Chapter 87

Miranda’s POV

When I emerged from the riverside, water dripped from my borrowed body, pooling at my feet as the early sun warmed my skin. My breath came in short gasps, my mind racing. I wasn’t Miranda anymore. No, not in this reality. My reflection earlier had confirmed it—I now inhabited Laila Martins’ body. A fresh chance, a twisted kind of miracle. I straightened my spine, wiping away the salty tears that mingled with the ocean’s residue. If the heavens had given me this second chance, I wasn’t going to waste it.

Standing by the road, I hailed a taxi with a trembling hand. The driver, an older man with kind eyes, gave me a curious glance.

“Miss Martins?” he asked, tilting his cap.

“Yes,” I managed to say, voice steadier than I felt. Laila’s voice. Soft, melodic, yet weighed down with sadness.

He nodded and began driving. For the next ten minutes, I stared out the window, my mind spinning. Laila’s memories were faint but present, like whispers