The fire… it had me. Smoke in my lungs, heat on my skin. I tried to run, but it was everywhere. And then… nothing.
Then I woke up.
Cold floor under my hands. Silence. No smoke, no flames. Just… the apartment. The same apartment I lived in ten years ago.
I sat up. My heart was pounding so fast I thought it would explode. And then I saw him.
Damien.
The man I had loved. The man who had killed me.
He walked down the hallway like nothing had happened. That smile. That damn smile. Warm. Charming. Deadly.
"Elara?" His voice was calm, smooth. Dangerous.
I swallowed. "Hi… I didn't expect to see you here." My voice sounded small, even to me.
He tilted his head, looking at me like he could see something I wasn't showing. "You look… different."
Different. Yeah. I remembered everything. My death. The fire. Him, standing there, watching while I burned.
I had to be careful. I couldn't let him know I remembered. Couldn't let him know I had a second chance. I had to survive.
I watched him the rest of the day. Every word, every gesture. He was the same Damien—handsome, confident, impossible to ignore.
But I noticed things I hadn't before. The way his eyes flicked toward the window. The hesitation in his voice when the phone rang. The faint smell of cigars, which he didn't usually smoke.
A memory hit me. That night of the fire. Him. Smiling. Watching. Not moving.
I had to be careful. I couldn't trust him. Not now. Not ever.
That evening, the street outside was too quiet. My senses screamed. Someone was watching.
A shadow moved across the alley. My heart jumped. I froze. It paused, then disappeared. My pulse raced. Was someone following me? Or just my mind, scared and remembering too much?
I turned back to the apartment. And there he was. Damien. Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
"You look tense," he said softly. "Something on your mind?"
I forced a shaky laugh. "Nothing… just tired, I guess."
He stepped closer. And even though I tried not to be scared, I was. Something in the way he looked at me… not warmth. Not charm. Something dark. Something dangerous.
I whispered to myself, not him, "Be careful."
That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It didn't burn. No smoke. No screaming. But the fear was real.
He hadn't changed. Damien hadn't changed.
And I remembered everything.
The fire wasn't an accident. He had been waiting. Watching. And if I wasn't careful, it would happen again.
But this time… I had a choice.
I would watch. I would wait. I would survive.
Maybe… just maybe… I could turn the game around.
Then I heard a faint scratching at the window. My heart jumped. The night was too quiet. Too silent. And in my head, a whisper I couldn't forget:
"You weren't supposed to come back."
I froze.
This was my second life.
And Damien… Damien was waiting.