The black car screeched to a halt in front of the towering Thorne Mansion, its looming stone facade casting long shadows in the late afternoon light.
Inside the car, Elena had gone silent, her throat sore, her hands shaking from pounding on the door for the past ten minutes. Her voice, once defiant, had now cracked into exhausted whispers.
"I don't know who you think I am," she muttered, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "But I'm not her''
Lucien didn't respond. His eyes were locked on the mansion. Cold. Focused. A man at war with memory and madness.
The driver stepped out and opened the door.
The moment the door swung open, Elena bolted.
Elena launched herself from the seat, bolting across the steps, heart thundering, lungs tight. The sharp air bit at her skin. She didn't care. She just had to get away...
But she didn't get far. Lucien was faster.
His hand clamped around her wrist with inhuman speed and force, yanking her back into him. She slammed against his chest, gasping.
"Don't you remember?" he whispered into her ear, voice torn between rage and grief. "Tessa… please."
LET ME GO!" she screamed. "I'M NOT HER!"
Lucien stared down at her, his expression unreadable — pain, obsession, and something darker flickering in his eyes.
"Don't you remember?" he asked, voice shaking. "Tessa…"
"I'm NOT TESSA!" she shrieked. "She's dead! Whoever she was — I'm not her!"
"LET ME GO!" she screamed. "I'M NOT HER!"
But Lucien wasn't listening.
He was staring at her face, his eyes searching for answers.
From the front steps, the servants stood frozen in shock. Whispers rippled through them like wildfire.
The older staff who had served when *Tessa was alive* took one look—and *fled*, pale with fear, dropping trays and towels as they stumbled away from the door.
Lucien didn't even notice.
He dragged Elena up the marble steps, ignoring her kicks and screams.
"STOP—LET ME GO!" she cried, tears burning in her eyes.
But Lucien was already pulling her toward the mansion. Dragging her. His grip was strong, almost desperate. Elena fought, kicked, cursed but he didn't stop.
As they reached the steps, the servants froze in horror. Gasps. Screams. Trays clattered to the floor.
One of the older maids backed away, crossing herself, voice trembling.
"Ghost… it's her ghost—he's brought her back!"
Another staggered, knocking over a vase. "She died! We saw her buried! How is she standing there?!"
"She's back from the dead…"
"Lucien's cursed her soul "
Several staff members turned and ran, panic stricken. The ones who had known Tessa the best who had mourned her, buried her stared in disbelief and terror.
But Lucien said nothing.
He pulled Elena through the halls like a storm, servants scattering in his way.
Up the marble staircase.
Down the long corridor.
At the top landing, Isadora Thorne stepped out of her study, her elegant frame tense, lips pursed. Dorian Thorne, tall and commanding, followed behind her, eyes narrowed at the chaos.
"What is going on ?"
Lucien appeared, still dragging Elena, who was now breathless and sobbing.
Isadora's eyes widened in shock. Her hand flew to her chest.
"No…" she whispered. "It can't be…"
Isadora stepped back, shaking her head.
"That's not possible. Tessa is "
"Dead?" Lucien snapped, his eyes wild. "Then why is she standing here?"
Dorian's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"Because that's not her."
Elena pulled back again, her voice cracking. "I don't know what you people want from me!"
Isadora moved closer, her breath catching as she took in Elena's face — the exact face of the girl her son had buried ten years ago.
She whispered, "She looks like her. Down to the lashes…"
Lucien's grip loosened just slightly as he looked from his mother to Elena.
"No… it's more than that."
Dorian stepped forward, stern. "Lucien, let her go. Now."
Lucien's jaw clenched.
"Not until she remembers."
The atmosphere was suffocating. Heavy with old grief, shock, and something dangerously close to madness.
Isadora stood frozen, staring at Elena as if she'd seen death blink.
Her usually graceful features were pale, eyes wide, her lips trembling with a mother's fear not of the girl in front of her, but of what this would do to her son.
"She looks like her," she whispered again, still unable to look away. "Exactly like her…"
Dorian arms folded, stepped closer. His voice was low and cold. "This is not Tessa. This girl has her face, yes. But she's someone else. You can see the confusion in her eyes. She doesn't know a damn thing."
Elena jerked her arm again. "I told you already! I don't know any of you! Please Let me go!"
Lucien tightened his grip and snapped toward his father. "Then explain it. Explain how the universe gave me her face again. Her voice. Her scent. How can this be a coincidence?"
Isadora took a shaky breath, her voice barely a whisper. "Maybe it's a sign…"
That was enough for Elena.
With adrenaline surging, she yanked her hand from Lucien's distracted grasp and bolted to everyone's amazement, dashing down the hallway like a wild flame.
"HEY!" Lucien growled, and in a blur, he moved.
Faster than any normal man should. In a heartbeat, he was in front of her.
Elena gasped as she ran right into his chest again. Her head hurting from the impact.
He grabbed her shoulders, eyes blazing into hers. "You really thought you could outrun me?"
"LET ME GO!" she sobbed, pounding against him.
Behind them, two house guards appeared, alerted by the chaos.
Lucien didn't look at them. His voice was sharp and commanding.
"Take her to her room. Do not let her out of your sight."
"No! No, you can't do this!" Elena screamed, struggling as the guards gently but firmly took her arms.
Lucien watched as she was dragged away, her voice echoing down the marble halls.
"I'M NOT HER! I'M NOT TESSA!"
But deep down, Lucien wasn't listening to her words anymore.
He could still feel her heartbeat.
And it felt exactly like the one that was stolen from him ten years ago.
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