I Woke Up at 17 to Save the Boy Who Died for Me

§PROLOGUE

At twenty-seven, Everly Sutton died on her wedding anniversary, betrayed by her perfect husband and failed by her own heart.

The clinical beep of the heart monitor was the last sound she heard, a monotonous countdown to the end.

Her life didn’t flash before her eyes.

There was only a single, searing regret.

A boy’s face, fierce and broken, framed by the unforgiving shadows of an alleyway.

Lachlan Dawson.

She woke up ten years earlier, a seventeen-year-old girl in the chaotic hallways of North Crestfall High, with a second chance she never asked for, but now desperately needed.

Her mission was singular: save him.

The town's resident bad boy from Ironwood Lane.

The ghost from her past who had secretly sacrificed everything for her.

This time, she wouldn’t let him.

§01

The bell shrieked, a piercing sound that vibrated through Everly Sutton’s bones, dragging her back to a reality she still couldn’t accept.

It had been three days.

Seventy-two hours of living in a ghost’s skin.

Her own seventeen-year-old skin.

The body felt alien—lighter, quicker, buzzing with an energy her older self had long forgotten.

She stood frozen by her locker, the chaotic flood of students a blur of noise and faded denim.

A part of her, the twenty-seven-year-old widow, wanted to scream.

The other part, the terrified seventeen-year-old, just wanted to disappear.

Then she saw him.

And the world snapped into sharp, painful focus.

Lachlan Dawson.

He leaned against the far wall, a solitary island in the sea of chattering teenagers.

His school uniform was a rumpled mess, the tie loosened, the sleeves of his black hoodie frayed at the cuffs.

He was all sharp angles and coiled tension, a storm cloud of silent fury.

His head was down, staring at the scuffed toes of his boots, but she could feel the defensive aura radiating from him.

Don’t look. Don’t get close.

As if sensing her stare, he looked up.

His eyes, a startlingly intense shade of stormy grey, met hers for a fraction of a second.

There was no recognition. Just a flicker of surprise, then dismissal.

Of course. Why would there be?

To him, she was just Everly Sutton, the quiet, straight-A student. The girl who always followed the rules.

The girl who was practically attached at the hip to the school’s golden boy, Graham Montgomery.

A bitter, acidic taste filled her mouth at the thought of Graham.

The memory of his voice, smooth and reasonable on the voicemail he’d left as she lay dying, was branded into her soul.

“It’s a bad investment, Evie… this heart condition… I can’t build a future on that.”

A future. He had been planning his while hers was ending.

“Everly, over here!”

Graham’s voice—the same voice—cut through her dark thoughts, as charming and carefree as ever.

He stood by the main doors, a beacon of counterfeit perfection, his smile effortless, his hair flawless.

The boy everyone thought she should be with. The boy she had married.

The monster she now despised with every fiber of her being.

“Coming,” she called back, her own voice a hollow echo.

She slammed her locker shut, the sound unnaturally loud.

Her eyes darted back to Lachlan.

He wasn’t looking at her anymore.

His gaze was fixed on Graham, and the look in his eyes was a poison she recognized.

It wasn’t just dislike. It was a cold, hard hatred.

A hatred she now understood completely.

Because in another life, Lachlan had seen the monster long before she ever had.

§02

The next day, the air in the hallway crackled with a tension only Everly seemed to feel.

She was trying to get to her chemistry class when Graham materialized in front of her, leaning against the water fountain with a proprietary smile.

“I saw you yesterday,” he said, his voice a low, possessive murmur meant only for her. “Staring at Dawson.”

“He’s a person, Graham, not a science experiment. People look at other people,” she replied coolly, taking a deliberate step back, creating a space he immediately tried to close.

“Stay away from him, Evie,” he warned, his smile tightening. “He’s trash. A psycho from Ironwood Lane. You don’t want to be associated with that.”

The old Everly, the seventeen-year-old Everly, would have nodded meekly, eager to please.

But she was gone.

A surge of ice-cold fury washed through her.

“Don’t call him that,” she said, her voice sharp and clear, cutting through the hallway buzz.

Graham looked genuinely stunned, his perfect composure faltering. “What did you just say to me?”

Before she could answer, a commotion erupted twenty feet away. A loud bang, a yelp.

Lachlan Dawson had just shoved Mark, one of Graham's lacrosse-playing lackeys, against a bank of lockers.

“Say it again,” Lachlan’s voice was a low, dangerous growl.

“Dude, chill out! It was a joke!” Mark stammered, his face pale. “I just said Sutton’s way too good for a pretty boy like Montgomery!”

It was the same stupid comment that had started the fight in her old timeline. A fight that got Lachlan suspended.

Graham, seeing his friend in trouble and his authority challenged, immediately puffed out his chest. “You got a problem, Dawson?”

Lachlan didn’t even glance at him. His glare was laser-focused on Mark.

Everly’s heart pounded against her ribs. This was it. Her first chance to change something. To fix something.

Fear and resolve warred within her.

The fear was her old self, whispering to stay out of it.

The resolve was the woman who had died with regret.

The resolve won.

She pushed through the gathering circle of curious students.

“Lachlan, stop.”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the tension.

Everyone turned to stare at her. The whispers started instantly.

Everly Sutton, the good girl, was intervening.

For Lachlan Dawson.

His head snapped towards her, and for a second, she saw pure, unadulterated disbelief in his eyes.

She didn't hesitate. She walked straight into the charged space between them, placing a hand on his tense, coiled bicep.

She could feel the rigid muscle under his thin hoodie.

Download the Novellia app, Search 【 708869 】reads the whole book.