Adrian's POV
The city blurs past the window.
Adrian leans his head against the cool glass of the car, eyes half-closed, watching the lights of the Bronx fade into something softer, something further away. The buildings grow shorter, then taller again as they approach the bridge. Manhattan waits on the other side. His mother waits. Isabella waits.
He doesn't want to go back.
His mind drifts. He can't stop it. Keeps circling back to the same image, the same moment, the same face he saw at that construction site.
Her face.
She looked up for just a second. Just long enough for the light to catch her. Just long enough for his heart to stop.
Selena.
But it wasn't Selena. Can't be Selena. Selena died five years ago. He held her hand while she died. He watched the light leave her eyes. He buried her in a grave that doesn't have her real name on it because the truth about her death can never be told.
So who was that girl?
Why did she look exactly like her?
Why can't he stop thinking about it?
He rubs his eyes. He's tired. So tired. He hasn't slept properly in five years, not since that night, not since Selena took a knife meant for him. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her. Every time he sleeps, he dreams of blood on his hands.
And now this girl appears like a ghost. Like a warning. Like something he can't explain.
Stop it, he tells himself. It was a stranger. Just a stranger with a similar face. People look like other people all the time. It means nothing.
But it doesn't feel like anything.
It feels like the universe is playing a cruel joke on him. Like the past is reaching forward to grab him by the throat.
He shifts in his seat, trying to get comfortable. The leather is soft, expensive, and custom-made. None of it matters. None of it helps.
Harrison drives in silence. Good man, Harrison. Knows when to talk and when to disappear. Adrian hired him years ago for exactly that reason, loyalty without qquestion efficiency without emotion.
The car hums beneath them. The bridge lights flash past in a steady rhythm.
Adrian closes his eyes.
The phone rings.
His eyes snap open. The sound cuts through the quiet like a blade.
Mr. Harrison, his assistant, glances at the caller ID in the rearview mirror. His eyes meet Adrian's for just a moment. A question there. Do you want me to answer?
Adrian already knows who it is.
He closes his eyes again. Leans his head back. Says nothing.
Harrison takes the hint. He picks up the phone. Press the speaker button.
"Hello?"
The voice that fills the car is sharp, furious, and very familiar.
"Two hours."
Isabella.
"I waited for two hours, Adrian. Two hours at that restaurant. Do you have any idea how that looks? Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?"
Adrian doesn't open his eyes. Doesn't move.
"Your mother picked that restaurant specially. She called the owner to make sure we had the best table. I wore the dress you like, the blue one, the one you said made me look—" Her voice cracks, just slightly. Just enough to sound almost human. "I wore that dress, Adrian. And you didn't come."
Silence.
"Are you even listening to me?"
He should say something. Should apologize. Should smooth things over like he always does. That's how this works. That's how it's always worked with Isabella. She screams, he apologizes, they move on.
But tonight, he doesn't have the energy.
Tonight, all he can see is that girl's face.
"Adrian."
Her voice sharpens. The hurt is turning to anger now. That's how Isabella works too hurt becomes rage becomes a weapon.
"I know you can hear me. I know you're there. Harrison, put the phone on speaker so he can't pretend he didn't—"
"I'm here."
His voice comes out flat. Tired. He doesn't bother opening his eyes.
Isabella pauses. Maybe she wasn't expecting him to respond. Maybe she was hoping for a fight, something to sink her teeth into.
"You're here," she repeats. "Great. Wonderful. Then explain to me why you weren't at the restaurant. Explain to me why I had to sit there for two hours myself, making excuses for you, pretending you had an emergency, pretending you care."
"I had a meeting."
"A meeting." Her laugh is sharp, humorless. "At eight o'clock at night? At a construction site in the Bronx? Don't lie to me, Adrian. I know where you were. Harrison told me."
His eyes open.
"Harrison told you."
"Someone had to. Since you won't talk to me. Since you won't—" Her voice breaks again. Real this time? Fake? He can never tell Isabella. "Since you won't even look at me anymore."
He rubs his forehead. A headache is starting to build behind his eyes.
"Isabella—"
"No. Don't 'Isabella' me. Don't smooth this over with that voice you use when you want me to shut up. I deserve better than this. I deserve—"
"What do you deserve, Isabella?"
The question hangs in the air. Dangerous. He shouldn't have asked it. He knows he shouldn't have asked it. But the words are out now, and he can't take them back.
Silence on the other end. Long enough that he wonders if she hung up.
Then, quietly "I deserve to be your priority. I deserve to be the one you think about. I deserve to matter."
He doesn't answer.
What can he say? Does she matter? That would be a lie. That she doesn't? That would be cruel. So he says nothing.
"There's someone else, isn't there?"
The question catches him off guard.
"What?"
"There's someone else. That's why you've been distant. That's why you canceled dinner. That's why you're always somewhere else, even when you're in the same room." Her voice hardens. "Who is she?"
"There's no one else, Isabella."
"Then why won't you touch me anymore? Why won't you look at me? Why do I feel like I'm a ghost?"
The word hits him like a physical blow.
Ghost.
"I have to go."
"Adrian—"
He reaches forward and ends the call.
The car goes quiet.
Harrison's eyes flick to the rearview mirror, then back to the road. He says nothing. Good man.
Adrian leans his head against the window again. The city lights blur past. His reflection stares back at him tired, hollow, older than his thirty years.
Why do I feel like I'm a ghost?
If only she knew.
If only anyone knew.
"Sir."
Harrison's voice is sharp. Urgent.
Adrian looks up.
"Sir, there's someone—"
Harrison's hands grip the wheel. His foot moves to the brake. The car swerves slightly.
Through the windshield, Adrian sees it.
A figure. Small. Walking. Right in the middle of the road.
"Move!" Harrison shouts at himself, at the figure, at the universe. He slams the horn. The sound blares into the night, loud and desperate. "Move, move, move!"
The figure turns.
For one frozen second, the headlights catch her face.
Adrian's heart stops.
It's her.
The girl from the construction site. The ghost with Selena's face. She's right there, staring into the light, frozen like a deer, like she doesn't know what's going on.
"NO!"
The word rips out of him, but it's too late.
Harrison slams the brakes. The car screams. Tires smoke against the road. But the distance is too short. The speed is too fast.
She hits the hood.
The sound is terrible, a thud, a crack, something breaking that shouldn't break. Her body flies through the air, spins once, twice, then falls to the ground in a heap.
Silence.
For one endless moment, nothing moves.
Then Adrian is out of the car.
He doesn't remember opening the door. Doesn't remember running. He just finds himself on his knees beside her, on the cold wet road, with blood pooling beneath her head.
"No. No, no, no."
Her eyes are closed. Her face is pale. Blood spreads beneath her, dark and terrible, mixing with the rain that's already falling.
He touches her face. Her skin is warm. Still warm.
"Hey." His voice cracks. "Hey, open your eyes. Open your eyes."
She doesn't move.
"Harrison!" He's shouting now. "Call an ambulance! Now!"
Harrison is already on the phone, voice urgent, giving their location, describing the scene.
Adrian doesn't hear any of it.
All he hears is the rain. All he sees is her face.
Selena's face. Lying in a pool of blood.
Again.
No.
He gathers her in his arms. She's so light. Too light. Her head lolls against his chest. Her blood soaks through his shirt, warm and wet and terrifying.
"You're not dying," he whispers. "You're not dying. Not again. Not you."
He doesn't know why he says it. Doesn't know why this stranger matters so much. Doesn't know why the universe keeps putting this face in his path only to take it away.
But he knows one thing with absolute certainty.
He will not let her die.
Not this time.
"Hold on," he begs, his voice breaking. "Please. Just hold on."
The rain falls harder. The city lights blur above them. And Adrian Sinclair kneels in the middle of the road, holding a stranger who looks like his greatest failure, and prays to a God he stopped believing in years ago.
Please.
Please let her live.
Please give me a chance to save someone.
Please.
Her fingers twitch against his chest.
His heart stops.
She moves. Just slightly. Just barely. But she moves.
Her eyes flutter. Open. Close. Open again.
She looks up at him.
Her lips part. A sound comes out small, broken, barely a whisp
er.
"Please..."
He leans closer. His ear nearly touches her lips.
"Please save me."
The words hit him like a blade.
He holds her tighter. Look into her eyes, Selena's eyes, but different. Younger. More afraid. More alive.
And he makes a promise.
"I will."