ARIA'S POV
I stare at the photo on my phone—me, tied to a chair, unconscious.
Blood on my hands. Rain soaking my clothes. An alley I don't recognize.
The audition is in two hours, and I've lost an entire night.
My hands won't stop shaking as I scroll through my call history. Three missed calls from Zoe. Five from an unknown number. And one voicemail from Kyle, timestamped at 2:34 AM.
I press play, dreading what I'll hear.
"Aria." Kyle's voice is cold, unfamiliar. "I know you're awake by now. I know you're confused. Let me make this simple—you have two choices. Show up to the audition and sing the song I arranged, or the video I recorded tonight goes viral. Your choice. Clock's ticking."
Video? What video?
My phone buzzes with a new message from Kyle: a link.
I click it with trembling fingers.
It's a video of me—in his studio, just like the photo. But I'm awake in this one, crying, begging. "Please, Kyle, don't do this. I love you. I trusted you."
And Kyle's voice, cold and amused: "That's your problem, babe. You trust too easily."
The video cuts off.
I'm going to be sick.
I don't remember any of this. How can there be a video of something I don't remember doing?
Unless... what if I'm not the Aria who went to his studio? What if the OTHER me—the one I saw getting into that car—is the one in the video?
But then how am I here? How do I have HER memories?
My phone rings. Unknown number.
I answer without thinking. "Hello?"
"Aria Chen?" A woman's voice, professional and crisp. "This is Detective Sarah Morrison with NYPD. We need you to come to the station immediately."
My blood turns to ice. "Why?"
"We found evidence linking you to an incident last night. We also have questions about a body that washed up—"
I hang up.
The police. They found the body Damien mentioned—the "me" that died ten years ago but also died last night.
How do I explain that? How do I prove I'm not a murderer when I can't even prove I'm real?
I need to get to the Star Maker audition. It's the only thing that makes sense right now. If I can just get on that stage, sing my song, show everyone what I can do—
My phone buzzes again. This time it's a text from a number I don't recognize:
"Check your bank account."
I pull up my banking app with shaking hands.
My balance: $50,000.
Yesterday it was $247.
Below the deposit, a memo: "Payment for services rendered. Pleasure doing business. - V.A."
V.A.? Who's V.A.?
Wait. Vivian Ashford? No—Vivian CHEN. My stepsister.
I search my email for anything from Vivian. There's one from last night at 1:15 AM:
"Thanks for agreeing to this, Aria. I know we've had our differences, but family helps family, right? The contract is attached. Just sign and send back. The money's already in your account. Don't worry—nobody will ever know you gave me those songs. Your secret's safe with me. - V"
Contract? What contract?
I click the attachment with my heart in my throat.
It's a legal document. A SALE AGREEMENT for twelve original compositions, including "Shattered Crown," "Phoenix Rising," and "Dreams Don't Die."
Signed by me.
My signature is right there at the bottom, dated last night at 1:47 AM.
"No," I whisper. "No, no, no. I didn't sign this. I would NEVER—"
But the signature is perfect. Exactly like mine.
Someone stole my songs. Again. In this timeline too.
Except this time, there's a contract saying I SOLD them willingly.
My phone rings. Zoe's name flashes on the screen.
"Zoe!" I gasp. "Something terrible happened. I need—"
"Where the HELL have you been?!" Zoe's voice is furious. "I've been calling all night! Do you have ANY idea what you've done?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the entire internet is talking about you!" She sounds like she's been crying. "Kyle posted a video of you drunk at his studio, saying horrible things about the Star Maker judges. It's everywhere, Aria. You're being called ungrateful, entitled, a spoiled brat—"
"That wasn't me!" I scream. "I don't remember any of that!"
"There's VIDEO, Aria! Clear video of your face saying those things!"
"It's fake. It has to be fake. Zoe, I swear—"
"Then why does everyone believe it? Why are the Star Maker producers talking about disqualifying you before you even audition?" Zoe's voice breaks. "What happened to you last night?"
"I don't know," I admit, tears streaming down my face. "I woke up in an alley with blood on my hands and hours missing. Kyle has photos of me tied up. Vivian somehow got me to sign away all my songs. And the police think I murdered someone who's also me—"
"Aria, you're not making sense."
"I KNOW!" I sob. "Nothing makes sense! Time is broken, Zoe. I'm broken. I don't know what's real anymore."
Silence on the other end.
Then Zoe's voice, quieter: "Where are you right now?"
"Behind some building. I don't even know where."
"Send me your location. I'm coming to get you." She pauses. "And Aria? Don't go to that audition. Whatever's happening, you need to lay low until we figure it out."
"But the audition is my only chance—"
"It's a TRAP. Can't you see that? Someone's setting you up. Kyle, Vivian, maybe both of them. If you walk into that audition hall, you're walking into whatever they planned."
She's right. I know she's right.
But if I don't audition, then everything I died for—everything I came back for—means nothing.
"I have to go," I tell Zoe. "I have to at least try."
"Aria, NO—"
I hang up and start running.
I don't know this neighborhood, but I follow signs toward downtown. Toward the Star Maker audition venue. Toward my last chance at fixing everything.
My phone keeps buzzing with messages:
Kyle: "Smart girl. Use my arrangement or else."
Vivian: "Thanks for the songs, sis! Can't wait to debut them! "
Unknown: "Turn around. You're going the wrong way."
Unknown: "The audition is a trap."
Unknown: "Damien Cross isn't who he says he is."
Unknown: "You're already dead, Aria. You just don't know it yet."
I'm gasping for air, legs burning, when I round a corner and slam straight into someone.
Strong hands catch me before I fall.
I look up into familiar intense eyes.
"Damien?" I gasp.
But his expression stops me cold. He's not surprised to see me. He's not concerned.
He's relieved.
"Thank god," he breathes. "You're the right one."
"The right... what?"
He pulls me into a doorway, out of sight of the street. "Listen carefully. There are currently three versions of you existing in this timeline. The one who went to Kyle's studio and was murdered. The one who signed Vivian's contract and disappeared. And you—the one who's still fighting."
"How is that possible?"
"Because the timeline keeps splitting every time you make a different choice. But it's collapsing now. By the time the audition starts, only ONE Aria Chen can exist. The others will be erased."
"Which one survives?"
"Whoever's story makes the most sense. Whoever the timeline accepts as the 'real' version." His grip on my arms tightens. "You need to get to that audition. You need to sing. If you don't—if you hide, if you run—the timeline will choose one of the other versions. And neither of them survive past today."
"But everyone thinks I'm horrible now. Kyle's video—"
"Is already being discredited. My team leaked evidence that it's a deepfake. But you need to prove you're real. You need to show the world who you really are."
He hands me a small flash drive.
"What's this?"
"Your demo. The real one—'Shattered Crown,' recorded in perfect quality. If they won't let you audition live, play this. Make them listen."
I stare at the flash drive. "Why are you helping me?"
"Because in every timeline I've observed, every version of reality, you're extraordinary. And you deserve a chance to prove it." His eyes are intense, burning. "Don't let them erase you, Aria."
He releases me and steps back into the shadows.
"Wait!" I call. "What happened to the other versions of me? The ones who died?"
Damien's face is grim. "They're not gone yet. Time is holding them in suspension until the timeline decides. Which means—"
A scream cuts through the air.
We both turn toward the sound.
Down the street, I see them: two girls who look exactly like me.
One is covered in blood, stumbling out of an alley.
The other is running from a black car—Vivian's car.
And they're both heading straight for the audition venue.
All three of us. About to arrive at the same place at the same time.
"What happens if we meet?" I whisper.
Damien's voice is barely audible: "The timeline collapses. All three versions die. And Aria Chen is erased from existence—past, present, and future."
The bloody version of me looks up.
Our eyes meet across the distance.
She smiles—cold and wrong—and starts running toward me.
"RUN!" Damien shouts.
But it's too late.
She's too fast.
And as her hand reaches for mine, I see something in her eyes that makes my blood freeze.
She's not me anymore.
She's something else. Something that's been wearing my face.
And the last thing I hear before our fingers touch is her voice—my voice—whispering:
"Thanks for coming back. I've been waiting ten years to steal your body."