chapter 2

After making that big sale, the seller's attitude softened a little. She agreed to give me time to investigate what happened.

"Until I get to the bottom of this," I told her, "don't ship anything else to this address."

When I got back inside, Barbara was standing in front of the full-length mirror trying on new clothes. A mountain of brand-new outfits was piled on the couch, waiting for her to model them.

That was when I spotted something in the corner—a messy heap of dirty clothes with the price tags still attached.

A terrible suspicion started forming in my mind.

"You're not keeping those clothes?" I asked, confused.

She didn't even look back. "If they don't fit right, I'll just return them."

"But didn't you already wear all of them?" I knew I'd seen her in those dresses before. They looked great on her, and she'd loved them so much she even slept in a few of them.

She turned around and frowned at me. "So what if I wore them? I didn't cut the tags off. Why can't I return them?"

That shut me up. I knew Barbara was the type who always looked for ways to get something for nothing.

When my brother, Matthew Wilson, was alive, he fought with her about this all the time. She'd get caught shoplifting at the mall, they'd have to pay fines, but she never learned her lesson.

After Matthew died in that accident, there was nobody left to stop her. She got worse.

I bent down and picked up the delivery packaging from the floor. Sure enough, it had my name and phone number on it, not hers.

Everything suddenly made sense. Barbara's habit of gaming the return system and pushing deadlines had pissed off the seller. That was why she'd come after me instead of her.

"Why did you put my name and phone number on packages for stuff you bought?" I demanded.

Barbara's expression shifted, but she didn't seem to think she'd done anything wrong.

"You gave me this address before, didn't you?"

When Barbara first moved in with me, she asked for my address for deliveries. I was too lazy to type it out, so I just copied and pasted all my information to her.

She never bothered changing it—just kept using my name and phone number for everything.

I didn't know if she had done it on purpose or if she had just been lazy, but that careless habit was what had gotten me killed.

When that seller had come looking for revenge, she had found my address, my name, my life. I had paid the price for her scams with my blood.

The memory made my hands shake. I wanted to march over and slap her across the face, but I forced myself to stay put. She was my brother's wife, after all. My nephew's mother.

When I didn't respond, Barbara turned back to the clothes she was trying on, preening in front of the mirror like a peacock showing off its feathers.

I pulled out my phone and started recording. Then I grabbed the scissors from the coffee table and snipped off the price tag from her dress with a sharp click.

"What are you doing?" She frantically grabbed the tag from the floor, her voice rising. "Who told you to cut that off?"

"The dress looks great on you. You should keep it." I smirked.

She held up the tag and checked her phone for the purchase details. Then, she let out a horrified shriek. "This dress cost three thousand dollars!"

"So what if it's three thousand?" I kept my voice calm and casual as I reached for another garment, scissors ready. This time I cut off a tag worth five thousand dollars.

Barbara jumped up, trying to stop me, but I had the advantage of being taller and stronger. She couldn't do anything to stop me.

Within minutes, I had cut off every single price tag from all the dresses.

She stared at me in disbelief, her face flushed red with rage. "Ophelia, what the hell is your problem today? Are you out of your damn mind? Get yourself together or get out of here!"

I just smiled, completely unbothered by her anger.

After all, compared to how I had died in my previous life, making her pay for a few dresses was nothing.