I looked at the man standing in front of me.
Henry Sinclair.
My so-called father.
In my past life, he died alone.
I remembered it clearly not because I loved him, but because irony had a cruel way of engraving itself into memory. When the Sinclair family finally collapsed, when the money dried up and the power disappeared, his own wife and child were the first to abandon him.
Back then, no one wanted to be associated with a fallen Sinclair.
There were so many secrets I learned during that time. Ugly ones. Things whispered behind closed doors. Things I only discovered because I spent my entire life trying to please people who never truly wanted me.
Just thinking about it made my head ache.
So I smiled.
Henry walked closer to my bed while I continued eating the dinner my mother had prepared. He stopped a few steps away, his presence heavy, controlled. He glanced at my mom first, then shifted his attention to me.
"Hello," he said.
His voice was calm, polite. Almost distant.
I lifted my eyes and smiled back.
"Hello, Father."
The word felt strange on my tongue.
He tried to smile in return.
He failed.
I didn't comment. I just lowered my gaze and took another spoonful of porridge. It was warm, smooth, sweet with a hint of bitterness from the beans. Comforting in a way I hadn't realized I missed.
Henry cleared his throat. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Did you sleep well?"
"Fine."
My tone didn't change. My expression didn't change either.
I could feel my mother tug lightly at my sleeve, a silent warning to be polite, to soften my words. I ignored it. I wasn't rude—but I wasn't warm either.
After a moment of silence, Henry spoke again.
"Olivia," he said slowly, "I know I haven't been much of a father to you."
I paused mid-bite.
He continued, "Your mother and I… things didn't work out. That's not an excuse, but it's the truth. I just—" He hesitated, then exhaled. "I want to know my daughter. That's all."
I was surprised.
Genuinely.
In my past life, he never said anything like this. Back then, he simply told me I would be leaving with him after I was discharged. I didn't resist. I didn't argue. I just followed him like I always followed everyone else.
Easy.
Obedient.
But now that I was resisting—even quietly—he was trying a different approach.
Does this count as changing the timeline?
The thought lingered uneasily.
I didn't want to change things too much. If the future shifted too far from what I remembered, I would lose the only advantage I had: foresight. Predictability.
I swallowed and nodded slightly. "Okay."
Henry seemed relieved.
Just then, the red-haired woman entered the room.
The doctor.
The one I had once mistaken for an angel.
She greeted my mother first, then Henry. I watched her quietly. Despite myself, my gaze lingered on her hair—it was striking, vivid even under the hospital lights.
Henry still hadn't won my heart.
He was Henry.
Not Dad.
And even if he hadn't directly ruined my life in the past, the people closest to him did. His younger brother. Other members of the Sinclair family.
The Sinclairs weren't just wealthy.
They were powerful.
One of the top families not just in New York, but in the entire United States. They controlled technology companies—smartphones, laptops—fashion brands, catering businesses. But above all else, they were a fashion dynasty.
Ironically, Henry himself had little fashion sense.
His younger brother did.
And that brother—the same one who played a part in Henry's downfall in my past life—was still alive.
The red-haired doctor stepped closer.
She reached out to examine me.
The moment her fingers touched my skin—
Something snapped.
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
On.
Off.
My mother gasped softly. Henry stiffened.
They didn't notice me.
They didn't see my pupils turn white.
My body went rigid as my head tilted upward, eyes fixed on the ceiling like something had taken control of me.
And then—
I saw it.
The red-haired woman.
On the hospital roof.
A gunshot rang out.
She fell.
Her body hit the ground below.
I saw the man who fired the gun.
I didn't recognize his face.
But I recognized his voice.
Find her.
No matter what.
She has red hair.
The vision shattered.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my body sagging forward as the lights stabilized. My heart raced violently, sweat breaking out along my spine.
"What was that?" my mother whispered, frightened.
I lowered my gaze slowly.
Smiled.
"Nothing," I said.
But inside, I knew.
The past was already moving.
And this time, I was awake.