Blurb：
When privileged heiress **Carys Redding** awakens to a viral nightmare—her face plastered across screens as Austin’s most hated hit-and-run killer—she realizes her scheming roommate **Kinsey** has mastered the art of imitation. With **Linden**, her gold-digging boyfriend, complicit in the plot, Carys’s signature **Chanel haute couture dress**, **purple Lamborghini**, and **long dark hair** become weapons in a twisted identity swap. But this **Redding heir** isn’t surrendering her legacy. In a ruthless counterstrike, Carys livestreams a shocking **bald transformation** at **Antoine’s elite salon**, baiting Kinsey into revealing her fatal flaw. As **Mr. Henderson**, the grieving father, storms **Linden’s birthday party** with a tire iron, the truth ignites: only the real Carys could orchestrate a social media reckoning this vicious. Betrayal burns brighter than Austin’s headlines—and this **heiress** isn’t dying twice.
Content：
§01The video was going viral.
Of course it was.
It had all the ingredients for a perfect social media storm: a screaming match, a horrific accident, and the unhinged arrogance of the super-rich.
I watched it for the fourth time, my knuckles white as I gripped the phone.
My finger traced the outline of the woman on the screen.
Her long, dark hair, a perfect imitation of mine.
Her Chanel haute couture little black dress, stolen from the back of my closet.
Her voice, a shrill, desperate copy of my own, spitting venom at the grieving parents and the shell-shocked police officers.
“I broke up with my boyfriend, okay? I’m in a bad mood! It’s their fault for getting in my way. They deserved it!”
The woman, my roommate Kinsey, leaned against the door of my purple Lamborghini Aventador SVJ.
It was my eighteenth birthday present from my father, the only one of its kind in all of Austin.
She took a long, leisurely drag from a cigarette, a perfect performance of bored indifference.
Behind her, under the harsh glare of streetlights, paramedics were desperately trying to revive a family of three she had just sent flying across a downtown intersection.
They failed.
In my past life, I was asleep when this happened.
Blissfully unaware.
I woke up the next day to an energetic call from Kinsey.
She’d urged me to wear that same dress, to let my hair down, to drive that same car to my boyfriend Linden’s birthday party.
I’d agreed, of course. Eager to please, desperate to make him happy.
The moment I pulled out of the parking garage, I was ambushed.
The victims’ family, their faces twisted into masks of grief and rage, doused my car in gasoline.
They sealed the doors with tire irons.
They lit a match.
The memory of the fire was not a memory; it was a physical sensation.
The smell of burning leather and my own flesh. The sound of their righteous screams barely audible over the roar of the flames. The sight of bystanders, their phones held high, their faces illuminated by my funeral pyre.
“Serves her right!” they’d shouted, their voices dripping with scorn. “Rich bitch thinks she can get away with murder.”
No one knew I was innocent.
And then, I woke up again.
Gasping for air in the silk sheets of my bed in my luxury off-campus apartment.
It was the day after the accident.
The day of Linden’s party.
The day I was supposed to die.
I looked back at the phone screen.
Kinsey was still performing for the cameras, loudly proclaiming her identity to anyone who would listen, cementing the lie.
“Don’t you know who I am? I’m a Redding! My father owns half this city! You think you can touch me? I’ll have you all rotting in jail for this!”
She was my copycat.
My shadow.
For years, she had mirrored my style, my speech, my life.
And now she was about to learn that stealing a life comes with a price.
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The End