaliyah was at, he changed clothes and headed out.

I watched him leave and let out a long breath.

In this life, that night would never happen.

When I got home, I dug out the diary I'd hidden in the back of a drawer.

I'd been on the streets at ten years old, when eighteen-year-old Aaliyah found me.

She was cold to outsiders, but gentle with me.

When I first started understanding love, I knew—I was in love with her.

But it was a feeling I could never speak aloud.

I took out the diary and tore it apart, page by page.

The shreds dropped into the toilet, and I flushed them down myself.

About two hours later, the door opened.

Logan helped a very drunk Aaliyah inside.

She was clinging to him, mumbling:

"Logan… don't break up with me… I was wrong… I really was…"

Logan sighed helplessly, agreeing over and over: "Okay, okay, we won't break up."

When he saw me, he looked relieved.

"Charles, could you pour her a glass of milk? Let me get her to her room first."

"Sure."

Logan helped her into the bedroom.

I stood in the kitchen waiting for the water to boil, listening to the sounds drifting from the bedroom.

She was being playful. He was laughing.

The first time Aaliyah brought me to meet Logan in my last life, I knew—they were perfect for each other.

Logan was gentle and thoughtful. Good family, good upbringing. He'd always been kind to me too.

He was a good man.

If it weren't for me, he wouldn't have died. They would have been happy.

In this life, I'd make it right.