Life, as it is, offers everyone the same raw opportunity. The difference lies in whether an individual chooses to grasp it with both hands or let it slip away like sand between their fingers.
I have been granted another shot at life—a fresh body, a fresh name—and I am determined to wring every last drop of potential from it, no matter the cost, no matter what storms roll my way. This time, I will not be passive. This time, I will carve the life I've dreamed of, regardless of how Death feels about it.
Tonight was supposed to be the first major step in that direction.
The most anticipated VIP party of the season was underway, and I had no intention of missing it. Habib had already arrived before me, and by the time I got word, he was surrounded by some of the prettiest girls in the city—each one clinging to him as if he were the very source of the night's excitement. They didn't know the truth: the person they were all buzzing about, the reason the party even existed, hadn't yet walked in. That person was me.
I took my time dressing for the occasion, pulling the finest suit from the closet and fastening my most prized accessory—a gleaming, authentic Richard Mille watch that shimmered under even the faintest light. Sliding behind the wheel of my sleek, low-slung car, I made my way to the party with the confidence of someone who had lived several lives and learned from every one of them.
The moment I pulled up, I could feel the air change. As I stepped inside, the atmosphere erupted into something electric. Eyes widened. Conversations faltered. For a split second, the entire room seemed to hold its breath. Then came the rush—hands reaching out to touch me, soft fingers curling into my shirt, my wrist, my jacket. Women with painted lips and sharp perfume pressing closer as though proximity to me might alter the course of their evening.
I had come here with only one goal: to drink, to dance, to lose myself. Never in my previous lives had I been granted such privilege, and tonight I was determined to taste every drop of it.
The music was a deep, steady throb beneath my skin, and the tables were lined with bottles that gleamed like liquid treasure. I drank without restraint. Glass after glass until the edges of the room began to blur and my body swayed with a will of its own. The dizziness crept in, soft at first, then sharp enough that I had to blink to steady myself.
"Hey," Habib's voice cut through the music, concerned but tinged with amusement. "Why'd you drink so much when you're clearly a lightweight?"
A lightweight? That word lodged in my head like a splinter.
"I am?" I asked, my voice thick with surprise. "No wonder I can't even keep my balance." I laughed, trying to disguise the way the room kept tilting.
Habib leaned closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. "The host of tonight's party is here. If you get on his good side, you might end up modeling for their company. The most prestigious one in the country."
That caught my attention immediately.
The truth was, this party had two purposes. First, to celebrate my success in the modeling industry. Second, to formally introduce me to a corporation that could catapult me far beyond anything I'd achieved so far: The Simons Group of Companies. They weren't just big—they were a sprawling empire with their hands in industries ranging from fashion to finance.
And then it hit me like a shockwave—this was the same company I had once dreamed of working for in my previous life. Back then, it had been nothing more than a fantasy, a distant lighthouse on the horizon of my ambitions. I had chased it, fought for it, and then… Death had taken it away from me.
Now here I was, wearing Hakeem's skin, about to stand in the same room as their CEO.
Suddenly, the music cut out and the club was swallowed in darkness. A single spotlight hit the stage, and the DJ's voice rang out over the speakers:
"Presenting the host of tonight's party—CEO Governs Simon!"
He emerged from the shadows with an easy, commanding grace. My heart froze.
Governs Simon. Elder brother of Parkenston Simon—the first man I had been reincarnated into after Death's cruel game began. My mind flashed with images of Parkenston's life: the dizzying heights of power after inheriting the company from his late father, the cruel twist of fate that sent his plane plunging from the sky. I remembered the panic, the blinding white flash before everything went silent.
And now, here stood his brother, smiling warmly at the crowd.
The people cheered, some reaching out to shake his hand. He accepted each greeting with the kind of grace only the truly powerful can carry without arrogance. Eventually, he made his way toward our table. Habib was quick to greet him.
"This is my friend," Habib said with a proud smile, "He's a model."
Governs studied me with a calm, appraising gaze. "Is that so? He's certainly handsome enough for the job." He extended his hand.
And that's where I ruined it.
"Hey, wait," I blurted, my voice slurred and my head wobbling like a kite cut loose from its string. "Haven't we met before?"
For the briefest moment, something flickered in his eyes—but then it was gone. His smile never wavered. "I'm sure we haven't," he said politely.
But I wouldn't let it go.
"No, no, I know you," I insisted, leaning forward as though that might bring back the memory for him. "We've met. I'm sure of it."
He handled it with patience that bordered on saintly. "Enjoy your night," he said with a small nod before moving toward the high tables above.
I spent the rest of the night drinking and dancing, slipping deeper into the haze, while Habib watched with a mixture of disbelief and quiet disapproval.
When I woke, it was morning. I was sprawled across my own bed, my mouth dry as dust and my head pounding like war drums. I had no memory of how I'd gotten home.
I barely had time to gather my thoughts before the door swung open. A tall man stepped in—Hakeem's older brother, a stranger to me until this moment. The orb that had given me Hakeem's memories had kept this detail from me.
He owned a café just a short walk from our apartment. Before leaving for an exchange program in the States, he had asked Hakeem to manage it in his absence. But I hadn't shown up. Not once.
He looked at me with narrowed eyes. "Have you been drinking?"
"Yes, I have. Why do you ask?" I replied, still groggy.
His frown deepened. "Seriously? When you promised to take care of the café for me? Get up. You're coming with me."
I groaned, but he was relentless, pulling me to my feet and shoving a clean shirt into my hands. I washed up, still reeking faintly of last night's liquor, and followed him to the café.
To my surprise, it was beautiful—small but inviting, the air rich with the scent of fresh coffee. I took up a tray and began serving customers, my mind drifting between tasks.
"Why would you drink that much when you're a lightweight?" he muttered at one point, echoing Habib's words from the night before. The repetition made me pause, but I pushed it aside.
I cleared a few tables to make room for new customers. "I'll just work today," I muttered under my breath, "and leave the moment he goes abroad again."
But fate had other plans.
"New customer," my brother called out.
I turned—and froze.
Standing at the counter was Rihanat.
The sight of her was a dagger to the heart. The café around me seemed to fade away, replaced by a rush of memories—memories not from Hakeem's life, but from mine. Her smile. Her voice. The promise I had once made to her in a moment of pure sincerity: You are the only one I love, and I will love only you.
And then the cruel truth—how I had broken that promise, not by loving another, but by ending my own life and leaving her behind.
She looked exactly as I remembered, and yet here she was in this new life, walking into my world again.
And I knew, without a doubt, that the real story was only just beginning.