The world was quiet.
Too quiet.
My eyes fluttered open, expecting to see white hospital walls and the dull ache of death still hanging over my chest.
But instead… I was in bed.
Jason's bed.
My eyes darted around in confusion. The soft morning light filtered through the cream-colored curtains. The digital clock on the nightstand read 6:34 AM.
I sat up slowly, heart pounding.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A calendar reminder popped up on the screen:
"Dinner with Jason & Lila – June 6th, 8PM."
My stomach dropped.
June 6th.
Three days before the accident.
Before Jason's betrayal.
Before Lila's lies.
Before the twisted wreck of metal and heartbreak.
I wasn't dead.
I was back.
I stood in stunned silence for what felt like hours. My hands trembled as I picked up my phone, went to Jason's contact, and hovered my finger over the screen.
I didn't need answers.
I didn't want them.
I knew what he'd done—and this time, I wouldn't wait around to catch him in the act.
I opened a new message.
AMIRA: We're done. Don't contact me again.
Then, without hesitation, I blocked his number.
Still shaking, I grabbed my duffel bag from the closet. I hadn't packed much—just what I could carry and what I wouldn't miss. The rest could rot in this house with him.
I took one last look at the bedroom we once shared—the place where I had spent countless nights hoping things would change, where laughter had once echoed but now felt like a stranger's echo in an empty room. There was no trace of me here, no sign that I had ever truly belonged. The walls were cold, the air stale with forgotten promises. This was never my home. Not really.
With a deep, steadying breath, I grabbed my bag and stepped into the silence that felt heavier than the weight on my shoulder.
Several hours later, I found myself in a small, dusty hotel room with a flickering lamp and a sink that wouldn't stop dripping. It wasn't the fresh start I had imagined—but it was mine.
I paid for three nights in cash. That's all I could afford until I figured out what came next.
Maybe I'd go stay with a distant cousin.
Maybe I'd take a train out of town.
Maybe I'd disappear.
I breathed in the musky air of the room, a strange feeling washing over me. With a sigh, I murmured, "I need some air."
The sidewalk was busy. People rushed past with coffees and phones, caught in the momentum of their lives.
I sat outside a small convenience store, sipping a bottled water and wondering how my life had crumbled so quickly twice—once in betrayal, once in death.
I was about to stand when I saw an older woman a few steps ahead suddenly stumble forward and clutch her chest.
Then collapse.
"Ma'am?" I rushed forward. "Hey—hey, are you okay?"
No response. Instinct kicked in.
I pulled out my phone and called for an ambulance, kneeling beside her and checking her pulse.
It was weak.
Her breathing was shallow.
"Help is on the way," I whispered, squeezing her hand. "You're going to be okay."
I sat in the corner of the emergency room waiting area, watching nurses bustle past. The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air. I didn't know why I'd stayed this long. Maybe guilt. Maybe fear.
The woman was still unconscious when they took her in. I didn't even know her name.
Just as I was about to leave, the doors burst open. A man in a sleek black coat stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room with intensity. Tall. Composed. Radiating power even in panic.
Our eyes met briefly.
Then his gaze dropped to the nurse behind the desk.
"My mother. Where is she?"
The nurse gestured toward a hallway. "She's stable now. You can see her shortly."
Relief washed over his face, and for the first time, I got a full look at him.
Sharp jawline. Cold eyes. An aura that didn't invite conversation.
He turned toward me. Something unreadable flashed in his gaze.
"You brought her in?"
I nodded. "I found her on the street. She collapsed."
He blinked slowly. "Thank you."
Before I could respond, a nurse waved him down the hall.
He hesitated for a moment. His eyes lingered on me.
Then he left.
After waiting for a few more minutes, I stood to leave, but the doors behind me opened again—and this time, it wasn't him.
It was the older woman, now in a hospital gown and sitting in a wheelchair, demanding to see her "angel."
I froze.
"There she is!" the woman cried dramatically. "The girl who saved me!"
I smiled politely. "I'm glad you're okay—"
"You saved my life. I saw the light, you know," she whispered. "And now that I've cheated death… I must see my son married before I really go."
"What?" I blinked.
Dominic, who had just returned, sighed deeply. "Mother…"
"I mean it!" she clutched my hand with surprising strength. "She's beautiful, kind, and she didn't hesitate to help me. Marry her, Dominic. Marry her before I die and leave this world with no grandchildren!"
Dominic looked… mortified.
I felt heat rise to my cheeks as the woman's dramatic words hung heavily in the sterile hospital air. I wasn't sure whether to laugh, protest, or run away as fast as possible.
The older woman squeezed my hand tightly, eyes shining with unexpected hope. "You saved my life, dear. It's fate. You're meant to be family."
Dominic glanced at his mother, then back at me, his jaw clenched. "Mother, please…" he began, but she cut him off with a mischievous grin.
"Marry her, Dominic. Before I go, I want grandchildren to call my own."
I swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. I had no idea what I was stepping into—but somehow, I knew this was just the beginning of a new chapter, one neither of us could have predicted.
And maybe… just maybe… there was a spark of something more waiting in the shadows.