She should have known something was wrong the moment he avoided her eyes.
The room smelled like wine and expensive perfume that was not hers. The lights were dim, the curtains half-drawn, the air thick with something uncomfortable. She stood near the door, her fingers clenched tightly around her phone, staring at the man she had planned her entire future with.
Her fiancé.
"Why is there lipstick on your shirt?" she asked quietly.
She wasn't screaming. She wasn't accusing. She was tired. Her body had felt strange for days now—nausea in the mornings, dizziness that came out of nowhere—but she pushed it aside. She just wanted the truth.
He laughed.
It was short. Sharp. Mocking.
"You're imagining things again," he said. "You always do this."
Her chest tightened. "I'm not imagining it. It's right there."
She stepped closer and reached out.
That was when it happened.
SLAP!
The sound echoed loudly in the room.
Her head snapped to the side so hard she nearly lost her balance. Pain exploded across her cheek, bright and burning. Her ears rang. Her vision blurred. For a moment, she couldn't hear anything except the rushing sound in her head.
"Have you lost your mind?" he shouted. "Don't you dare accuse me!"
Her hand slowly came up to her face.
Warmth.
Blood.
Something inside her broke so completely that she felt calm.
Terrifyingly calm.
Her eyes dropped to the table beside her. A half-empty wine bottle stood there. Without thinking, without hesitation, she grabbed it and swung.
Glass shattered.
A scream pierced the air.
But it wasn't his.
Her heart stopped.
The sound came from behind her—from the bed.
She turned slowly, dread crawling up her spine. The blanket on the bed was twisted, messy, clearly disturbed. Her hands trembled as she reached for it.
"No…" she whispered.
She yanked it off.
Time froze.
The woman lying there stared back at her, blood running down her forehead, eyes wide with shock and fear.
Her face was pale.
Her lips familiar.
Her features burned into her memory.
Her knees gave out.
"Sister…?" she breathed.
Five years.
Five years ago, she had stood at a grave holding white flowers, crying until her chest hurt. Five years ago, she had watched dirt fall onto this same face.
"You're dead," she whispered hoarsely. "You're supposed to be dead."
The door burst open.
"Mum! Dad!"
Footsteps rushed in. Her parents froze for a second—then her mother screamed and ran forward.
"My baby!" her mother sobbed, grabbing the woman on the bed. "My daughter! You're alive!"
Alive.
Her father stood there silently, eyes wet, relief all over his face.
No one looked at her.
No one explained.
No one asked how she felt.
Her fiancé stood behind her, silent now, avoiding her gaze.
Her sister looked at her.
There was no warmth in her eyes.
Only something dark. Calculating.
Her stomach twisted violently.
She pressed a hand over her mouth as nausea surged.
"I can't…" she whispered.
She turned and ran.
Out of the room.
Out of the house.
Out into the cold night air.
Her chest burned as she struggled to breathe. Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. Her cheek throbbed. Her hands shook. Her whole body felt wrong.
She barely made it down the sidewalk before dizziness hit her.
Then she collided with someone.
Strong arms caught her instantly.
"Easy," a deep voice said.
She looked up.
The man standing in front of her was tall, broad, dressed simply. His eyes were sharp, dark, unreadable. He looked at her like he was taking in every detail—the slap mark on her face, her shaking hands, the fear in her eyes.
"Are you hurt?" he asked quietly.
She tried to speak. Nothing came out.
He suddenly stepped back.
Then, to her shock, he dropped to one knee right there on the pavement.
"Marry me," he said calmly.
Her breath caught.
"What…?"
"I'll give you a place to stay," he continued. "Protection. Stability. No questions."
What the hell was going on??
She should have known something was wrong the moment he avoided her eyes.
The room smelled like wine and expensive perfume that was not hers. The lights were dim, the curtains half-drawn, the air thick with something uncomfortable. She stood near the door, her fingers clenched tightly around her phone, staring at the man she had planned her entire future with.
Her fiancé.
"Why is there lipstick on your shirt?" she asked quietly.
She wasn't screaming. She wasn't accusing. She was tired. Her body had felt strange for days now—nausea in the mornings, dizziness that came out of nowhere—but she pushed it aside. She just wanted the truth.
He laughed.
It was short. Sharp. Mocking.
"You're imagining things again," he said. "You always do this."
Her chest tightened. "I'm not imagining it. It's right there."
She stepped closer and reached out.
That was when it happened.
SLAP!
The sound echoed loudly in the room.
Her head snapped to the side so hard she nearly lost her balance. Pain exploded across her cheek, bright and burning. Her ears rang. Her vision blurred. For a moment, she couldn't hear anything except the rushing sound in her head.
"Have you lost your mind?" he shouted. "Don't you dare accuse me!"
Her hand slowly came up to her face.
Warmth.
Blood.
Something inside her broke so completely that she felt calm.
Terrifyingly calm.
Her eyes dropped to the table beside her. A half-empty wine bottle stood there. Without thinking, without hesitation, she grabbed it and swung.
Glass shattered.
A scream pierced the air.
But it wasn't his.
Her heart stopped.
The sound came from behind her—from the bed.
She turned slowly, dread crawling up her spine. The blanket on the bed was twisted, messy, clearly disturbed. Her hands trembled as she reached for it.
"No…" she whispered.
She yanked it off.
Time froze.
The woman lying there stared back at her, blood running down her forehead, eyes wide with shock and fear.
Her face was pale.
Her lips familiar.
Her features burned into her memory.
Her knees gave out.
"Sister…?" she breathed.
Five years.
Five years ago, she had stood at a grave holding white flowers, crying until her chest hurt. Five years ago, she had watched dirt fall onto this same face.
"You're dead," she whispered hoarsely. "You're supposed to be dead."
The door burst open.
"Mum! Dad!"
Footsteps rushed in. Her parents froze for a second—then her mother screamed and ran forward.
"My baby!" her mother sobbed, grabbing the woman on the bed. "My daughter! You're alive!"
Alive.
Her father stood there silently, eyes wet, relief all over his face.
No one looked at her.
No one explained.
No one asked how she felt.
Her fiancé stood behind her, silent now, avoiding her gaze.
Her sister looked at her.
There was no warmth in her eyes.
Only something dark. Calculating.
Her stomach twisted violently.
She pressed a hand over her mouth as nausea surged.
"I can't…" she whispered.
She turned and ran.
Out of the room.
Out of the house.
Out into the cold night air.
Her chest burned as she struggled to breathe. Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. Her cheek throbbed. Her hands shook. Her whole body felt wrong.
She barely made it down the sidewalk before dizziness hit her.
Then she collided with someone.
Strong arms caught her instantly.
"Easy," a deep voice said.
She looked up.
The man standing in front of her was tall, broad, dressed simply. His eyes were sharp, dark, unreadable. He looked at her like he was taking in every detail—the slap mark on her face, her shaking hands, the fear in her eyes.
"Are you hurt?" he asked quietly.
She tried to speak. Nothing came out.
He suddenly stepped back.
Then, to her shock, he dropped to one knee right there on the pavement.
"Marry me," he said calmly.
Her breath caught.
"What…?"
"I'll give you a place to stay," he continued. "Protection. Stability. No questions."
What the hell was going on??