Sleep refused to come that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face — Adrian Hale — standing in the moonlight with that look in his eyes. The same look he gave me before he pulled the trigger.
The same voice.
The same heartbeat that once matched mine.
But something about him now was… different.
Colder. Sharper. As if death had touched him too.
I sat at my desk, the glow of my laptop painting the room in shades of blue. The cursor blinked like a heartbeat. I typed his name into the search bar: Adrian Hale, CEO, Hale Corporation.
Hundreds of results. Articles. Interviews. Scandals.
Then one headline froze me:
"Adrian Hale Inherits Family Empire After Tragic Explosion Kills Older Brother — Six Years Ago."
I clicked.
The article was short, clinical. It said the explosion happened in the old Hale research facility. The victims were never recovered.
One survivor — Adrian.
But that didn't make sense. The man who killed me — the man who was Adrian Hale — didn't look six years older. He looked exactly the same.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
Could he have… survived twice?
Or was this a different man wearing the same face?
The next morning, I visited the Voss company offices. My assistant, Maeve, was already waiting — composed, efficient, and loyal to a fault.
"Your schedule, Miss Voss," she said, handing me a sleek tablet. "You have a joint meeting with Hale Corporation this afternoon regarding the new merger proposal."
I almost laughed. Fate had a cruel sense of timing.
"Cancel my evening plans," I said. "I'll need time to… prepare."
Maeve hesitated. "Understood. Anything else?"
"Yes," I said, glancing out the window. "Find out everything you can about Adrian Hale. Family, business, past records — and focus on the year of the explosion."
Her eyes flicked up to mine. "Should I ask why?"
"No."
Then, softer: "Just be discreet."
By afternoon, I was standing in the mirrored elevator of the Hale building. Every floor we passed felt like a descent into memory. The scent of cedarwood and steel was the same. Even the hum of the lights sounded familiar.
When the doors slid open, he was waiting.
"Miss Voss," Adrian greeted, that faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I didn't think we'd meet again so soon."
"Business tends to make the world small," I replied, stepping past him.
His gaze lingered as we entered the boardroom. I felt it burn between my shoulder blades.
Throughout the meeting, he said little — just watched. Every word I spoke, every gesture, every flicker of emotion — he caught them all. It was maddening.
Finally, as the others left, he said quietly, "You don't belong to this world."
I froze. "Excuse me?"
"You move like someone who's learned how to hide," he continued. "Like you're wearing a mask and waiting for someone to see through it."
I forced a laugh. "You analyze all your business partners like this?"
"Only the ones who feel… familiar."
He stood, closing the distance between us until the air felt electric. "Tell me, Miss Voss — do you believe in ghosts?"
My heart slammed against my ribs. "No," I said, barely breathing.
"Good." He leaned closer. "Because sometimes the ghosts believe in us."
Before I could reply, he turned and walked away, leaving me trembling in the silence.
That night, Maeve returned with a file.
"Everything you asked for," she said. "But there's something strange."
She handed me a photo — black and white, old, maybe twenty years. It showed a man standing beside the Hale family estate.
My stomach dropped.
The man looked exactly like Adrian Hale.
Same eyes. Same smile. Same scar.
But the photo was dated 1993.
"That can't be," I whispered.
Maeve frowned. "I thought it was an error, but the records check out. This man — also Adrian Hale — disappeared decades ago."
I stared at the image, my pulse racing.
If that was true, then the man I loved — and the one who killed me — wasn't just a murderer.
He was something that didn't die.
And for the first time since my rebirth, I realized the truth:
I wasn't the only one who came back from the dead.