Getting a second chance at life isn't exactly as enchanting as it seems.
Sohee Young, who lived life like the callous person she was, dies. She gets another chance to live life correctly though, and that is by swapping lives with Lina Park, who die...
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EMMA. HER NAME lingered in my head as I stepped into Mr. Johnson's office. Visiting the pier regained my memories faster, and the rush of emotions I had experienced for the past month overwhelmed me. And though she and I based our friendship on a mutual benefit, we became closer than that.
She helped me through a rough patch, and though she'd prevent me from giving her anything back—thinking that I was paying off my debts—this was something that I wanted to do. Have been, for a while.
"Sohee!" He greeted, arms spread wide, a grin on his face. The clean, all American look, with the hair slicked back and the suit and tie did nothing to make him innocent. Instead of the usual hug, I slammed a contract on his desk.
"I heard your movie hit made millions overnight," I said, pasting a smile of my own. If he could play nice, I could, too. "Congratulations. 30 million upfront must have been a great deal."
"Thank you," he laughed, more nonchalant than humble, and sat back down. Hadn't even spared a glance at the sheet of paper between us. "Maybe next time, you can come in as a cameo. Brush up on your acting skills and enter that field."
I knew what the offer meant. Appearing in one his videos meant opening up newer connections, advancing to another field and gaining more attention. Accepting it would be more reasonable than what I was about to do, which still was a huge risk.
Narrowing my eyes, I said, "Jamie Lee."
The figure in front of me stiffened. Hands inched toward the hastily made contract, perceptive. "Should I know her?"
"I think you should. Heard of Emma Lee? Your daughter, perhaps?"
His stance widened as he stood again, looming over me. The past, realistic version of me would have backed off, but the adrenaline from taking the stairs—until I switched to the elevator—short circuited all rational thoughts. It was ridiculous, me and informal contract going against a well known, untouchable director.
But I was already here.
"Heard you took off with your wife's trust funds. How about that? Your filmmaking career starting off on a lie. I can't believe you said that you started from scratch, working at the bottom serving coffee."
And there it was. The twitch in his eye—a telltale sign that I got on his nerves. Like my father, not having a clean reputation annoyed him. The slightest scandal could have actors and agencies backing off. The media finding out that Dylan Johnson was a divorced man who had a child and took the trust fund of his ex-wife?
Gold. Not just gold, either, but a whole landmine of it.
The corner of his lips curved up. "If you've done your research, Miss Young, you would've found out that they signed an NDA."
"But I didn't," I shot back, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. Of course he made them sign an NDA—he had to make sure that nothing would harm him.
