Novels by MAY SLIVER

Roman's PovShe was still unconscious when we reached my private doctor. The wounds were mostly superficial, cuts, bruises, a mild concussion, but the terror in her eyes before she passed out had been real.I sat in the hallway outside the examination room, staring at the blood on my sleeves. My blood? Hers? I couldn’t tell.My head of security approached quietly. “The two men are in custody. They’re professionals. No IDs, but we’re running prints. One of them mentioned Margaret Ashworth before he shut up.”I nodded. “Keep them isolated. No calls.”“Already done, sir. But they’re not talking much. These guys are trained. Should I bring in our interrogators?”“Not yet,” I replied. “Let them sweat first. I want to know exactly who hired them and how deep this goes. Cross-check with anything we have on the Ashworth family’s known associates.”“Understood. I’ll keep you updated the second we get anything solid. We’ve also secured the crash site. The driver didn’t make it, sir. Single guns

Vivienne's Pov The crash came out of nowhere.One moment we were on the highway, the next a black SUV rammed us from the side. Metal screamed. My head slammed against the window. The world spun, once, twice, then flipped.When everything stopped moving, I was hanging upside down, blood dripping into my eyes.“Miss Ashworth!” the driver groaned. “Are you….”Gunshots. Two quick pops.The driver went silent.I fumbled for the seatbelt with slick fingers. It released and I fell hard onto the crumpled roof. Pain exploded in my shoulder. I crawled through the broken window, glass cutting my palms, and rolled into the ditch.Footsteps approached.I pressed myself into the tall grass, heart thundering. A man’s voice, calm and professional.“Target’s in the vehicle. Confirming now.”Another voice on a radio: “Make it look like an accident. No witnesses.”They were going to check the car. I had seconds.I crawled backward, every movement agony. My vision blurred. The file names flashed through

Vivienne's PovRoman didn’t leave until late that evening. We spoke in careful circles—him pressing for details, me giving him just enough to keep him on my side without revealing everything. I couldn’t afford to sound insane. Time travel. Murder in a future that hadn’t happened yet. No. He needed facts, documents, proof.When his car finally pulled away down the drive, I let out a long breath and leaned against the front door.Margaret was waiting in the sitting room.“Explain yourself,” she said coldly.I walked past her and poured a glass of water I didn’t want. “I think the legal notice explained it quite well.”“You ungrateful little—” She stopped herself, smoothing her skirt. “After everything we’ve done for you.”“Done for me?” I laughed once, sharp and bitter. “You mean stealing my identity? Paying people to forge records? Planning my quiet little removal when I got too close?”Her face didn’t change much, but her knuckles whitened on the arm of the chair. “You’ve been listeni

Roman Pov The contract lay on my desk like evidence from a crime scene.I had read it three times already. The original betrothal agreement between the Ashworth and Steele families clearly named Vivienne, not Clarissa. Signed, sealed, witnessed. My father’s bold signature at the bottom. And yet for three years I had been told it was dissolved. Vivienne had stepped aside willingly because her sister and I were “in love.”Love. What a convenient lie.I picked up the phone again and dialed the Ashworth house. When Clarissa answered, her voice was tight. Good. Let her be uncomfortable.“Put Vivienne on,” I said.A pause. Then Vivienne’s voice came through, quieter than I expected, but steady.“I’m listening.”I leaned back in my chair, staring out at the city skyline. “My legal team pulled the original documents this afternoon. Care to explain why I was never shown this contract?”Silence stretched between us. I waited.“I didn’t know how to tell you,” she finally said. “They made it see

Vivenne's Pov“You’re not my sister.”The words slipped out before I could stop them. Clarissa looked up from her vanity mirror, lipstick paused halfway to her mouth. That same unbothered smile I remembered too well curved her lips, the one she wore right before everything went dark three years from now.“Vivienne, what on earth are you talking about?” she asked lightly, turning back to the mirror. “Of course I’m your sister. Did you have another nightmare?”I stood in the doorway of her bedroom, heart hammering so hard I thought the whole house could hear it. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of our family estate, catching on the crystal chandelier and making everything look too perfect, too golden. Three years. I had died three years from this moment, pushed out of the way like an inconvenient footnote. And now I was back.I remembered the file. Every page, every seal, every lie. I remembered Margaret—our mother—telling me to step aside because Clarissa had “fallen in love”