The first time Kai Mercer came looking for the woman he believed he loved, I protected the liar who had stolen my face. The second time, I took one look at the famous champion standing beneath a wall of cameras and realized death had given me something mercy never had: the chance to stop being useful to people who hurt me.
Chapter 1
“Lunablade?” Kai called as I walked past the side entrance of the Ether Rift Global Showcase. “Why are you avoiding me?”
I stopped so suddenly that a pair of teenagers behind me nearly collided with my backpack. Kai Mercer stood ten feet away, taller than he looked on tournament broadcasts, black hair perfectly styled, sponsor jacket fitted like it had been designed around his shoulders. He was a three-time world champion, captain of Storm Crown, the smiling face on gaming billboards from Los Angeles to Seoul, and a man who had apparently never considered that being adored by millions did not make him difficult to fool.
He came closer and held up his phone. “You’re even prettier than the picture.”
I looked at the screen and felt the old horror rise through me, followed by something colder.
My username was there. Lunablade. My avatar. My match history. My photograph.
But the messages beneath them were not mine.
If you lose to me again Saturday, I’m charging rent for living in your head.
You’re better when you stop trying to impress the crowd.
No voice tonight. My roommate’s sleeping.
And then the line that made my stomach twist because I remembered exactly what it had cost me the first time around.
You make winning taste better.
I had never typed a single one of those words.
My roommate, Brier Lane, had.
“Kai,” I said, “have you ever heard Lunablade speak?”
His smile faltered. “What?”
“Voice chat. Phone call. Video. Anything.”
“Well, no. You said—”
“I didn’t say anything.”
For the first time since I had known his name, Kai Mercer had no immediate answer.
Fans were gathering nearby. A couple of phones had already turned toward us. In another life, that would have terrified me. In another life, I had worried about embarrassing Brier, embarrassing Kai, embarrassing myself, embarrassing everyone except the person who deserved it.
This time I held out my hand.
“Give me your phone.”
His eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”
“If you think I wrote those messages, let me see them.”
Maybe he expected flirtation. Maybe he still believed this was some complicated game between two people who had spent months meeting anonymously in the highest-ranked Ether Rift queue every Saturday night.
Whatever he expected, he handed me the phone.
The chat went back months.
There were gifts. Rare skins. Credits. Sponsor passes. Private invitations. Even a draft agreement for a livestream called Crown Kai Meets Lunablade.
My gameplay.
My face.
Brier’s words.
Kai’s money.
I looked up. “You sent all this?”
His expression hardened slightly. “I thought we had something.”
“You had something. Just not with one person.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means the woman who beat you every Saturday and the woman who flirted with you afterward are two different women.”
His face went still.
I almost admired the silence.
“Kai,” I said, “I’m Lunablade. I created the account. I played every ranked match. I beat you. But those messages were written by my roommate.”
He stared at me as if I had changed languages halfway through the sentence.
“That’s impossible.”
“Your career is based on reacting quickly. Try it now.”
A few fans snickered.
His jaw tightened. “The face is yours.”
“Yes.”
“The account is yours.”
“Yes.”
“The gameplay is yours.”
“Yes.”
“And the messages—”
“Not mine.”
His gaze dropped to the screen.
In my first life, I had watched this same realization almost happen. Then Brier had rushed between us with tears in her eyes and whispered, “Maya, please. I was going to tell you. I just needed a start.”
I had been twenty years old, broke, exhausted, and stupid enough to believe kindness was measured by how much damage you agreed to absorb for someone else.
So I had lied.
I told Kai I had written the messages.
I became his girlfriend.
And for years, whenever I failed to be witty enough, warm enough, playful enough, he compared me to the woman he thought I had been online.
Where did that girl go?
Why don’t you talk to me like you used to?
You were so alive back then.
I had stood beside him while being haunted by a personality that belonged to Brier.
Then Brier became a successful streamer.
And when my career threatened hers, she laughed on a livestream and revealed everything.
“I wrote the messages,” she said. “Poor Maya just had the skill.”
The internet destroyed me.
Sponsors abandoned me. My account was suspended during a match-manipulation investigation Brier had helped manufacture. Kai called me a liar even though I had spent years preserving the lie for him. That rainy night outside an arena, with my name trending and my entire life collapsing, I stepped into the street.
Headlights.
Brakes.
Metal.
Darkness.
Then I woke up six years earlier.
The morning of the same convention.
The day the lie had begun controlling my life.
Now Kai’s phone buzzed in my hand.
BRIER.
A message appeared.
Did you find her? Why is Maya acting weird?
Kai saw it.
So did I.
I smiled and returned his phone.
“Ask your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Then you’re already making progress.”
I turned away.
“Maya.”
I stopped.
It was the first time he had used my real name.
“Brier told me your name,” he said slowly.
“I’m sure Brier told you many things.”
“What exactly are you accusing her of?”
I looked back at him.
“Identity theft. Unauthorized account access. Taking money under false pretenses. And being foolish enough to leave a digital trail.”
His expression changed.
Not disbelief anymore.
Fear.
Good.
My own phone buzzed before I reached the sidewalk.
Brier.
Where are you?
Then another.
We need to talk NOW.
I kept walking.
Three blocks later, I opened the door to our apartment and found her standing in the living room with her phone clenched in both hands.
“Maya,” she whispered, already crying. “Please. I can explain.”
I dropped my bag onto a chair.
“Wonderful.”
Her eyes widened.
“I’ve always wanted to hear what identity theft sounds like when it has to improvise.”
