I couldn't sleep again.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that photo of my face smiling in a life that shouldn't exist anymore.
The date, the flames, the blurred man beside me.
Who was he?
And why did Adrian look terrified when he saw that picture?
The next morning, Adrian was already gone.
The bed felt cold.
The silence between us was growing louder every day.
I sat by the window, staring at the gray sky, holding the pendant in one hand and the photo in the other.
If Clara knew about my past… maybe someone else did too. Someone who wasn't lying to me.
I decided to visit the city archives. It was a quiet place full of dust and forgotten stories, the kind of place where the truth liked to hide.
The clerk looked half asleep when I asked, "Do you have records from the Blackwood wedding fire? Five years ago?"
He blinked. "That was a long time back. But yes, I think we still have a file."
He left for a few minutes, then returned with a brown envelope. "Not much left. Most of it was destroyed."
I opened it carefully. Inside were police reports, a few photos of the chapel after the fire, and a list of names.
Victims.
Witnesses.
One name stood out: Daniel Ross.
I frowned. I didn't know him. But something about that name tugged at my memory, like a thread pulling from a deep, dark place.
An hour later, I was standing in front of a small bookstore on the edge of the city.
A bell chimed as I walked in. The smell of old pages filled the air.
A man looked up from behind the counter, mid-thirties, kind eyes, but there was something haunted about his face.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
"Are you Daniel Ross?"
He hesitated. "Yes. Do I know you?"
I took a deep breath. "Maybe you used to."
He studied my face for a long time, his eyes narrowing. "You look… familiar."
My heart pounded. "You were at a wedding fire five years ago. The Blackwood wedding."
His expression changed. The color drained from his face.
"How do you know about that?"
"Because I was there."
He took a step back. "That's impossible. The bride died that night."
I met his eyes and said softly, "What if she didn't?"
For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then he whispered, "Emma?"
Hearing my old name on someone else's lips made my chest ache.
"I thought I saw you run back into the fire," he said, his voice shaking. "I tried to follow, but the roof fell."
"Why were you there?" I asked.
He looked down. "I was your friend. Your… photographer. You hired me for the wedding. But I saw something that nig, ht something I shouldn't have."
My breath caught. "What did you see?"
He shook his head. "Two men arguing near the back door. One of them pushed the other into the fire. And then…" He looked away. "You screamed."
I felt the room spin. "Did you see their faces?"
He hesitated. "One of them looked like… your husband."
My stomach turned cold. "My husband?"
"The man you married that day," Daniel said quietly. "He wasn't who you thought he was."
I left the shop trembling.
If what Daniel said was true, then someone I loved in my past life betrayed me.
And now, in this life, I was married again to another man with too many secrets.
Was I repeating the same mistake?
When I got home, Adrian was waiting in the living room. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled up, a drink in his hand.
"Where were you?" he asked. His tone was calm, but his eyes were sharp.
"Out," I said.
"Out where?"
"Does it matter?"
"It does when you look like you've seen a ghost."
I laughed bitterly. "Maybe I have."
He set the glass down. "Emma, what's happening to you? You're not sleeping. You're hiding things. Tell me the truth."
I looked at him, searching for something: guilt, love, regret. But all I saw was a wall.
"Would you believe me," I asked quietly, "if I said I've lived this all before?"
He froze. "What do you mean?"
"I mean this house, this fear, this feeling that something terrible is coming." I took a shaky breath. "It's like I'm living the same nightmare again."
"Emma—"
"No," I cut him off. "Don't lie to me anymore. Who is Clara? What happened five years ago? Why do I keep dreaming of a fire?"
He looked at me, his jaw tight, eyes dark with something like pain.
Finally, he said, "Because some fires never go out. They just change form."
Before I could ask what he meant, he walked out.
That night, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the photo.
The man beside me in that ture, the one whose face I couldn't see, could it really have been him?
The thought made my chest ache in a way that felt too real, too cruel.
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
"I know who killed Emma Blackwood."
I stared at the screen, my hands trembling.
Before I could reply, another message appeared.
"Meet me tomorrow. Midnight. The old chapel."
My heart pounded.
Was it a trap?
Or was it the truth I'd been searching for since the moment I opened my eyes in this second life?
I didn't know.
But I had to go.
Because whoever that person was, they knew what really happened the night I died.