The room feels colder than she remembers.
Liana remains sitting on the edge of the bed, her breaths shallow, her fingers trembling as she clutches the thin bedsheet. Her pulse hammers, not from fear… but from recognition.
Five years before her death.
Five years before the betrayal.
Five years before she begged for love that never existed.
Her throat tightens.
Her eyes travel across the room—not the luxury penthouse she died in, not the abandoned warehouse where her life faded to black, but the modest guest room of Evan's house. The one he rarely allowed her into.
Except for nights when he wanted something… or when Mira didn't want him.
She shuts her eyes, nausea curling in her stomach at the memories.
A soft click breaks the silence.
The door eases open again.And Lucien steps inside.
He shouldn't be here.He wasn't here in her first life.
He moves with silent precision, tall, controlled, an aura that makes the world feel still. Moonlight spills across him, outlining the sharp lines of his face, the calm restraint in his dark eyes.
Lucien Drayce.
A man she barely exchanged ten words with in her past life.
A man who once stood at a distance—like a shadow protecting her without her knowledge.
Now he stands in her doorway, watching her with unsettling focus.
"Are you still feeling unwell?" he asks, voice low, smooth, too steady for the storm inside her.
Liana swallows. She opens her mouth—
—but nothing comes out.
She is staring at a ghost.A ghost from her past, from her future, from a life she no longer belongs to.
Lucien's brows draw together, faint concern slipping through his usually emotionless expression.
"You look pale," he murmurs, stepping closer.
Her heart thunders.
Not him.Not now.Not when her mind is still trapped between death and rebirth.
"What… what are you doing here?" she finally manages, the words barely more than a whisper.
Lucien stops a few steps away, hands tucked into his pockets, gaze locked on hers.
"Evan called," he answers simply.
Of course.
Her husband—who didn't love her—had called Lucien Drayce out of convenience, not care. Evan only sought Lucien when he needed connections, protection, or to show off his association with powerful men.
Liana forces her trembling to stop.
"And he left?" she asks.
Lucien's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "He said he had somewhere else to be."
Mira.It must have been Mira even then.
Her chest clenches.
Lucien studies her face, searching, as if trying to understand something that even she hasn't understood yet.
"You screamed earlier," he says softly. "Nightmare?"
Nightmare.
She almost laughs.
If only he knew.
If only he knew she had just clawed her way out of death itself.
She shifts her gaze to him. His presence is unnerving—calm, controlled, observant. Too observant.
She can feel him watching her not the way Evan did—like a burden—but like a puzzle he wants to solve carefully.
She pulls the blanket around her shoulders.
"I'm fine," she lies.
Lucien doesn't believe her. It shows in the slight narrowing of his eyes. But he doesn't push.
He simply steps back, giving her space while still watching her like she might break.
"Liana," he says her name quietly, sending an unexpected shiver across her skin.
"Rest. I'll be outside if you need anything."
She blinks.
What?
Lucien Drayce… staying?
Here?
In this house?
In her past life, he would never have done that.
But this is not her past life.
This is her rebirth.
Her second chance.
And Lucien—the man she ignored, the man she never understood—is standing just outside her door like a silent guardian.
The world is already shifting in ways she never expected.
And this time… she isn't the helpless one anymore.
She watches him leave, the door closing softly behind him.
Her fingers curl into the blanket.
Five years.Five whole years to rewrite everything.
Her lips press into a thin line.
Mira. Evan. Everyone who played a role in my death…Just wait.
Blood and silence brought her back.
And she would use both to end them.