A sharp beeping.
A faint scent of antiseptic.
A cool breeze brushing her skin.
Elara's eyes flickered open. The ceiling above was blindingly white, sterile, foreign. Machines hummed rhythmically around her, tubes ran into her arms, and a soft cannula rested under her nose. Bandages hugged her wrists, faint traces of blood still visible.
Alive.
Her heart skipped violently. This couldn't be real. She had burned in the flames, had felt betrayal and death. Adrian's arms had held her as smoke choked her lungs, his voice trembling but resolute:
"I will make sure you live. And even if you die, I promise to bring you back."
She remembered it all. Every word. Every moment. And now… she was here again.
Her mind flooded with memories:
Memories came crashing in, unbidden and raw:
The night she had drugged Adrian, the desperate, twisted attempt to push Damon into her bed.
The bitter rage that consumed her when she discovered she was pregnant with Adrian's child afterward.
The countless pills she had taken to erase what she couldn't face.
Adrian finding out. The argument that tore their home apart.
Her despair. Her cruelty. The knife at her wrists.
All of it.
She trembled beneath the thin hospital sheets, whispered, hoarse words escaping her lips: "No… this… this can't be real…"
But it was.
She had been thrown back in time, to a moment in her past when her life began to unravel. A chance. A rebirth.
Tears came hot and fast, burning her cheeks. "Why… why am I here?" she choked, coughing against the dryness in her throat. "Am I… given a chance… or punished?"
The machines beeped steadily, indifferent to the storm raging in her chest.
Somewhere deep inside, a spark flickered. Fear, regret, and something dangerously close to hope. She had survived death. She had been returned for a reason. And this time… she would not repeat her mistakes.
---
Days passed slowly. The sterile walls of the hospital became her temporary world. Nurses flitted in and out, checking her vitals, adjusting her IVs, tending to her needs with clinical efficiency.
Her father came every day, a constant presence. His face was weathered, lines deepened by worry, but his eyes held only concern and love. He never scolded her, never mentioned her past mistakes, and carefully avoided Adrian's name. His silence on that subject was a quiet protection—an attempt not to add to her suffering.
Her brothers, Callum and Sean, were the light in her bleak days.
Sean, the eldest, brought gifts. Fresh fruits, books, scented teas, and little comforts meant to lift her spirits. He teased gently, nudged her to eat when she refused, laughed softly when she frowned at him. He was her shield, her source of calm, and her anchor in a turbulent sea.
Callum, her second brother, never missed a chance to pamper her. He would fuss over her blankets, ask if she wanted water or juice, and argue—always jokingly—with Sean over who was spoiling her better. Their presence was a balm to her aching heart. Their competition was playful but genuine, each action a reminder that she was loved.
They carefully avoided speaking of Adrian, knowing the mere mention would break her fragile spirit. They treated her wounds, fed her, and filled the long hours with stories and quiet laughter, slowly helping her reclaim a little normalcy.
---
But then, there were the visits from Vivienne and her stepmother.
They arrived when her brothers were absent. Their entrance was careful, measured, dripping with concern and calculated charm. Vivienne's voice was soft, almost sisterly, as she perched beside Elara's bed. "Sweetheart, you need to think about what you truly want. Who makes your heart happy?"
Her stepmother's tone was steadier, more deliberate. "Elara, Adrian has always been a responsible man. He's loved this family and you. You need to consider your duty… and what's best for you, and for the family."
The women seemed at odds, yet Elara could see the subtle undertones in their words. Vivienne's concern always leaned toward her heart, her love, even if it meant breaking family rules. Her stepmother's reasoning tilted toward obligation, status, and appearances. Together, they formed a carefully crafted web—seeming to care for her, but with intentions that were anything but clear.
"Why are you both here?" Elara asked, voice dry, irritation rising. Her head ached from the constant manipulation, from the prying questions and forced smiles. "I… I just need rest."
Vivienne's gaze softened. "We just want to help you, Elara. To guide you… to be happy. Isn't that what matters?"
Her stepmother nodded, clasping her hands. "Happiness is important, yes. But so is responsibility. And sometimes, your heart and duty must walk together. Adrian loves you. You need to see that."
Elara's teeth gritted. The act was transparent. She knew Vivienne's hidden envy, her subtle glares when Damon's or Adrian's names came up. She knew her stepmother's calculated smile, the way she twisted words to frame Adrian's love as reasoned and dutiful.
She would not react. Not now. Not while she was recovering.
"I appreciate your concern," she said softly, carefully, as if speaking to a child. "But I need quiet now. Please, just… let me rest."
Her words were sharp, yet respectful. She could hear the tension in their breaths, the frustration bubbling behind polite masks. She had successfully deflected their manipulations—for now.
---
Even as she rested, her mind roamed. She thought of Adrian, of his hands that had held her through the flames, his voice that had promised life when death was so close. She remembered the way he had stayed beside her bed in her past life, never leaving, silently enduring the brunt of her venom, her tears, her rebellion.
He had held her, adjusted her blankets, cleaned the sheets, brought her food, and whispered words of comfort even when she refused to accept them. He had never abandoned her.
And now… he was gone.
A pang of loneliness struck her chest. Disappointment swelled, mixing with her gratitude, with her love, with a spark of rage. How could he be absent when he had once endured everything to keep her alive?
Tears pooled in her eyes, but this time they were laced with determination. Pain, yes. Heartbreak, yes. But also resolve.
"I… will not let this go," she whispered to herself. "I will not fail him again. I will make him see… I will make him love me. And I will not let anyone—anyone—come between us."
---
The hospital room was silent, except for the faint beeping of machines. Elara's fingers curled into the sheets. Her heartbeat was fast, erratic, fueled by heartbreak and a burning promise.
She did not know when Adrian would come. She did not know why he had not been there as he had in her past life. She only knew that this second chance demanded courage, strength, and determination.
Her lips pressed together, jaw tightening. The thought of Vivienne and her stepmother's manipulations faded slightly. Their intentions could wait. She would focus on herself first. Recover. Heal. And prepare.
Because when Adrian finally came—or when fate demanded—they would see a woman changed, a woman reborn, and a heart unwilling to be abandoned.
And somewhere in the shadows of her thoughts, a faint, nervous hope stirred.
The door to her room opened. She stirred slightly, half expecting Adrian, half fearing disappointment again.