Chapter 1

I was in the parking garage of my Beverly Hills high-rise. And I backed my car into my neighbor's Ferrari. On purpose.

I got out, a half-empty bottle of tequila in my hand, right in front of her.

"Are you blind? Do you know how much this car costs? Can you even afford to fix it?"

She was furious, her face turning red as she whipped out her phone to call 911.

I just smirked. "You should probably call them. Get the LAPD down here to arrest me. I'll wait."

The first time around, I was the fall guy for my fiancé, Grant, and his sister, Blair.

They got high at some Hollywood party, went joyriding, and killed an innocent valet.

But the car was my Porsche. And they swore I was the one driving.

I rotted in a California state prison for ten years.

The shock killed my mom. A heart attack.

When I got out, they weren't done.

They forged offshore debts to drain my trust fund and drove me to suicide.

I woke up 24 hours before it all happened again.

Chapter 1

I stood at the entrance to the parking garage, my car sticking out over the line on purpose.

CRUNCH.

My neighbor slammed right into my rear bumper as she was trying to back into her spot.

I grabbed the tequila bottle and stormed over.

"Are you blind? You hit my car! Can you even afford this?"

She smelled the alcohol on my breath and lost it.

"Are you on something? Drinking in public and acting like this?"

I leaned against my car door and took a long, slow sip right in front of her.

"So call the cops. Have them haul me away. I'll be right here. I dare you."

She was so mad she was shaking. She dialed 911.

"911? There's a psycho in my parking garage! She's smashing cars! Looks like a DUI!"

Hanging up, she glared at me.

"Just you wait. I promise you, your mugshot will be all over the gossip sites tomorrow!"

I smiled.

That's exactly what I wanted.

A few minutes later, two LAPD officers with body cams walked up.

"What's going on here?"

I immediately walked toward them, hands up, a grin I couldn't hide on my face.

"It was me. I'm drunk. Arrest me."

Everyone just stared. I’d stunned them all into silence.

My neighbor finally spoke. "Officer, that's her! She was so arrogant just now. These rich brats need to be locked up!"

The lead cop frowned.

He put me through a standard Field Sobriety Test (FST), then pulled out a breathalyzer.

"Please blow into this."

I did. The device shrieked.

"BAC is 0.18. Almost double the legal limit in California." His frown deepened.

"You're under arrest for suspicion of DUI, public intoxication, and felony vandalism. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

As he recited the Miranda Warning, I handed over my license. No struggle. I even turned around and put my hands behind my back for the cold cuffs.

"Is this girl nuts?" the younger cop muttered. "She looks like she just won the Powerball, not like she's getting arrested."

They put me in the back of the cruiser. Through the window, I saw neighbors filming on their phones.

I felt calm.

This was exactly what I wanted. The more witnesses, the more video, the better for me.

Chapter 2

At the booking center, I was weirdly cooperative.

"Officer, I drank half a bottle of tequila. I definitely meet the criteria for public intoxication and vandalism."

The female officer taking my statement looked completely baffled. She'd never seen a suspect so eager to be locked up.

"Julia, do you understand what you're doing?" she asked, her face serious.

I nodded. "I know. California Penal Code 594, vandalism. It's a wobbler offense. You can book me into a cell now."

She stared. "You knew that and you still did it?"

I squeezed out a few tears. "Yes. I'm so, so sorry."

She sighed and asked more questions. I answered everything, making sure my story was perfectly recorded on the station’s high-def cameras and in the official report.

When she was done, she didn't leave right away. She just looked at me, thinking.

"You don't seem like the type," she said suddenly.

My heart skipped a beat. I forced myself to stay calm. "People… lose control sometimes."

She nodded, like she was about to say more.

Just then, hurried footsteps echoed from the entrance.

"Julia!"

My mom and Liam, our family's top lawyer in a Tom Ford suit, rushed into the bail waiting area, their faces grim.

Mom threw her arms around me. "Oh my god, Julia, what are you doing? Do you have any idea how this will affect your trust fund?!"

Feeling her hug, so real and warm, my eyes started to burn.

It was so good. This time, my mom was still alive.

"Julia, tell me the truth. How did you get a DUI?" Liam frowned at me. He couldn't figure it out. I was always so careful.

A nearby officer added, "The blood test and security footage confirm Miss Julia's actions. She's been formally charged."

Liam immediately switched into lawyer mode. "Officer, I'm her counsel. I've already contacted a bail bondsman. I'm taking my client home now."

But as he turned to tell the bail bondsman to cut the check, I grabbed his wrist.

"No. I refuse bail."

My mom's eyes went wide with disbelief. "Julia, what are you talking about? Liam is here to get you out! You can't stay in a place like this!"

Looking at them, I fought the urge to tell them the truth.

Last time, my fiancé's family framed me, and I couldn't defend myself.

Mom begged for help until her heart gave out.

Liam broke every rule to save me and got disbarred.

This time, I had to stay here.

Only this LAPD station, with its wall-to-wall surveillance, could give me the perfect alibi.

"Mom, Liam. Don't get involved. Let me face the consequences."

Then I turned to the police. "I plead guilty. I waive my right to bail until my arraignment in 48 hours." I also refused any more visitors.

By 10 PM, the booking process was done.

"As per procedure, we're moving you to a temporary holding cell."

"I understand," I nodded.

I handed over all my clothes, jewelry, and personal items.

I watched them get inventoried and sealed in a clear LAPD Property Bag with a unique serial number.

Sign here. Fingerprints here. Mugshot.

Once it was all done, they led me to a solo cell.

The moment the iron door slammed shut behind me, I let out a huge breath.

I looked up at the clock on the wall. 7:45 PM.

The first time around, an hour from now, Blair took my Porsche for a joyride down Sunset and killed an innocent college student.

But now?

At the exact moment of the fatal crash, I was sitting safely in a high-security LAPD holding cell.

Chapter 3

I almost laughed thinking about my last life.

Grant, grabbing my chin, whispering, "Darling, without an alibi, you're dead in the water."

Now I had the entire LAPD's incident report. High-def interrogation footage. The medical examiner's bloodwork.

The entire Los Angeles justice system was my alibi.

Let's see who they could pin this on now.

The hours ticked by.

At 6 AM, Detective Ramirez from the Homicide Division appeared at my cell door, his face dark. He led me to a private interview room.

"Julia," he said, his voice grave. "There was a fatal hit-and-run on Sunset Boulevard last night. A valet, a college student, was killed on impact. The vehicle we've identified at the scene is a white Porsche 911. Registered in your name."

I widened my eyes, playing shocked and confused. "What? That's impossible! My car has been in my building's garage. The keys are in my purse!"

My mom and Liam, who had been waiting anxiously in the lobby, heard this and rushed over.

"Detective, that's an absurd accusation! My daughter has been in custody here all night!" My mom protested.

Suddenly, the station's glass doors were shoved open.

My fiancé Grant and his sister Blair stormed in. A guy trailing right behind them suddenly pulled a concealed camera from his jacket—a TMZ stringer.

"Julia! You got high, killed someone in a hit-and-run, and you have the nerve to hide? Do you have any conscience at all?" Grant screamed, projecting his voice for the camera.

I gave them a cold look. "I was arrested yesterday for vandalism…"

Blair cut me off with a shriek.

"Oh my god! You weren't just drunk, you were high, weren't you? No wonder you ran! Hiding out in a police station, pretending to be crazy!"

My mom went pale. "That's a lie! My daughter would never do something like that!"

"Why not? It's all over the news! Figures your family would raise a murderer who thinks she's above the law!" Blair sneered.

The TMZ reporter, like a shark smelling blood, shoved his way toward the glass partition.

"Julia! How does it feel to buy your way out of vehicular manslaughter?!"

The flash of his camera went off once, blindingly bright, before two officers immediately tackled him back against the wall.

My mom was shaking with rage. Liam pointed a finger at the struggling reporter. "Confiscate that! My legal team will hit TMZ with a multi-million dollar defamation suit that will have you paying for the rest of your life!"

"Back off! This is a police station, not a movie set! Get his gear!" Detective Ramirez barked, and the officers quickly dragged the reporter out of the lobby.

I stared hard at Grant. "I was arrested at 6:30 PM yesterday! The garage security cameras can prove my car was still there!"

A flicker of panic crossed Grant's eyes.

But he recovered quickly, like a true Oscar winner, his face shifting to a look of profound disappointment.

Chapter 4

"Julia, stop lying. If you have an addiction problem, I'll hire the best lawyers in the country for you. I'll send you to the top rehab in Malibu. But you can't cover up a murder with more lies!"

Before I could answer, he turned to Detective Ramirez.

"Detective, as her fiancé, I'm heartbroken. But I have a conscience. I won't cover for a murderer, not even the woman I love!"

I smirked. Heartbroken. Won't cover for a murderer. Right.

The first time around, this was the man who swore he loved me. To protect his sister who killed someone while high, he snuck into my apartment.

He took my current, valid prescription—which I never went anywhere without—from my purse and planted it in the car.

Then he paid off this same TMZ reporter to lie on the stand, leaving me with no defense.

After prison, I was suddenly saddled with tens of millions in fake debt and ended up jumping off a building.

But this time, I was going to let them feel what it was like to be crushed by their own scheme.

Detective Ramirez narrowed his eyes, his sharp gaze landing on Grant.

"Sir, you're accusing Miss Julia of a hit-and-run last night. Do you have any actual evidence?"

Without hesitating, Grant pulled a clear plastic baggie from his suit pocket.

Inside was a prescription pill bottle.

"Detective, I went to the impound lot. I found this Adderall bottle under the floor mat of the Porsche! Her full name is printed right on the label!"

He was completely lost in his "righteous hero" act.

"This is solid proof! She has a history of ADHD, a habit of abusing this stuff! It’s a controlled substance. She never goes anywhere without it! It proves she was the one driving last night. She must have gotten high, started hallucinating, and panicked after she hit someone. She ran off and left her life-saving medication behind!"

He didn't notice the looks the cops behind the glass were giving him.

Like he was an idiot walking into a trap.

"So you're saying," Detective Ramirez's voice was ice cold, "that she killed someone in a hit-and-run last night, and left behind a prescription she never goes anywhere without?"

Grant looked confused by the detective's tone but nodded confidently.

"That's right! She never lets that bottle out of her sight. It proves she was the one driving!"

"Pfft—"

I couldn't hold it in anymore.

I burst out laughing in the quiet police station.

"Grant. Fabricating evidence? Perjury? Those are felonies. Enjoy prison."

He glared at me, rage in his eyes. "Julia! When are you going to stop this madness? You can't even admit you were high!"

Blair chimed in with a sneer. "Yeah, you admitted to smashing a car while you were wasted. You probably blacked out and don't even remember dropping the bottle!"

I raised an eyebrow, watching them desperately try to frame me, a deep smirk on my face.

Detective Ramirez, who had watched this whole pathetic show, finally closed his case file. His voice was stern.

"Sir, I don't know where you 'found' this bottle."

"But yesterday, at 6:30 PM, when Miss Julia was officially arrested, her 'current and valid' prescription for Adderall was inventoried, placed in a sealed LAPD Property Bag, and locked in our evidence vault!"

The detective's words echoed through the station.

"Before you fabricated your evidence, did you even bother to look at the date on the label? The bottle you're holding is six months out of date! How does someone who checked in with a current prescription drop an expired one at a crime scene in the middle of the night?!"

Detective Ramirez took a step forward, his hand resting on the grip of his gun, staring down Grant, whose face had gone completely white.

"Furthermore, the toxicology screen from her booking shows no traces of any unauthorized prescription drugs in her system! She has been in a maximum-surveillance holding cell since 7 PM last night."

"So now, please explain to the LAPD how you stole this six-month-old bottle from her apartment and tried to pass it off as evidence from the crime scene."

The station went dead silent.

The once-arrogant reporter, now being held by two officers near the door, was shaking so hard he nearly dropped his confiscated camera.

The heartbroken look on Grant's face shattered. His eyes darted around in disbelief.

"How... How is that possible? Last night you weren't..."

I lifted my chin, watching his handsome face twist in terror. And I smiled.