Elara's chest tightened the moment she saw him. The man before her moved with the precision, discipline, and authority of Adrian Blackwell. She didn't need an introduction; she knew who he was. Adrian's personal assistant. Every gesture, every controlled step, carried the weight of his boss's presence.
Her pulse quickened. Her trembling fingers hovered over the folder he held. A flicker of hope surged—could it finally be Adrian? But no… her heart sank instantly. She had been expecting the wrong visitor.
" Adrian sent you?" she asked softly, her voice breaking as the lump in her throat grew heavier.
The assistant nodded, professional and unwavering. His eyes showed no softness, no attempt to console her. His job was clear: deliver Adrian's message and leave.
"Yes. He asked me to deliver this," he said, placing the folder gently on her bed.
Elara's heart sank. Disappointment washed over her in a wave of icy despair. Adrian… had not come. Not even to see her. Not even to check if she was still alive after everything she had endured.
Her mind flashed to her past life. Then, he had been there every single day—never leaving her side, even when she lashed out, even when her words and actions cut him to the bone. He had endured her cruelty silently, tending to her needs, adjusting her pillows, brushing loose strands of hair from her face, soothing her fevered brow. He had never abandoned her, not for a moment. And now, reborn, he was absent.
Elara's fingers shook as she opened the folder. Her breath hitched.
Divorce papers.
The black, formal letters stabbed into her chest. Adrian's signature, crisp and unyielding, stared up at her. It was a stark reminder of the distance now between them—a void she had not anticipated.
"No… this isn't real…" she whispered, pressing the papers against her chest. Her body shook as tears welled and fell. How could this be happening? He had promised. He had brought her back. She had lived because of him—because of his hands, his voice, his unwavering strength. And now… he left her alone.
The assistant remained calm, professional. He spoke with a respect that made her heart ache even more.
"I am not authorized to discuss Mr. Adrian's decisions beyond what I am instructed to deliver. That is all," he said firmly, decisively. There was no comfort, only the weight of finality.
Elara's mind reeled. Anger and heartbreak collided, magnified by the memory of her past life. She had returned to life for a reason—to correct her mistakes, to make things right. And yet, Adrian's absence felt like a cruel twist of fate.
She pressed the papers closer to her chest, trembling. Memories surged unrelenting:
The nights he had stayed beside her hospital bed, quietly watching, never judging, even when she lashed out in bitterness and venom.
The way he held her hand as she drifted in fevered sleep, murmuring that she would be okay.
The nights he quietly made her favorite drinks, brought her food she had refused to eat, and cleaned the sheets when she had no strength to lift herself.
The way he never left, silently enduring the sharp edges of her hate and cruelty.
All of it now tormented her. Why, in this rebirth, was he absent?
Tears streamed down her cheeks, but beneath the despair, a flame ignited—hot, unrelenting, fierce. She had survived death. Adrian had kept his promise, even if now it seemed he had abandoned her. That alone was proof of the love he still held, even if distant.
"I… I will fix this," she whispered, her voice raw, trembling with grief and anger. "I will fight. I will make him love me again. I won't let this—this divorce—destroy us. I will not lose him. Not again."
Her sobs shook her shoulders, yet amid them a fiery resolve began to grow. Pain and heartbreak sharpened into determination. She would not beg. She would not plead. She would fight. Every ounce of strength, every fragment of courage, every shred of her soul would be devoted to one purpose: reclaiming Adrian, winning back his heart, proving that their bond could not be broken—not by distance, not by papers, not by fate itself.
Her eyes closed, and she saw him in her mind's eye: his steady hands, the way he had held her close, the warmth of his presence even as she pushed him away, the softness in his gaze that he had never shown to anyone else. That memory anchored her, grounded her, and fueled her resolve.
"I will fight," she whispered again, firmer now. "Even if it takes everything, even if it breaks me, I will win him back. I will make him see me, truly see me this time. And I will not fail him. Not again."
The assistant, observing silently, gave a small nod, acknowledging that his message had been delivered. He would not offer comfort. He would not linger. He was the messenger, not the savior. His presence was a reminder: Adrian's decisions were final. And now, Elara had to face the storm alone.
The papers slipped slightly in her hands, and she clutched them tighter. Pain twisted into fury. Sorrow hardened into resolve. Her heart ached, yes—but it burned hotter than ever before.
Her whisper, fierce and trembling, filled the quiet room:
"Adrian… you may push me away, you may sign papers, you may leave me behind… but I will not let this end us. Not now. Not ever."
The assistant's footsteps receded down the hall, the door closing with a soft click that echoed like a silent verdict.
Elara slumped against her pillows, her body shaking with grief and determination, her tears drying on her cheeks. The divorce papers lay across her lap like a challenge. Her heartbreak burned, yet her resolve blazed brighter.
She had been reborn. She had been given a second chance. And no absence, no decree, no obstacle would stop her.
She would fight. She would reclaim Adrian. She would win his heart.
And this time… she would not fail.