A pair of hands pulled me out of the water as I gasped and coughed for air, my lungs burning, my chest rising and falling in frantic waves. The taste of salt still lingered on my tongue, sharp and metallic, though the water around me was nothing like the ocean. I blinked rapidly, my blurred vision slowly sharpening as reality settled around me. The splash of waves was gone. The sting of sea breeze, gone. Instead, the faint scent of lavender soap and the echo of dripping water filled my ears.
I looked around in a daze, my body trembling. I wasn't drowning in the ocean anymore—I was in a bathtub. The polished marble tiles glistened, the golden handles of the tap catching the soft light. My breath came faster. Something was off.
"Oh my god, Mrs. Moonstone—your hand!" a young woman shrieked. She was dressed in a black-and-white uniform, the kind only seen in old mansions or costume dramas. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with horror as she pointed at me.
I followed her gaze, my own breath catching as my eyes landed on my left arm. Thin, jagged lines ran across my wrist, raw and angry, leaking into the bathwater that swirled faintly red. For a moment I froze, staring at the crimson ribbons spreading through the clear water. Cuts. Self-inflicted. But I didn't remember doing this. My heart raced wildly.
I don't remember cutting my hand. I don't even remember this place. And… since when did I have a maid?
Was this some kind of sick prank? Had I drunk too much and hallucinated everything—the cliff, the ocean, the impact of stone against my skull? My head still felt heavy, throbbing faintly. The confusion burrowed deeper, my thoughts spiraling like a storm.
The maid rushed forward, tugging me up with surprising strength. "We need to get you out of here, Mrs. Moonstone." Her voice shook, but her hands were steady as she wrapped a gown around me and supported my limp body out of the tub.
I staggered, my legs weak and trembling. She half-dragged, half-guided me toward a massive bedroom. She gently lowered me onto a bed far too luxurious to belong to me. The sheets were silk, the headboard an intricate design of ivory carvings. My gaze swept the space—spacious, neat, color-coordinated. This wasn't my room. My room back home had piles of clothes in the corners, paint stains on the floor, and the smell of turpentine lingering in the air.
I shivered. My mind tried to piece everything together, but it was like grasping smoke. Ocean. Rocks. Drowning. Now—bathtub. Cuts. A maid.
The girl bowed slightly. "I'll get the doctor, madam." She rushed out, her footsteps fading down the long hall.
Silence swallowed me whole.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. This wasn't just odd—it was terrifying. My eyes shifted toward the mirror standing tall in the corner of the room, its golden frame polished to perfection. My reflection made my stomach drop.
That wasn't me.
A stranger stared back: blonde hair falling in loose waves, emerald eyes that shimmered with both life and despair, freckles dotted faintly across porcelain skin. I touched my face with trembling fingers, half-expecting the reflection to lag behind or disappear. But it moved with me. Every blink, every tremor, every breath.
Panic surged through me. My chest heaved as the realization began to sink in. I wasn't just in another place—I was in another body.
I remembered novels, silly stories some of my friends used to talk about—where characters died only to wake up in another life, inside someone else. I always dismissed them as fantasy. Ridiculous. Fiction. But here I was, living it.
I slumped back against the pillows, pressing my palm against my forehead. My mind replayed the cuts on the wrist, the blood-stained water. Whoever this Emberly Moonstone was… she wanted to die too. And just like me, she had tried.
The door opened with a creak, startling me. A man in a white coat walked in briskly, his leather bag in hand. A doctor.
"Mrs. Moonstone, good morning," he said in a low, polite tone. He examined my wrist without delay. "Fortunately, the cuts aren't too deep. But…" his voice dipped, almost weary, "you really must stop doing this to yourself."
I stiffened at his words. So this wasn't the first time. My pulse quickened. Whoever's life I had been forced into… it was one riddled with despair.
He carefully disinfected the wounds, his movements practiced, efficient. "You should take these antibiotics to avoid infection," he said, scribbling something on his notepad. Then his eyes lifted to mine, stern but not unkind. "Mrs. Moonstone, I strongly recommend therapy. You must understand that your behavior has consequences—not just for you, but for your marriage as well."
I froze. His words rang in my ears like a siren.
"M-marriage?" My voice cracked, shaky. "I'm… married?"
The doctor frowned at my confusion but nodded. "Yes. You need to consider your husband. Recklessness like this… it could destroy everything you've built together."
I felt my heart plummet, my thoughts colliding violently. Married? Me? Astrid had been nothing but a lonely artist, abandoned and condemned by the world. The idea of being someone's wife felt foreign, impossible.
Before I could press him for more, the door opened again. Heavy footsteps echoed as a figure stepped inside, and the air in the room seemed to shift instantly, thickening, tightening.
A man.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that hugged his muscular frame. His presence was suffocating, commanding. His dark eyes locked on me, sharp and cold, and the very atmosphere seemed to bow under the weight of his authority.
The doctor immediately straightened. "Mr. Moonstone, good morning, sir. Your wife is stable now. She… she did not cause much trouble this time."
The man's gaze didn't waver from me. His expression remained unreadable, carved from stone.
My stomach sank. So this was the husband.
I barely heard the rest. The doctor excused himself quickly, leaving the two of us alone. The silence that followed was deafening, pressing against my chest like a vice. I couldn't meet his eyes.
"I leave you for a little while," his voice finally rumbled, deep and controlled, "and I return to this, Emberly?" His tone was sharp, dangerous in its calmness. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly through clenched teeth. "You've taken things too far. If you keep this up, I won't hesitate to chain you to this bed to keep you from doing something reckless again."
The words sliced through me, each one heavier than the last. Chain me? My body stiffened, fear racing down my spine. He was dangerous, a walking red flag.
I turned my head toward him slowly, forcing myself to speak, though my voice trembled. "L-look… I was on the verge, okay? Death felt like the only escape. You don't even know what I'm feeling inside." My chest tightened with raw emotion. "If you had really listened to me, really cared about my feelings, maybe we wouldn't be here in the first place."
He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. His dark eyes narrowed. "Oh, really? Then tell me, Emberly—was it finding out that your ex-boyfriend is getting married that pushed you to this again?"
My heart stuttered.
"What?" My voice came out as a whisper, then louder, desperate. "What??"
The implication struck like lightning. Was that why Emberly had tried to end her life? Over an ex? My mind reeled. Who was the villain here—her? Him? Or was it fate, cruel and twisted, that had tangled me in this mess?
"You're hopeless, Emberly," he muttered, his voice dripping with disappointment. He reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and grabbed my hand. Not roughly, but not gently either. His fingers slid a ring onto mine. "You dropped this. Try not to lose it again."
The metal felt foreign, heavy, as it rested on my finger.
And then—the door creaked open once more.
A small figure stood there, clutching a stuffed toy. A child. His wide eyes brimmed with tears, his lips trembling.
"M-mama…" he whispered, his small voice quivering, fragile.
My entire body went still.