For the next two days, I can't stop thinking about Clara.
Her words echo in my head like a song that won't end.
"You're not the only one who remembers."
If she really knows something about my past life, I need to find out how.
That morning, when Adrian leaves for work, I tell the maid I'll be in the library. Instead, I go to his study.
The air in there smells like leather and quiet power. Books line the walls, papers stacked neatly on his desk.
I start searching. Not because I don't trust him, but because I can't trust anyone right now.
At first, I find nothing. But then, inside a drawer, I spot a folder with Clara's name on it.
I hesitate for a second before opening it.
Inside are old photos. Clara smiles beside Adrian at charity events, business parties, and even a private dinner. But one photo catches my eye.
It's not her smile, it's her necklace—a silver pendant shaped like a flame.
My breath catches. I've seen that necklace before.
In my dreams.
In the fire.
I hear footsteps in the hallway. Quickly, I slide the folder back into the drawer and step away.
The door opens. Adrian stands there, eyebrows slightly raised. "You're in my office."
I keep my tone calm. "I was looking for a book."
He studies me for a long second. "You're a terrible liar, Emma."
I meet his gaze. "And you're a terrible husband."
His eyes darken, but he doesn't reply.
We stare at each other in silence. The air feels heavy, charged.
Finally, he says, "Stay out of my office." His voice is low, firm. "There are things here you don't want to find."
He walks past me, leaving the scent of his cologne and a thousand unspoken secrets behind.
When the door shuts, I exhale slowly.
He's hiding something, too. I can feel it.
That night, I couldn't sleep again. I take my phone and start searching for Clara Holt online.
Her name brings up pages of photos, fashion events, charity dinners, and business galas. She's everywhere, glowing like she owns every room.
But something feels off.
I scroll further and find an old article dated five years ago, the same year I died.
It's about a wedding fire that killed one and injured several guests. The article mentions the bride's name, Emma Blackwood.
My hand trembles as I scroll down.
At the bottom of the page, there's a blurred photo. Fire in the background. People screaming.
And there, among the smoke and chaos, os is a woman in a silver dress with a flame-shaped pendant.
Clara.
The room suddenly feels cold.
I whisper to myself, "She was there."
Why was she there? How did she survive when I didn't?
I close my eyes, and for a second, I see it again that night, the burning walls, the sound of betrayal, and her standing in the corner, watching.
She wasn't helping.
She was smiling.
The next morning, I decided to visit the place where it all happened. I tell Adrian I have errands to run and take one of the cars myself.
The old chapel where my first wedding took place is now abandoned. The air smells like ash and old memories.
I walk through the broken doors and down the aisle that once had flowers and laughter.
Now it's just dust and silence.
In the middle of the floor, I kneel and touch the ground where it all ended.
"I'm back," I whisper. "But this time, I'll find out the truth."
A soft sound behind me makes me turn. A man stands in the doorway of an old caretaker.
"Excuse me," I say gently. "Do you remember what happened here?"
He nods slowly. "A fire. They said it was an accident."
"Was it?" I ask.
He hesitates. "Some people said they saw a woman leave before it started. Dressed in silver. She didn't look scared."
My heart nearly stops. "Did you see her face?"
He shakes his head. "No. But she left this behind."
He pulls something from his pocket, a small charm.
A silver flame pendant.
That night, returned home shaken but calm on the outside. I hide the pendant in my drawer, beside the bracelet Clara gave me. Two pieces of the same nightmare.
When Adrian comes home, he looks tired. "Rough day?" he asks.
I nod, smiling faintly. "You could say that."
He steps closer, watching me closely. "You've changed, Emma. You're not the same woman I married."
He's right. I'm not.
"I guess people change when they start remembering who they really are," I say quietly.
He frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," I lie, turning away.
When he leaves the room, I pull the pendant out again and hold it under the light.
Then I see small letters carved on the back.
"C.H."
Clara Holt.
My hands shake.
She was there the night I died.
And maybe… she wasn't just watching.