Molly Lin died at eighteen.
Her brakes failed inexplicably on the overpass. To avoid plowing into innocent people, Molly wrenched the steering wheel hard.
The car smashed through the guardrail and plunged into the river below.
As icy water swallowed the car, in her final moments, Molly dreamed. She dreamed her life was a story in a novel, and her three younger brothers were the villains.
Her second brother was the ruthless CEO who wore obsidian worry stones, obsessed with the heroine, constantly clashing with the male lead, and destined to lose his empire in a spectacular corporate crash.
Her third brother was the infamous, perpetually controversial pop star, always targeting the Oscar-winning male lead in interviews and reality shows, ultimately driven to suicide by relentless online bullying.
Her youngest brother was the high school bully, skipping classes to fight, landing the male lead's honor-student brother in the hospital, and ending up behind bars.
And herself? She was the male lead's tragic high school sweetheart who died young, existing solely to create a misunderstanding between him and the heroine.
Knowing all this, Molly was so pissed off she came back to life.
She opened her eyes, standing in front of a massive luxury mall.
A giant electronic billboard above her flashed: "Happy Year of the Serpent 2025!"
That's when it hit her. She'd been reborn, but catapulted eleven years into the future – right into the thick of the story's climax.
She hurried inside the gleaming StarGlow Galleria, spotting the restroom signs. She needed to see what she looked like.
The mirror reflected the same face – still startlingly beautiful at eighteen, still wearing the little black dress she'd put on for her ill-fated date. A wave of sheer, disbelieving panic washed over her. *Eleven years… but I'm still eighteen!* No wallet. No phone. *Nothing.*
"Year of the Serpent alright," she muttered, the feeling of a boa constrictor tightening around her chest almost palpable. She splashed cold water on her face. Okay. Breathe. Her greatest strength had always been accepting reality fast. When their parents died suddenly, leaving her with three brothers – the youngest only two – she hadn't crumbled. She'd gotten to work. She dried her hands on a paper towel, the mundane action grounding her.
The restroom door swung open. Two sales associates in crisp white shirts and black pencil skirts walked in, arms linked – clearly on a quick gossip break.
"You heard? Mall's shutting down in thirty! They're clearing everyone out *now*," one hissed, excitement barely contained.
"Totally! Rumor is *he's* here. Wants the whole place private!" the other whispered back.
Molly's ears perked up. *Private?* Shutting down a high-end mall like StarGlow Galleria at peak lunch hour? Only in some ridiculous novel would a CEO pull a stunt this wasteful and tone-deaf.
"Bet it's for Liana Hartley!" the first associate gushed. "He doesn't want her bothered by fans! Did you see the TikTok? He financed her entire new indie film!"
"Ugh, so swoony! Wonder if Cole Sterling regrets letting her go now? Their 'SterHart' ship was *everything*. Waiting for that groveling redemption arc!"
Molly's momentary amusement vanished. *Liana Hartley.* The heroine. *Cole Sterling.* The Oscar-winning male lead, the hero. That meant the 'brainless CEO' clearing the mall… was her own dear brother, Ethan.
*Perfect.* She'd planned to find Ethan first anyway. Talk about convenience.
Though right now, what she really wanted was a specific accessory on credit. She turned to the still-chattering associates. "Excuse me? Does StarGlow have a Louis Vuitton store?"
The women jumped, finally noticing Molly. One blinked, momentarily stunned by the girl's striking beauty – sharper and more vivid than half the starlets on billboards. "Uh, yeah, second floor," the other answered helpfully. "Buying a gift for your dad?"
Molly offered a sweet, dangerous smile. "No. Buying something to whip some sense into my brother."
The associates stared, speechless.
Molly pushed past them. She'd seen the mall – all marble and chrome, buzzing with lunchtime crowds. Kicking everyone out? The lost revenue for the afternoon alone would be astronomical. Worse, the PR disaster! Imagine enjoying lunch and being *ejected* because some CEO wanted privacy for his girlfriend? Customer loyalty? Gone. *No wonder Ethan crashes and burns,* she fumed. *Running a business like this? Who wouldn't go bankrupt?*
She remembered Ethan at fifteen – brilliant, already showing a knack for business, flipping vintage game consoles for thousands to buy her that first designer bag. Their parents had built a real estate empire; Ethan inheriting StarGlow made sense. What didn't make sense was his brain apparently taking a permanent vacation!
As Molly strode out, a security guard approached, his expression polite but firm. "Ma'am, apologies, but the Galleria is closing for a private event. We need to ask all guests to exit promptly."
Molly smiled, her tone reasonable. "I understand. Could you please connect me with the mall manager? I have an urgent matter."
The guard hesitated. The manager *was* tied up with the big boss upstairs… but customers did have issues. He radioed in. "Mr. Henderson? Got a young lady down here on Level One asking to speak with you urgently?"
A clipped voice crackled back. "Not possible today. Ask her to come back tomorrow." The guard relayed the message.
Molly's smile didn't waver. "Let me speak to him directly, please."
---
Up in the plush manager's office, John Henderson was practically sweating bullets. Across the imposing desk sat Ethan Shaw. The man radiated icy intensity, long fingers absently rolling a set of smooth, dark obsidian stones. Henderson was mid-sentence when his phone buzzed again. He hit mute, about to dismiss it entirely, when a clear, young, and distinctly annoyed female voice cut through the speaker:
"*Mr. Henderson? Listen, I know you're with Ethan Shaw right now. Put him on the phone. Now.*"
Henderson froze. *Who the hell…?* Polite phrasing, but demanding the CEO? And using his full name so casually? Some obsessed fan? Ethan Shaw, the notoriously private "Wall Street Recluse," attracted plenty. Henderson hit mute again. "Sir… a young woman downstairs insists on speaking with you. She… knew your name." He braced for dismissal.
To his shock, Ethan's head snapped up, his eyes glacial. He held out his hand without a word. Henderson, trembling, unmuted the phone and handed it over.
Ethan's voice was dangerously low. "Who is this? What do you want?"
The reply was instant, loud enough for Henderson to catch the exasperated tone: "*It's your sister! I'm here to…*"
Ethan's expression turned arctic. "Get lost." He cut the connection and tossed the phone back like it was contaminated. The temperature in the room plummeted ten degrees.
Henderson scrambled, frantically texting the guard: **[GET HER OUT NOW!]** He stammered, "Sir, my deepest apologies. Security is handling it immediately." *Crazy stalker fan,* he thought, wiping his brow. Didn't these girls know Ethan Shaw was completely devoted to Liana Hartley? The rising Hollywood starlet? Delusional!
Ethan stared at the obsidian stones in his palm, knuckles white. Someone impersonating *Molly*? The old, familiar rage bubbled beneath his icy surface. He forcibly calmed himself, picking up his own phone. He opened his messages, the only thread with a star beside it.
**[Galleria is clearing out now. Text me when you're close, I'll meet you downstairs.]**
The message above it, asking if she'd left yet, remained unanswered. She'd been swamped with promo for her new film; a delayed reply was normal. A flicker of something softer crossed his otherwise impassive face as he typed.
Henderson saw the shift. *Ah, Liana.* Time for some strategic bootlicking. "Mr. Shaw, Liana's performance in *Echoes*… truly breathtaking. My family's already seen it three times!"
Ethan glanced up, a faint, almost imperceptible softening around his eyes. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely!" Henderson beamed. "I was thinking of organizing a staff viewing night! Such a phenomenal film deserves full support!"
Ethan gave a slight nod, taking a sip of his espresso. "Approved. Expense it to the corporate account."
Henderson practically glowed, refilling Ethan's cup. StarGlow Galleria was just one jewel in Shaw Enterprises' crown. Impressing the notoriously demanding CEO could mean a big promotion.
Standing silently by the window, Ethan's Executive Assistant, Carla Vance, suppressed a groan. Watching her brilliant, usually razor-sharp boss turn into a lovesick puppy whenever Liana Hartley was involved was physically painful. He'd walked out of a critical merger negotiation halfway through because Liana texted she wanted to shop "without paparazzi." He could have waited until *after* the mall was clear! Carla's own phone was vibrating nonstop with urgent messages she couldn't address with Henderson's fawning filling the air.
*This job is a hazard to my mental health,* Carla thought grimly.
Henderson leaned in conspiratorially. "Mr. Shaw, regarding the new Liana Hartley Signature fragrance line launch at our flagship…"
"*Mr. Henderson,*" Carla interrupted, her voice tight with forced professionalism. "Perhaps you should oversee the evacuation progress personally? Ensure it's proceeding smoothly?"
Henderson shot her an annoyed look. "Everything's under control, Ms. Vance. Flawless execution." *Stick to scheduling, honey,* he thought dismissively.
Ethan's cool gaze flickered between them, his obsidian stones clicking softly. He turned back to Henderson. "Continue."
Carla bit her tongue. *Liana Hartley.* The magic words that instantly dissolved Ethan Shaw's IQ. It was infuriating.
Henderson puffed his chest slightly. "As I was saying, the Liana Hartley Signature launch is perfectly positioned for maximum…"
***CRASH!***
The heavy office door burst open, slamming against the wall.
All three heads whipped around.
A girl stood there, maybe eighteen, breathing hard, eyes blazing. Behind her, a flustered security guard skidded to a halt, panting, "Sir! She just… ran!"
Henderson surged to his feet, face purple with rage. "What is the meaning of this?! Get her out! NOW!"
Carla remained silent, frozen. There was something… unnervingly familiar about the girl's striking features. The high cheekbones, the determined set of the jaw…
Ethan Shaw didn't move. Didn't breathe. He stared at the girl as if seeing a ghost. Every drop of blood drained from his face. The obsidian stones slipped from his suddenly nerveless fingers, clattering onto the polished desk. Time stopped. Eleven years of grief, guilt, and carefully constructed walls imploded in an instant of impossible recognition.
Molly Lin ignored the sputtering manager and the stunned assistant. She marched straight up to the imposing desk, the years of worry, frustration, and sheer relief coalescing into righteous fury. She reached across the gleaming mahogany, not for his ear this time, but snatched the nearest expensive-looking leather-bound portfolio right out from under his assistant's hand.
With a satisfying *THWACK*, Molly slammed the heavy portfolio down on the desk inches from Ethan's frozen hand, making the espresso cups jump.
"Ethan Shaw!" Her voice, sharp as shattered glass, cut through the stunned silence. "What in the absolute *hell* is wrong with you? Did your common sense take an eleven-year vacation, or do you need me to schedule a damn brain scan?!"