The café was quiet, tucked away behind bookshop downtown. Rain tapped lightly against the window panes as Aaron sat at the farthest table, fingers nervously wrapped around a lukewarm mug of coffee.
Serena stepped in, shaking off her umbrella, and instantly spotted him. He looked different — older, somehow, though only five years younger than the version she remembered from her deathbed. His expression was pained. Confused. Wounded.
Perfect.
"Hey," he said softly when she approached.
"Hey," she replied, sitting across from him. "You look terrible."
Aaron laughed dryly. "Thanks. That's comforting."
They sat in silence for a few beats before he finally said it.
"I broke up with Clara."
Serena raised an eyebrow. "You said that in your text. I just want to know why. What changed?"
Aaron hesitated. "I don't know. Something felt… off. Like she was putting on a mask around me. I kept seeing little things — weird messages, odd disappearances, times she said she was one place and ended up somewhere else."
Serena leaned forward, feigning curiosity. "Did you confront her?"
"I tried. She denied everything. Said I was imagining it." He ran a hand through his hair.
"But then I found some old messages between her and Chris. From before she and I ever dated. Some of it was… intimate. And recent. She swore it meant nothing, that it was 'just flirting,' but…"
"But it wasn't," Serena finished for him.
He looked up at her. "No. It wasn't."
For a moment, guilt pricked her. Just a tiny flicker. But then she remembered the cold, sterile hospital bed. The way Aaron had stopped visiting. The laughter of Clara echoing in the hallway on the day of her family's collapse. The way no one believed her when she said Clara had orchestrated everything.
Let it hurt him. Just a little.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"I feel like an idiot," he muttered. "And I hate that I still care about her."
"That's normal," Serena said gently. "You're grieving the version of her you thought was real."
He looked at her then — really looked. "You've changed."
Serena smiled faintly. "So have you."
Back on campus, Clara was unraveling.
She stared at her phone in disbelief, her cheeks flushed with humiliation. Her Instagram followers had dropped by the thousands overnight. The latest anonymous blog post didn't just imply her infidelity — it outright named her as a serial cheater.
And worst of all, Aaron had gone silent.
She slammed her phone down and screamed into her pillow.
Her roommate peeked through the door. "Are you okay?"
"Do I look okay?" Clara snapped.
The girl retreated quickly.
Clara sat up, breathing hard. Her eyes burned with fury.
It's Serena.
It had to be. She had returned from the shadows with more confidence, more polish — and now Clara's carefully built tower of lies was crumbling piece by piece.
And yet… she had no proof.
But she would get it. And when she did, she'd make sure Serena wished she had stayed dead.
Meanwhile, Serena sat in her boutique's backroom, surrounded by sketches and fabric samples. Her new fall line was almost ready. Evelyn had even offered to model, though she was still wary of Serena's "change in personality."
Let her be wary, Serena thought.
I'm not here to be liked. I'm here to win.
But something bothered her.
Not guilt. Not fear.
A feeling. Like she was being watched.
That night, she triple-checked her doors. Locked her laptop. Closed her curtains.
Still, sleep came slowly.
And in the shadows of her boutique, someone stood across the street…
watching.