"Hmm… tell me, Andrian you sound like you have a plan I'm not aware of?"
"The contract says after the wedding, right? So relax."
"You still don't trust me, do you?" Fidelia muttered in a sharp tone looking at him deeply crossing her arms
"No, I don't." Andrian clearly said and continued. "I'll be sharing most of my plans with you. If I go down, so do you. That's the contract for two years we signed. Now tell me—do you trust me too?"
"Absolutely not." Fidelia shot back at him.
'Imagine! And you're accusing me when you don't even trust me.' Andrian complained in his mind.
"I guess we're on the same boat, then."
"Yeah." Fidelia smirked faintly, but her eyes carried a different storm. "So, what's the update about the couple that ruined my reputation? I think I've gotten quite famous now."
"You bet." Adrian's phone buzzed just then. He glanced at it—it was his grandmother and mother calling. He sighed, silenced it, and set it back on the table.
"It's been taken care of," he said, leaning back. "By tomorrow, you should see a result. The real issue now is the marriage. It has to go as planned."
"Right now, pretty much everyone doesn't support the marriage," Fidelia replied. "And from what Maya's been telling me, your mom and sister are in support of making sure it doesn't happen."
"Step-mother and step-sister," Fidelia corrected with a faint frown.
"My bad."
"It's cool." She pushed herself up from the couch. "It's late already. I'm going to bed."
Fidelia walked off with a gloomy expression.
"Shit… I think I pissed her off," Adrian muttered under his breath, watching her disappear into her room.
---
Inside, Fidelia shut the door a little too hard. The faint echo bounced off the quiet walls.
For a moment, she stood there, staring blankly at nothing—until the flashes began.
Her breath hitched.
She remembered being shoved into her room and the door locking behind her. The voices of her stepmother and stepsister echoed mercilessly in her head.
"No, no—please stop," she whispered, her voice trembling as her hands tangled in her hair, pulling, scratching, desperate to drown out the noise.
Her breathing quickened. Vision blurred. Her knees wobbled as she staggered toward her bed, but just before she could reach it—another wave of memory crashed in.
This one was worse.
That night.
The night before her wedding.
She saw herself walking in—saw her husband-to-be, the betrayal burning into her mind. Her stepsister. The laughter. The look on Bridget's face. She remembered running home, crying, shouting—then the slap. The shove. Bridget's grip in her hair. The sharp pain when her head hit the floor.
And then the darkness took over.
That was her past life.
The night she died.
She gasped awake.
Sweat rolled down her face as her body trembled. Her eyes darted around the room, wild and hollow—until they slowly hardened.
A new expression replaced the confusion.
It was a 'Rage'
Fidelia stood, her fists clenched tight. Her steps were steady now as she walked to the bathroom. She turned on the tap, splashed cold water on her face, and lifted her head to the mirror.
Her reflection stared back with something feral in her eyes.
She smiled in a dark, dangerous way as she looked at herself
Her breath fogged the mirror.
And with her fingertip, she wrote one word through the mist.
"Nyra."