The drive back felt endless.
My hands shook on the steering wheel, my mind replaying Daniel's words again and again.
"He's the one you need to remember."
Could it really be true?
Was Adrian the man from my past—the one who betrayed me, the one who let me burn?
When I reached the mansion, the lights were still on. Adrian was waiting in the living room, his expression unreadable.
"Where did you go?" he asked.
"Out," I said flatly.
"Don't lie to me, Emma."
I forced a smile. "Why start caring about honesty now?"
He frowned, stepping closer. "What does that mean?"
"It means," I whispered, "that I finally know what you're hiding."
For a second, something flickered in his eyes—fear? Guilt?—and then it was gone.
He exhaled slowly. "You've been talking to the wrong people."
"Or maybe," I said, voice trembling, "I've finally found someone who told me the truth."
He didn't answer.
Instead, he walked toward the window, his back to me.
"When I met you," he said quietly, "I thought you were different. But you're just like her."
"Like who?" I demanded.
He turned, eyes dark. "Like Emma Blackwood."
The room went silent.
My heart stopped.
He knew.
He had known all along.
I took a step back. "How long have you known who I am?"
"Since the day you walked into my office," he said. "Your face may have changed, but your eyes…" He gave a small, cold smile. "I never forget eyes."
My voice shook. "So it's true. You were there that night."
His jaw tightened. "You don't understand—"
"No," I cut him off, anger and pain mixing in my chest. "I understand perfectly. You used me. Twice."
He reached out as if to stop me, but I stepped away. "Don't touch me."
"Emma, please," he said softly. "Everything I did, I did to protect you."
I laughed bitterly. "From what? The truth?"
I turned toward the door, grabbing my coat. "I'm done with this house, Adrian. I'm done with lies."
"Where will you go?" he asked quietly.
"Anywhere you're not."
His voice lowered. "If you walk out that door, you'll put yourself in danger. Clara won't let you go this time."
I stopped, my hand on the handle. "Then maybe she and I finally need to meet properly."
He stepped forward, desperation flickering in his eyes. "Emma, you don't know what she's capable of."
I looked back at him. "Maybe you forgot—I've already died once."
Then I opened the door and walked into the night.
Outside, the air was cold and sharp. The moon hung high, watching like it knew my secrets.
For the first time in two lives, I felt free—terrified, but free.
I didn't know where I was going yet, only that I couldn't stop.
Because now I had a new purpose.
Not revenge.
Not survival.
Truth.
As I walked away from the mansion, my phone buzzed again.
A new message from the same unknown number.
"He's not the only one who remembers you."
My heart pounded.
I typed a quick reply:
Who are you?
The answer came almost instantly.
Someone who owes you a life.