Seraphina Vale did not breathe for several seconds after reading the message: You.
The single word remained on her screen, stark and impossible. Her reflection in the dark glass of the window looked pale, but her eyes were sharp with awareness. The house outside her bedroom moved with quiet wedding preparations, and the sound of distant laughter drifted upward from the gardens.
Her phone felt heavy in her hand. She typed again: This is not funny.
Three dots appeared immediately, as though the sender had been waiting for her response: It is not a joke look at the calendar and count carefully.
Her look shifted slowly toward the wall above her desk. The date was still circled in gold ink June 14.
Her heart pounded in her ears. She walked toward the desk as if drawn by an invisible force. The floorboards creaked softly under her steps. She placed her phone down carefully and reached for the calendar with shaking fingers.
She ran her hand down the dates of the month June 15 her wedding Day. She closed her eyes briefly, but the memory did not fade. The cathedral doors. The white roses. The way Adrian had looked at her was as if she were the only person in the world.
She opened her eyes again and looked backward. five years. If she counted forward five years from tomorrow, she would reach the night of her death, the anniversary.
Her stomach tightened. Her phone buzzed again: You have until tomorrow morning to decide whether you repeat everything.
Her fingers curled into a fist: Who are you? she typed again.
The response came slower this time: I am the version of you that did not survive. The room felt smaller suddenly Seraphina stared at the words until they blurred.
This is impossible, she typed.
So was falling from that ramp, the response came quickly. Her throat got tight.
Images flooded her mind. The hospital corridor. The broken barrier. Adrian stood still while she tipped forward into nothing.
Her breathing quickened. If this were someone playing a cruel trick, they possessed details that no outsider should know.
What do you want? She asked.
I want you to live. The simplicity of the answer unsettled her more than anything else.
Her look shifted again to the calendar. Tomorrow she would walk down the aisle, tomorrow she would bind her future to Adrian Hawthorne, and tomorrow she would begin five years of slow erosion that would end with poison and a staged accident.
Her chest rose and fell unevenly. Her younger self had believed she was entering a partnership built on respect and ambition. She had believed she was strengthening Vale Holdings through a strategic alliance.
Instead, she had signed away control piece by piece. The knock on her bedroom door startled her."Phae," her father called gently. "Are you coming down?"
Her heart clenched. She forced her voice steady. "I will be there in a minute."
Footsteps went away. She picked up her phone again. If you were me, tell me something no one else knows, she typed.
The response arrived within seconds: You hid your grandmother's ring in the false bottom of your jewelry box because you were afraid Adrian would insist on redesigning it.
Her breath caught. She moved quickly to her vanity and opened the top drawer. She lifted the velvet lining carefully and slid her fingers under the concealed panel. The small gold ring rested exactly where she had left it five years ago. Tears burned unexpectedly behind her eyes because only she knew about that hiding place.
Her hands began to tremble. Why can you message me? she asked.
I do not know how. I only know that when you fell, you wished you could go back. Somehow you did.
Her mind struggled to accept the possibility. If this were real, then time had folded in on itself. If this were real, she had been given an opportunity no one else would ever receive.
What happens if I marry him anyway? she asked.
You die. The certainty in the reply shocked her.
Her gaze lifted slowly to the calendar once more. June 14 the day before her wedding, was the day before she sealed her fate.
Her phone vibrated again. You need proof beyond memory, the message read. Check your email. Open the draft folder.
Her stomach tightened. She crossed the room and sat at her desk. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she logged into her account. Everything looked exactly as she remembered.
She opened the draft folder. One message appeared at the top, her heart pounded heavily as she clicked it open.
The subject line read: If I Do Not Survive.
Her breath caught in her throat. She had never written this. The email body contained a list of dates and events. Each line detailed moments that had not yet happened in this timeline but that she remembered vividly.
Joint management agreement signed September 3.
Board restructuring on January 12.
Father was hospitalized on April 22.
Toxicology report inconclusive June 14, five years later.
Staged accident June 15, 11:47 p.m. Her hands shook so badly that she had to hold the desk to steady herself.
The timestamps on the draft showed it had been saved at 11:48 p.m. One minute after she fell. This is real, she typed with trembling fingers.
Yes. The response came again. She felt as though the air had been pulled from the room.
Why me? she asked. Because you finally saw him clearly before you died. The statement hit hard because in her previous life, she had sensed something wrong during the anniversary dinner, and she had questioned him. She had nearly understood but it was too late.
You have not told me how to stop it, she typed.
Do not marry him. Another response.
Her jaw tightened. That answer felt simple on the surface, but the consequences would be explosive. Vale Holdings depended on the merger. Her father believed in the alliance and the entire city expected their wedding.
If she walked away now, she would create a scandal.
If she married him, she would create her own grave.
Her phone buzzed again: You are stronger than you remember, the message read. You were never the weak one in that marriage.
A strange steadiness began to replace the panic in her chest. She thought about Adrian's confidence on the phone earlier.
You will not. He believed he controlled every variable, he did not expect her to question him, and he did not expect her to remember.
Her gaze shifted slowly back to the calendar for what felt like the hundredth time June 14. She walked to the wall and tore the page free.
The paper sounded loud in the quiet room. Her heart pounded as she stared at the remaining dates. Tomorrow no longer felt inevitable, and tomorrow felt like a choice.
Her phone vibrated once more: There is something else, the message read.
What? she typed.
He has already begun the paperwork. He does not need the wedding to take control, the ceremony only makes it easier.
Her stomach dropped. What paperwork? she demanded.
Check the safe in Father's study. The new documents are inside.
Her mind raced. The safe code had not changed in years. If Adrian had already begun shifting control before the wedding, then this was not merely about love or betrayal. This was a strategy.
Her chest tightened, but the fear felt different now. It felt sharp and focused. She grabbed her phone and headed for the door. As she stepped into the hallway, the sound of her father's laughter came up from below. She paused briefly. If she was right, he was already in danger.
Her phone buzzed again as she reached the top of the staircase: Hurry, the message read. He plans to announce something at the rehearsal dinner tonight.
Her pulse spiked. Announce what? she typed quickly while coming down the stairs.
The reply came as she reached the bottom step: Your resignation.