Chapter 2: The Trap Reverses
That evening, I did something the old Autumn never would have—I followed my fiancé.
From two cars behind, I watched Nathan's black Audi glide into the underground lot of the Meridian Hotel. Twelve minutes later, Meredith's red Porsche pulled in after him.
My cousin. My blood.
Growing up, Meredith had been the golden child—effortlessly charming where I was awkward, socially brilliant where I buried myself in textbooks. Our family adored her.
When I introduced Nathan at Thanksgiving three years ago—in my original timeline—Meredith had hugged me and whispered, "You deserve this, Autumn. You finally found someone."
She'd already been sleeping with him for six months.
I didn't follow them inside tonight. I didn't need to. Instead, I placed a single phone call.
"Tessa, I need a favor."
Tessa Huang was my surgical intern—sharp, loyal, and absolutely ruthless when provoked. In my previous life, she'd been the only colleague who attended my memorial. Everyone else believed Nathan's story: poor Dr. Reed, overworked and unstable, jumped from the balcony during a mental breakdown.
"Name it," Tessa said without hesitation.
"I need you to pull the financials on a company called Aegis Holdings. Shell corporation, registered offshore. Cross-reference any connection to Meredith Lane or Nathan Cross."
A beat of silence. "Autumn, what's going on?"
"Insurance," I said. "I'm buying insurance."
After hanging up, I drove to my father's house. The brownstone looked exactly as I remembered—warm lamplight spilling from the study window, the faint smell of pipe tobacco drifting from the cracked pane.
My father, Dr. Henry Reed, was the founder of Reed Pharmaceuticals—a billion-dollar empire built on thirty years of research. In my previous life, he'd started declining six months after my wedding—fatigue, weight loss, organ deterioration that no specialist could explain.
Because no one had tested for thallium.
I knew now. Nathan and Meredith had been poisoning him with micro-doses—just enough to mimic natural illness, never enough to trigger suspicion.
When I walked through the front door, Dad looked up from his desk with that familiar mix of distraction and warmth.
"Pumpkin? Shouldn't you be at Nathan's tonight?"
I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around him—something the old Autumn rarely did. She'd always been too focused, too clinical, too convinced that love was shown through achievement rather than affection.
He stiffened briefly, then melted into the hug. "What's this about?"
"Nothing. Just missed you." My voice cracked despite my control.
In my previous life, by this point the poison had already been in his system for four months. Which meant—
I pulled back and studied his face with a surgeon's trained eye. Slight pallor. Barely-there tremor in his left hand. Subtle enough that anyone would dismiss it.
Not me. Not anymore.
"Dad, when did you last have bloodwork done?"
He waved me off. "Last quarter. Fit as a fiddle, the doc said."
"Humor me. Come to my lab tomorrow—I want to run a full panel myself. Heavy metals included."
His eyebrows rose. "Heavy metals? Autumn, I'm not a factory worker."
"Please." One word, loaded with everything I couldn't yet explain.
Something in my expression must have alarmed him, because he nodded slowly. "All right. Tomorrow."
I stayed for dinner. Meredith was supposed to join us—she often did in this period, worming her way deeper into my father's affections—but tonight she was otherwise occupied.
At the hotel. With my fiancé. Planning my family's destruction.
Enjoy it while it lasts.
When I got home, I sat in the dark for a long time, mapping out the next moves like pre-surgical planning. Every incision had to be precise. Every suture timed perfectly.
I picked up my phone and typed a message to Nathan: *"Missing you tonight. Can't wait to be your wife."*
He replied instantly: *"Three more weeks, baby. Then you're mine forever."*
I smiled at the screen—cold, sharp, nothing like a bride.
Three weeks. That's exactly how long you have left, Nathan.
---
From two cars behind, I watched Nathan's black Audi glide into the underground lot of the Meridian Hotel. Twelve minutes later, Meredith's red Porsche pulled in after him.
My cousin. My blood.
Growing up, Meredith had been the golden child—effortlessly charming where I was awkward, socially brilliant where I buried myself in textbooks. Our family adored her.
When I introduced Nathan at Thanksgiving three years ago—in my original timeline—Meredith had hugged me and whispered, "You deserve this, Autumn. You finally found someone."
She'd already been sleeping with him for six months.
I didn't follow them inside tonight. I didn't need to. Instead, I placed a single phone call.
"Tessa, I need a favor."
Tessa Huang was my surgical intern—sharp, loyal, and absolutely ruthless when provoked. In my previous life, she'd been the only colleague who attended my memorial. Everyone else believed Nathan's story: poor Dr. Reed, overworked and unstable, jumped from the balcony during a mental breakdown.
"Name it," Tessa said without hesitation.
"I need you to pull the financials on a company called Aegis Holdings. Shell corporation, registered offshore. Cross-reference any connection to Meredith Lane or Nathan Cross."
A beat of silence. "Autumn, what's going on?"
"Insurance," I said. "I'm buying insurance."
After hanging up, I drove to my father's house. The brownstone looked exactly as I remembered—warm lamplight spilling from the study window, the faint smell of pipe tobacco drifting from the cracked pane.
My father, Dr. Henry Reed, was the founder of Reed Pharmaceuticals—a billion-dollar empire built on thirty years of research. In my previous life, he'd started declining six months after my wedding—fatigue, weight loss, organ deterioration that no specialist could explain.
Because no one had tested for thallium.
I knew now. Nathan and Meredith had been poisoning him with micro-doses—just enough to mimic natural illness, never enough to trigger suspicion.
When I walked through the front door, Dad looked up from his desk with that familiar mix of distraction and warmth.
"Pumpkin? Shouldn't you be at Nathan's tonight?"
I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around him—something the old Autumn rarely did. She'd always been too focused, too clinical, too convinced that love was shown through achievement rather than affection.
He stiffened briefly, then melted into the hug. "What's this about?"
"Nothing. Just missed you." My voice cracked despite my control.
In my previous life, by this point the poison had already been in his system for four months. Which meant—
I pulled back and studied his face with a surgeon's trained eye. Slight pallor. Barely-there tremor in his left hand. Subtle enough that anyone would dismiss it.
Not me. Not anymore.
"Dad, when did you last have bloodwork done?"
He waved me off. "Last quarter. Fit as a fiddle, the doc said."
"Humor me. Come to my lab tomorrow—I want to run a full panel myself. Heavy metals included."
His eyebrows rose. "Heavy metals? Autumn, I'm not a factory worker."
"Please." One word, loaded with everything I couldn't yet explain.
Something in my expression must have alarmed him, because he nodded slowly. "All right. Tomorrow."
I stayed for dinner. Meredith was supposed to join us—she often did in this period, worming her way deeper into my father's affections—but tonight she was otherwise occupied.
At the hotel. With my fiancé. Planning my family's destruction.
Enjoy it while it lasts.
When I got home, I sat in the dark for a long time, mapping out the next moves like pre-surgical planning. Every incision had to be precise. Every suture timed perfectly.
I picked up my phone and typed a message to Nathan: *"Missing you tonight. Can't wait to be your wife."*
He replied instantly: *"Three more weeks, baby. Then you're mine forever."*
I smiled at the screen—cold, sharp, nothing like a bride.
Three weeks. That's exactly how long you have left, Nathan.
---