Living a Second Chance as the Richest Daughter

The woman didn't stay long.

She didn't offer any well wishes, didn't ask how Shane—Anna—was feeling, and didn't even bother pretending to care.

She just left, her expensive heels clicking against the hospital floor, her perfume lingering in the air like an unwanted reminder.

Anna barely had time to process what had just happened.

Her hands trembled.

No. Not her hands. Shane's hands.

Her body was shaking.

A cold dread sat deep in her chest, suffocating, unfamiliar—yet familiar.

Shane's body was on the verge of breaking down.

Tears welled up in her eyes before she even realized it. A lump formed in her throat, making it hard to breathe. It wasn't her sadness. It wasn't her fear.

It was Shane's.

Anna clutched the bedsheet, forcing herself to stay still.

No. She couldn't afford to be scared.

She took slow, deep breaths, trying to steady herself.

She wasn't Shane.

She didn't know who that woman was to her, but if Shane's body was reacting like this, then one thing was certain—this woman had hurt her.

And Anna wasn't about to let her win.

She wiped at her eyes harshly, swallowing down the emotions bubbling inside her.

Whatever had happened between Shane and that woman…

She would find out.

She reached for the leather notebook beside her, the one with Shane's name engraved on the cover.

If there were answers anywhere, they would be in here.

Anna's brows furrowed.

"It's not here."

The words stood alone at the top of the first page, written in neat, careful handwriting.

She flipped to the next page. Blank.

Another page. Still blank.

She kept flipping, her fingers moving faster, searching for something—anything—that would explain what this meant.

But the entire notebook was empty.

Only those three words existed inside it.

"It's not here."

Anna's grip tightened around the leather cover.

Was this a journal? A diary? But if it was, then where were the entries? Where were Shane's thoughts?

Where was everything?

Her mind raced with possibilities.

Did Shane erase everything before she fell into a coma?

Did someone else erase it?

Or was there another notebook?

Anna swallowed.

Something about this felt wrong.

It wasn't just the emptiness of the pages. It was the feeling in her gut—the same feeling that told her Shane's body had recognized that woman, the same feeling that told her she was missing something important.

She looked at the words again.

"It's not here."

Then where was it?

Anna stared at the three expensive gadgets on the bedside table—Shane's phone, iPad, and MacBook. They looked untouched, pristine. Everything about them screamed wealth, a life of luxury she had never known.

She hesitated before reaching for the phone. It felt strange in her hands, unfamiliar yet familiar at the same time. Shane's hands. They moved on their own, fingers instinctively gripping the device as if it belonged to her. But it didn't.

Anna turned it on, and the screen immediately unlocked with Face ID.

Her chest tightened.

The phone recognized her face.

Her mind reeled at the thought, but she forced herself to focus. If Shane had hidden something, it would be in the phone.

She went through the apps—only a default messaging app and a music player were installed. No social media, no notes, no games. It was almost unnervingly empty, as if Shane had lived without any digital footprint.

Anna opened the messaging app.

Two names.

Mr. Jing. Samuel Tiu.

She clicked on Samuel Tiu first.

The message thread was empty, aside from a few call logs. The same with Mr. Jing—no messages, just occasional missed calls.

Anna frowned.

It was like Shane had no friends.

The realization hit her harder than she expected. Even though Anna had lived in poverty, she had people—Diane, her other friends, her family. But Shane…

Shane had no one.

Anna exhaled shakily, trying to suppress the growing unease curling in her gut.

Then, an idea struck her.

Her own social media.

She quickly installed a familiar app, using her old login details.

A flood of notifications exploded on the screen. Her heart pounded as she tapped on them, skimming through the dozens of unread messages and comments.

Then, she saw Diane's post.

Anna's breath caught in her throat.

A photo of Diane and her—smiling together in an old picture.

And right below it—

A picture of a coffin.

Her coffin.

Her vision swam as she read Diane's words.

"I still can't believe you're gone, Anna. You didn't deserve this. We were supposed to celebrate your birthday together. I miss you so much. Rest in peace, my dearest friend."

The world tilted.

Anna's fingers trembled as she scrolled through the comments. Each message was like a dagger to her chest.

"Gone too soon. 😔 Rest in peace, Anna."

"She was just at the hospital… How did this happen?"

"This is unfair. She was so full of life."

Her lungs constricted, her breath coming out in short gasps.

She clutched the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white.

No. No.

She was alive. She was here. She was breathing, thinking, moving—

But her body—Anna Lopez's body—was dead.

She forced herself to look down at her trembling hands.

Shane's hands.

A wave of nausea rolled over her, and suddenly, the hospital room felt suffocating.

How? Why?

Anna squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember.

The hospital. She had gone to the hospital.

That was the last thing she remembered before waking up in Shane Tiu's body.

Her stomach twisted as an eerie realization settled over her.

She wasn't supposed to be here.

Something wasn't right.

Anna sat frozen, gripping the phone tightly as the weight of the truth settled in.

She was dead.

Her body was gone, buried, mourned, and lost to the world. The life she had struggled through—her laughter, her pain, her dreams—it was all over. And yet… she was still here.

But where was Shane?

If Anna's soul had ended up in Shane's body, shouldn't Shane's soul have gone into hers? That was the only explanation that made sense. But if that were true… then why wasn't there any sign of Shane? No dreams, no whispers, no lingering presence.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to breathe.

Shoving Shane's things back into the bag, she told herself she had snooped enough. This wasn't her life, and digging any deeper wouldn't change anything. She already knew too much—enough to know she didn't belong here.

A bitter thought crept in. Maybe her death had been inevitable. She had been sick, after all. Maybe her fever had worsened that night, turning into a fatal infection. Maybe her body had just… given up.

But deep down, something didn't feel right.

If she had simply died from her sickness, why couldn't she remember those last moments? Why was her final memory of the hospital, nothing more? And why did this eerie sense of unease refuse to leave her?

A cold shiver ran down her spine.

Something wasn't right.

And now, she had to find out what really happened—to both herself and Shane.