James Wood's fork slipped from his fingers and clattered against the marble floor. "Maria…" His voice strained, sharp, cracking through the quiet dining room. "What did you put in my food?"
Maria's hand froze mid-reach, still holding the serving spoon. "James, what are you talking about?" she replied, her tone sweet, too sweet, but her eyes flickered.
James pushed his chair back, breath coming in short, jagged bursts. The world around him pulsed like it was breathing with him. "I feel… wrong," he choked out. "My chest. My head. Something's, something's not right."
Maria stepped closer, expression shifting quickly into worried wife mode. "You're overreacting. You've barely slept this week."
"No." He grabbed the table edge as his knees buckled. "Maria… call the hospital."
She didn't move. She just stood there. Watching him struggle to breathe. His eyes widened. "Maria… call. The hospital."
For a split second, panic flashed across her face, but not panic for him. It was something else. Something colder. Something calculating. Then she nodded quickly. "Fine. Fine, I'll call."
But even as she pulled her phone out, James caught it, her subtle hesitation. A stall. A delay that didn't belong to a panicked wife, but to a woman weighing a decision.
His heart thundered painfully. "Maria… what did you do?" he whispered. She didn't answer. Not with words, at least.
Only with silence. The ambulance wailed through the night, and James fought to stay conscious. The paramedic leaned over him. "Sir, stay with me. What did you eat? Are you allergic to anything? What happened?"
James tried to speak, but his tongue felt heavy. "My… food… I think… poison…"
Maria leaned over him, squeezing his hand so tight it hurt. "He's confused," she told the paramedic. "My husband is under too much stress. He works nonstop. He hasn't slept."
James tried to pull his hand away, but he couldn't even lift his arm. "No," he whispered. "Listen. Please." Maria's face shifted. Her voice dropped to a whisper only he could hear. "Stop talking, James."
A cold whisper, not a caring one. His blood ran cold. He tried again to speak, but Maria pressed down harder on his hand, the grip almost punishing.
The paramedic didn't notice. But James did. And something inside him cracked. Inside the ER, doctors rushed him onto a bed, voices overlapping. "BP is dropping, fast."
"Get the labs urgently."
"His pupils are reacting slower."
"Sir, can you hear me?"
James forced his eyes open. A doctor leaned close. "You're going to be okay. Can you tell us what happened?"
James opened his mouth desperate to finally reveal the truth. But a familiar voice cut in. "What's going on here?"
Tom. Tom Walker. His friend of over fifteen years. The man he trusted. The man he helped start a business. The man he considered a brother.
"What happened?" Tom rushed to Maria's side, placing a hand on her back. "Is he going to make it?
" Maria exhaled shakily, relief, not fear. "I don't know. He just collapsed."
James's face contorted. His breath hitched. Tom's hand lingered too long on Maria's back. Too comfortably. Too intimately. The doctor turned to James. "Sir, stay with me"
James's vision washed to black. When he opened his eyes again, the world was… different. Dim, muted, blurry, yet painfully clear. He looked down. And saw his body. Lifeless. Pale. Still.
"No," he gasped, except it wasn't a gasp. His lips didn't move. His voice echoed without sound. "No… no!"
He tried to grab the doctor's shoulder, but his hand slipped right through. He tried to scream, but nothing changed. He wasn't breathing.
He wasn't alive. He was floating, hovering above the scene like a weightless shadow. A ghost. "Maria," he whispered, and his soul drifted, sliding through the wall like smoke.
In the hallway, Maria stood with Tom and six other men, James's closest friends. Men he'd supported financially, emotionally, personally. Men he gave everything to.
Their expressions were not of grief. But business. Cold. Calculated. Tom crossed his arms. "If he survives, we're finished. Do you understand that?"
Maria's face tightened. "He won't survive. I did everything you asked. I put the drops in his food every night. I did my part."
James flinched as though stabbed. Another friend scoffed. "Good. Once we confirm he's dead, we divide the money. Everything equal."
"Where's the video?" Maria demanded. "I'm not doing anything else unless I know you won't betray me."
Tom smirked and lifted his phone. "Relax. I recorded everything. Every time we met. Every moment. You're safe, as long as we're partners."
"Partners?" Maria whispered. Her hands trembled. "I only did this because you forced me."
Another friend leaned in, voice low and venomous. "You'll get your share. But don't forget, we still have the recording. You step out of line, and you go down with him." James's soul shook with rage and heartbreak.
"I trusted all of you," he choked. "I loved you, Maria. And you, Tom"
His words turned into useless echoes. He was invisible. Helpless.
"Why?" he whispered. "Why me?"
Suddenly, alarms blared further down the hall. A stretcher burst through the doors, nurses shouting frantically.
"Pregnant woman! BP dropping fast! Prep for emergency delivery!"
James watched, drawn inexplicably toward her. Toward her screams. Toward the bright lights of the maternity wing. His soul trembled. No, not trembled. It pulled. Like a magnet dragging metal.
"What, what's happening?" James tried to resist, but the force yanked him forward, dragging him across the hall.
"No, et me go! I'm not done! I can't leave"
He reached for Maria, but his hand passed through her. Doctors rushed around the pregnant woman, her face pale, her breathing erratic. "Stay with us!"
"She's coding!"
"Fetal heartbeat dropping!"
James felt himself being sucked into the blinding light surrounding her. "No! No, let me go! I'm not ready"
But the force swallowed him whole. Everything exploded into white. Then came the sound. A heartbeat. Fast. Tiny. Rhythmic. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It vibrated through him. Around him.
Inside him. Darkness cocooned him, warm and restrictive. "No," he whispered. But the voice wasn't a voice anymore. It was a thought. Horror dawned.
He could feel the rhythmic pulse of someone else's blood. He could feel a small space enclosing him. A womb. "No… this can't be real," he thought.
But it was. He was inside the unborn child. Reincarnated.Trapped. Forced to begin again. His final moment before losing consciousness was hearing Tom's muffled voice outside, like a fading echo through water: "Good. Once he's gone, the rest is ours."
And then Silence. Total, crushing silence. James Wood died that night. And another life began.