Stolen Destiny: Letting My Bestie Marry the Monster

Why does one choice make such a difference? Why do you get all the luck?

Destiny's eyes were bloodshot. Her arms locked around me like a vice, dragging us both over the edge.

Thirty-two stories.

Gravity yanked my stomach out of my body. Terror paralyzed my lungs, turning my scream into a choked gasp. But beneath the freezing panic, a twisted, absurd sense of relief flooded my veins.

The wind whipped my silk dress violently, the fabric snapping against the raw, weeping wounds on my inner thighsfresh souvenirs from last night.

I looked at Destiny.

Her face wasn't scared. It was twisted into a triumphant sneer that screamed, I won.

I managed one last, pitying smile.

You idiot.

You think you just snatched a VIP ticket to Heaven?

It wasn't a ticket to Heaven, honey. It was the death warrant Ive been praying to burn.

Chapter 1

The wind screamed in my ears.

ThenTHUD.

My eyes snapped open. Blinding sunlight. The heat radiated off the asphalt, heavy enough to choke on.

Right there, lying in the middle of the scorching street, was a guy.

Dj vu hit me like a physical blow to the chest.

"Oh my god! Someone passed out!"

Before I could even process the fact that I was breathing, Destiny popped her umbrella open and sprinted toward him. She moved so fast she nearly rolled her ankle in her heels.

She dropped to the ground, crouching beside the stranger. She wiped sweat from his forehead with her bare hand, unscrewed a water bottle, poured a little into the cap, and fed it to him like he was a wounded bird. She didn't forget to look back at me, waving frantically. "Sloane! Go! You're gonna miss your interview! 911 will take forever to get here. That job is one in a millionI've got this!"

I froze.

In my last life? She complained about the heat. Told me to stop playing hero.

She had a bottle of water in her purse but refused to take it out. She told me to go buy one. And while I was running to the bodega, she stole my interview.

I called her phone. Straight to voicemail. I thought something happened to her.

By the time the ambulance arrived and I sprinted to the office, drenched in sweat and panic, Destiny was already hired.

She gave me this wide-eyed, innocent look. Said she only went in to "buy me time," but they called my name and she didn't want the opportunity to go to waste.

The salary was insane. The benefits were top-tier. I felt sick to my stomach, but I told myself I probably would have bombed the interview anyway. She was my best friend. Better her than some random stranger, right?

I was so stupid.

The second she got that offer letter, the mask slipped. She flaunted the job. The money. The superiority.

That arrogance lasted exactly until the man I saved used his connections to make me her boss.

She snapped.

Thats why she dragged me off that roof. I can still feel the phantom wind cutting my face

So, Destiny came back too.

She remembers.

But she doesn't know I remember.

In my last life, the single biggest regret I had was skipping that interview to save this man.

If the universe is handing me a do-over?

Im taking it.

You can have him, Destiny.

Chapter 2

That makes thirteen candidates. They definitely already picked someone internally.

The waiting room at Vanguard Holdings smelled like stale coffee and high-stakes desperation. Dozens of applicants for the Product Strategy Lead position were vibrating with anxiety.

The salary was insane. The interview process was brutal: one round, winner takes all.

Everyone else looked like they were about to be sick.

Me? My heart rate was dead flat.

Once you have hit the pavement from thirty-two stories up, a corporate interview does not exactly register on the fear scale.

Next. Sloane.

I followed the assistant into the office.

Mr. Sanders sat alone behind a mahogany desk.

I got the job through nepotism in my last life, but I knew his type. I knew this company. And I knew him.

Mr. Sanders did not care about Ivy League degrees. He wanted sharks.

I am Sloane. This is my portfolio from the last five years. I benchmarked against six major competitors. Five of those products broke quarterly sales records. Here is the real-time volume data.

Three minutes. Surgical. Lethal.

It flowed out of me effortlessly. It should. I spent days rehearsing this exact speech with Destiny in my previous life. That was the only reason she was able to memorize it, swap out the name on my resume, and steal my future.

Mr. Sanders adjusted his glasses. He looked intrigued. "Ms. Sloane, I am curious. What happened to the sixth company? Why did that product fail?"

I gave a small, apologetic shrug. "The strategy worked fine. The launch just hit a snag. The IRS raided the CEO for tax evasion about an hour before we went live."

Mr. Sanders froze. Then, a genuine grin cracked his stoic face. He nodded, eyes lighting up.

I walked out.

Before I even reached the lobby, the assistant tapped me on the shoulder. "You are hired. Report in three days."

I gave a calm nod, keeping my face blank. Inside, I was popping champagne.

Destiny was waiting for me outside the glass doors. When I told her I nailed it, she plastered on a supportive smile, but she made sure to keep it condescending. "Wow. See? You are made for the corporate grind, Sloane. Unlike me. I am just the idiot who gets sunburned playing Good Samaritan in this heat. Look at my skin peeling."

She touched her red shoulder, wincing for effect.

Her words said she was suffering.

But her eyes?

Her eyes were screaming that she just won the lottery.

Chapter 3

We took the subway.

The car was packed tight, a tin can full of body heat and exhaustion. Destiny pinched her nose, her face twisting in exaggerated disgust as she tried to float above the crowd. "I really hope that guy I saved was rich," she muttered, loud enough for the construction worker next to us to glare. "If he's a real-life Prince Charming, maybe he can rescue me from this smell. It smells like poor people and bad decisions in here."

She didn't notice the glares. Her face was buried in the blue light of her phone, scrolling frantically.

Suddenly, her grip tightened on my arm, her manicured nails digging into my skin. "Hey, Sloane. Look. Is this you?"

She shoved the screen in my face.

It was a TikTok video with a clickbait banner: Angel Saves Dying Stranger vs. Cold-Hearted Karen Watching Him Die ??.

The footage was shaky. It showed Destiny looking like Mother Teresa, wiping sweat off Harrison's forehead. And right there in the frame, I stood like a statue, watching with zero emotion.

The comments section was a dumpster fire.

She's just standing there? Wtf?

Literal psychopath behavior.

The girl in white is an angel fr. The other one belongs in jail.

Destiny watched me closely, waiting for the explosion. She wanted me to scream. She wanted me to defend myself so she could play the victim.

I didn't give her the satisfaction.

I just leaned down and unbuckled my stilettos.

"What are you doing?" she asked, blinking.

"My feet hurt," I said flatly. "Letting them breathe."

I slipped my feet out, gripping the heels of the shoes in my hands like daggers. The cool metal of the shank pressed against my palm. Destiny looked disappointed that I wasn't having a meltdown.

When the train screeched into our station, the doors hissed open. Destiny scanned the platform, her eyes darting around nervously. She wasn't looking for the exit signs; she was looking for a person.

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

She flinched, avoiding my eyes. "Nothing."

That was when I saw him.

Mad Lester.

He barreled out of the crowd near the rear exit, a disheveled mess of a man clutching a massive, wilting head of Napa cabbage like a weapon. His eyes were wild, locked onto me.

Destiny reacted instantly. She side-stepped behind a pillar, leaving me completely exposed.

She knew.

Mad Lester roared, raising the cabbage to strike. But before he could bring it down, I moved.

"Die, heartless witch!"

I didn't flinch. I didn't scream.

I stepped into his guard and drove the steel point of my stiletto straight into his funny bone.

Crunch.

"Aaaagh!"

His arm went dead. The cabbage slipped from his numb fingers and exploded on the concrete floor, missing me by inches.

He doubled over, clutching his elbow, howling in agony. The sharp red indentation from my heel was already swelling on his skin.

I calmly slid my feet back into my shoes and flagged down a transit cop. "Officer. This man needs help."

Within seconds, he was pinned to the ground, screaming about being a "Warrior of Justice" sent to punish the wicked.

I remembered him now. In my last life, he saw the viral video and had a psychotic break. But back then, I was the hero and Destiny was the "indifferent" one who stole the interview. He had smashed that cabbage over Destiny's head, giving her a mild concussion.

I had forgotten about him until I stepped off the train.

Destiny stepped out from behind the pillar. She looked at the uninjured me, then at the groaning man on the floor. The disappointment on her face was so loud it almost echoed.

I ignored the news crews that showed up. I walked away.

Destiny, however, didn't miss a beat. She logged onto Twitter later that night, posting a selfie with a sad, teary-eyed filter.

Guys, please stop attacking my bestie! ?? She wasn't being cold, she was just super stressed about a job interview! You have the wrong idea! As long as the guy I saved is okay, that's all that matters. #Kindness #Forgiveness

I scrolled past it and tossed my phone on the bed.

She didn't care about forgiveness. She just wanted to make sure the algorithm kept her face trending while the heat was high.

She was fishing. And she was waiting for Harrison to bite.

Chapter 4

I buried myself in the workflow at Vanguard, learning the currents of the shark tank. Destiny went radio silent.

I didn't hear a peep from her. Until less than a week later.

I walked out of the office building, blinking in the twilight, when a bright red sports car screeched to a halt inches from my knees.

The window rolled down. Destiny was sitting in the passenger seat, pouting. But it was a performance. "Sloane! You're obsessed with work. You're ignoring me! Get in. We're getting dinner."

Harrison sat in the driver's seat. He flashed a smile that looked practiced in a mirrorsmooth, predatory, and entirely fake. "Any friend of the girl who saved my life is a friend of mine," he said, his voice dripping with forced charm. "Don't be shy."

My chest tightened. A cold knot formed in my stomach.

Five days. That's all it took. She was already in his car. She was already "his friend."

Fast. Too fast.

"Pass," I said, my voice flat. "I have plans."

Destiny didn't push. She just flipped her hair, her mask slipping for a fraction of a second to reveal the smirk underneath. "Fine. Don't force her, Harrison. Sloane gets uncomfortable around luxury. She's used to less. Shed probably be afraid to even breathe on this leather."

She laughed. The engine roared, and they peeled away, leaving me standing in the exhaust fumes.

The subway station was a fifteen-minute walk.

I made it halfway across the first intersection when the sky cracked open.

No warning. Just a sudden, violent deluge. The rain came down in sheets, heavy enough to bruise. There was no awning. No cover. I shoved my bag over my head and ran, my heels clacking frantically against the wet pavement.

A taxi blew past me. I waved my arm, desperate.

It didn't stop. It just slammed through a pothole, sending a wave of dirty, oily street water splashing up my legs.

Great.

I was shivering, soaked to the bone, fueling my rage with every step.

Then, a Rolls-Royce Phantom glided toward the curb.

It moved silently, like a shark in dark water. It slowed down right next to me.

My jaw clenched. If this rich prick splashes me, Im going to lose it. I dont care who he is.

The car stopped. The window purred down.

Griffin was behind the wheel.

He was popping a piece of gum, one hand draped casually over the steering wheel. He looked me up and down, then crooked a finger. "Get in."

The rain was torrential. I didn't ask questions. I yanked the door open and dove into the dry, leather-scented sanctuary of the backseat.

"Good timing," he said, watching me in the rearview mirror. "You looked like a drowned rat out there."

I wiped water from my eyes. "You're enjoying this."

"Maybe a little." He grinned. "I got off shift early. Just happened to be in the neighborhood."

He was wearing his police uniform. The tactical vest and badge screamed Law and Order, but his postureslouching, arrogant, chewing gum with his mouth openwas pure high school delinquent. The contrast was jarring.

"You know," he said, his tone shifting. "You've been ghosting me for eight years. Ever since the letter. You act like I don't exist."

"Why the sudden interest?" I asked, wringing out my hair.

"Sudden?" He raised an eyebrow. "I sent you a love letter eight years ago, Sloane. You never answered."

I froze.

Eight years ago? A love letter? For me?

My brain short-circuited. "What are you talking about?"

"The letter," Griffin said, his eyes locking with mine in the mirror. "The one I gave to Destiny. To give to you. Are you seriously playing dumb?"

Click.

The memory of Destiny's old notebook flashed in my mind. The pages filled with Griffin, Griffin, Griffin. The small tattoo she got on her ankle senior year.

She was obsessed with him.

She was the one who intercepted it.

"She never gave it to me," I whispered.

The air in the car suddenly felt very heavy.

Chapter 5

Griffin froze.

The air in the car turned solid. A heavy, suffocating silence that lasted about ten seconds too long.

Thankfully, he pulled up to my apartment building before I had to answer.

"Give me ten minutes," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt.

I ran upstairs, stripped off my soaked clothes, and threw on dry jeans and a fresh top. When I came back down, Griffin was leaning against the hood of the Rolls, looking like he owned the sidewalk.

We ended up at a quiet bistro a few blocks away.

When I told him I wanted to help with his investigation into Harrison, Griffin stopped eating. He leaned back, studying me with genuine surprise. "Why the sudden change of heart, Sloane?" He swirled his drink, a playful glint in his eyes. "Don't tell me"

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a mock whisper. "You finally realized the high school bad boy was the right choice all along? You trying to crawl back to me?"

I choked on my latte.

It took everything I had not to spit hot coffee directly into his smug face.

Buzz.

My phone vibrated on the table. A FaceTime request.

Destiny.

I took a breath and accepted.

Her face filled the screen, glowing with manic excitement. Harrison must have stepped away to the restroom, because she wasted zero time flexing. "Sloane! Look at this!"

She flipped the camera.

A table loaded with premium Omakase. A bottle of vintage Dom Prignon chilling in a silver bucket. And sitting on the chair next to her, buckled in like a VIP, was a brand-new Louis Vuitton Capucines bag.

"I told you to come," she squealed, flipping the camera back to her face. "You are missing out. Big time."

Her eyes were wide, glittering with triumph. "I'm telling you, Sloane. I didn't just save a guy. I saved a literal Prince Charming."

Then, she noticed the background behind me. Her smile twisted into a sneer. "Wait. Are you at a restaurant? Are you on a date?"

She laughed, a cruel, sharp sound. "Which loser is it this time? The bald guy? The one with the sweat problem? Turn the camera, let me see the wreckage."

To get my mother off my back, I had gone on a few disastrous blind dates recently. Destiny treated my humiliation like her personal reality TV show.

Griffin was watching me, his eyebrows raised in amusement. He looked like he wanted to grab the phone.

I wanted to hang up. I wanted to scream. But she was my only link to Harrison. I needed intel.

I forced my voice to stay steady. "It's not a setup. Just having dinner with an old classmate."

"A classmate?" She rolled her eyes. "Wow. Scraping the bottom of the barrel now? Who is it? Is he that ugly that you're hiding him?"

Griffin took a bite of his cheesecake, completely unbothered.

"Fine, be embarrassed," Destiny sighed, waving a manicured hand dismissively. "Don't worry, bestie. I'll ask Harrison to introduce you to one of his friends. You know, someone with actual money."

I opened my mouth to tell her to go to hell, but a hand reached across the table.

Griffin snatched the phone.

He centered himself in the frame, flashed a lazy, dangerous grin, and looked right into the camera. "Long time no see, Destiny."

The rambling stopped instantly. Dead silence.

Her face went pale. "When did you two" Her voice was tight. High-pitched. Jealous. "When did you two hook up?"

"Hook up?" I cut in, leaning into the frame. "Gross. He's practically your ex. You were obsessed with him for years. Girl code, remember? I don't touch your leftovers."

"We are not together," Griffin said at the exact same time.

In the background of her video, a heavy door clicked open.

Harrison was back.

Destiny's eyes widened in panic. She couldn't risk Harrison seeing who she was talking to. She couldn't risk me saying anything.

Click.

The screen went black.

Chapter 6

Dead of night.

The sheets were tangled around my legs. I tossed and turned, but sleep was a ghost I couldn't catch.

Buzz.

Destiny. Again.

I accepted the video call. Her face filled the screen, framed by dim, expensive mood lighting. "Sloane, oh my god. You have no idea how generous Harrison is." She held up a heavy, brass key, dangling it like a trophy. "He just gave me the keys to his penthouse."

"Wait, I have to go to the bathroom. Let me give you the tour."

She flipped the camera.

It was a palace. Crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling. Italian leather sofas. Marble floors that looked cold enough to freeze your reflection.

"It literally takes, like, five to ten minutes just to walk from the master suite to the bathroom," she giggled, her voice echoing in the vast, empty hallway. "Since we're practically sisters, I'll be nice. I might let you crash here for a night or two. You know, so you can see how the other half lives."

She flipped the camera back. She zoomed in on my face. "Look at you," she teased. "Your eyes are popping out of your head. Jealous?"

"So big, right?"

I wiped my palms against my duvet. They were slick with cold sweat.

Big.

Yeah. It was big.

I knew exactly how big.

I knew that floorplan down to the inch.

I knew that the distance from that bathroom to the bedroom wasn't measured in minutes. It was measured in blood.

In my last life, it took Harrison thirty agonizing minutes to drag my broken body across that endless floor. I could still feel the friction burn. I could still smell the metallic tang of my own blood soaking into that expensive rug