Morning light filtered softly through the hospital window.
I was still lying there, half-awake, half-lost in thought, listening to the quiet rhythm of machines and distant footsteps in the corridor. My body ached head, chest, shoulder all reminding me that last night hadn't been a nightmare.
It had been real.
The door opened quietly.
Victor walked in, already dressed for the day dark suit, neatly buttoned, hair perfectly in place. If not for the faint bruise near his temple, no one would guess he had been in an accident hours ago.
He looked… ready.
Ready to leave.
Ready to face the world.
"You're awake," he said softly, relief flickering across his face.
"Mm," I replied. "I didn't really sleep."
He nodded, like he had expected that. He moved closer, stopping beside my bed, his eyes checking me over instinctively bandages, IV line, the way I was sitting.
"I have a schedule today," he said after a moment. "There's a business event. My secretary also hosted her birthday party tonight."
That surprised me.
Victor never missed events.
He glanced at me, then added, "I wanted to be here."
Something in his voice tightened.
"There's also an after-meeting dinner," he continued. "I thought… maybe you'd like to come along."
I looked at him.
"Me?"
He nodded. "Yes. Just for a while. A change of atmosphere."
Then, almost immediately, he shook his head. "But I won't force you. Not after what happened. You're injured, Elena. You need rest."
There was no pressure in his tone.
Just an offer.
I studied his face the same calm expression, the same careful control. And yet, beneath it, I could still sense the guilt from last night, lingering quietly.
"I'll stay," I said after a pause. "The doctor said I shouldn't move too much."
A flicker of relief crossed his eyes.
"That's good," he replied. "I'll come back as soon as I can."
He hesitated, then reached out, stopping just short of touching my hand as if asking permission.
I nodded slightly.
His fingers closed gently around mine.
"I'll have someone check on you," he said. "Call me if you feel even a little unwell. Anything at all."
"I will."
He squeezed my hand once more, then let go.
As he turned toward the door, I watched him walk away strong, composed, untouched by the chaos inside my mind.
Once he left, the room felt emptier.
Not silent—just hollow.
I stared at the closed door for a long moment, listening to his footsteps fade down the corridor, before finally exhaling the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
A few minutes later, the door opened again.
This time, it was the doctor.
He walked in with a clipboard, offering a professional smile as he glanced from me to my parents, who were sitting close by my mother with her hands clasped tightly, my father standing near the window.
"Good news," the doctor said. "Your injuries are healing well. No internal damage. You've been very lucky."
Lucky.
The word felt strange.
"You'll be discharged by this afternoon," he continued. "But you'll need rest. No strain, no stress, and definitely no long drives for a while."
My mother immediately nodded. "Of course. We'll take care of her."
The doctor smiled, gave a few final instructions, and left the room.
The moment the door closed, my mother rushed to my side.
"Did you hear that?" she said, brushing my hair back gently. "You're coming home today."
Home.
My father stepped closer too, relief softening his expression. "You scared us," he said quietly. "But thank God you're alright."
I looked at both of them alive, worried, present and my chest tightened again.
In my past life, this moment had never existed.
There had been no discharge.
No relief.
No parents waiting beside my bed.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
My mother shook her head immediately. "Don't apologize. Just promise me you'll take care of yourself."
I nodded.
But inside, my thoughts were far from calm.
Being discharged meant returning to life.
To routines.
To Victor.
By afternoon, I was home.
My room felt strangely familiar yet distant, like a place I had once known but forgotten how to belong to. Sunlight slipped through the curtains, warm and calm, mocking the storm inside my head.
I sat on the edge of the bed, slowly unwrapping the bandage on my shoulder.
The skin beneath was bruised, tender, marked.
Real.
I traced the edge of the wound with shaking fingers, my breath uneven. Every ache reminded me that I had survived something I wasn't meant to.
Just as I lowered my hand my vision blurred.The room tilted.My heart started pounding.
Then it hit me.
Not one memory.
Many.
All at once.
Lights—too bright.
Laughter—too loud.
Music thumping through my head.
A party.
Wine glasses clinking. Red liquid spilling over white fabric. Faces I couldn't recognize, voices overlapping, distorted.
I grabbed the bed for support.
"No… stop…" I whispered.
The images didn't listen.
Hands pushing a glass toward someone.
A voice saying "Just one more."
A door closing.
Darkness.
Fear and panic.
Then siren,Flashing lights,People shouting.
Words crashed into me without order.
A case, girl, ruined, scandal. Everything is flashing on my mind continuously.
My breath came in short, broken gasps.
I couldn't see clearly.I couldn't understand.It wasn't my memory.
But it felt too close.
Too real.
Like something I had witnessed… or something that was about to happen.
I pressed my palms against my temples, shaking my head violently.
"None of this makes sense," I whispered, tears spilling down my cheeks. "What is happening to me?"
The visions faded as suddenly as they had come, leaving me breathless, trembling, drenched in confusion
I sat there for a long time, staring at the floor, my heart racing with a truth I wasn't ready to name yet.
These weren't random flashes.
They weren't dreams.
They were warnings.
Fragments of a future or a past trying to force its way into my present.
And whatever I had just seen…
was dark, dangerous and frighteningly close.
I hugged my knees to my chest, the weight of it all pressing down on me.
If this was what changing fate meant
then I was standing at the edge of something far worse than death.
And I didn't know how to stop it
I sat there long after the visions faded, my phone lying untouched beside me.
Something was going to happen.
And if I stayed home pretending everything was fine, I would regret it for the rest of my life.
My fingers hovered over my phone before I finally picked it up.
I typed Victor's name.
Elena:
Are you going to the party tonight?
The reply came quickly.
Victor:
Yes. It's important. You shouldn't be thinking about this right now. You need rest.
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening.
Elena:
I want to come.
There was a long pause and then he replied.
Victor:
No. Absolutely not. You're injured. The doctor was very clear.
I closed my eyes, taking a shaky breath.
How do I explain visions?
How do I explain fear without proof?
Elena:
Victor… please.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Victor:
This isn't up for discussion.
My hands trembled as I typed again, slower this time.
Elena:
I don't know how to explain it. But I feel like something bad is going to happen there.
I can't ignore it.
I stared at the screen, my pulse loud in my ears.
Finally
Victor:
Elena, this sounds like shock from the accident.
Elena:
Maybe.
But what if I'm right?
Silence.
Then my phone rang.
Victor's name flashed on the screen.
I answered immediately.
"Tell me what's going on," he said, his voice low, controlled but edged with concern.
"I just know," I whispered. "I can't explain it better than that. Please don't make me stay away."
He exhaled slowly on the other end.
"You shouldn't even be walking properly yet."
"I'll sit," I said quickly. "I won't drink. I won't move around. I'll just… be there."
There was another pause.
Then his voice softened, almost reluctantly.
"…If you feel uncomfortable, we leave immediately."
My breath hitched. "You'll really take me?"
"Yes," he said firmly. "But only because you're asking like this."
Relief flooded through me, followed closely by fear.
"Thank you," I whispered.
After the call ended, I sat there staring at my phone, my hands still shaking.
By evening, the house was quiet again.
I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the fabric at my shoulder carefully, mindful of the bandage beneath. I had chosen a dress that was simple but elegant a deep midnight blue that fell softly around me, long sleeves hiding most of the bruises, the neckline modest yet graceful.
My hair was left loose, falling naturally over my shoulders. I didn't want anything heavy. No jewelry except a small pair of earrings. No makeup beyond what made me look like myself.
Alive. Normal.
The doorbell rang.
My heart skipped.
When I opened the door, Victor stood there.
For a moment, he didn't speak.
His gaze moved over me slowly not possessive, not critical just stunned.
"You look…" he paused, then smiled softly, "…beautiful."
A faint warmth spread through my chest. "Thank you."
He stepped closer, his hand lifting instinctively to brush a strand of hair away from my face. His touch was gentle, careful, as if he was still afraid of hurting me.
"I wasn't sure you'd have the strength to come," he said quietly.
"I wanted to," I replied. "Tonight."
He studied my face for a second longer, then nodded. "Alright."
Before I could say anything else, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead then, just as gently, to my lips. It was brief, careful, filled with reassurance rather than desire.
"I'm glad you're here," he murmured.
I smiled, even though something inside me twisted.
So was I.
And I was afraid of why.
The party was already alive when we arrived.
Music floated through the air, smooth and elegant, blending with laughter and the soft clink of glasses. Warm lights hung from the ceiling, reflecting off polished floors and crystal décor. Everything looked rich. Perfect. Untouched by darkness.
Victor placed a protective hand at my back as we stepped inside.
"Stay close," he said quietly.
I nodded, scanning the room.
People smiled at us. Compliments followed about the engagement, about how beautiful everything looked, about how perfect we were together.
I tried to smile back.
Then I saw her.
Victor's secretary Sara stood near the bar, speaking politely with a few guests. She was wearing a deep red dress elegant, confident, eye-catching. She looked relaxed, unaware.
My heart skipped.
The room suddenly felt too loud.
Too bright.
My fingers curled tightly into the fabric of my dress.
"No…" I whispered under my breath.
The vision struck without warning.
The music distorted.
Lights flickered.
I wasn't in the ballroom anymore.
I saw her alone in a dim corridor.
Her smile gone.
Fear in her eyes.
Three shadows closed in.
Voice low, cruel, unreadable.
Hands reaching.
A door slamming shut.
I gasped sharply.
The image shattered into chaos sirens, flashing lights, headlines screaming words I didn't want to read.
Murder.
Scandal.
Destroyed.
I staggered slightly.
"Elena?" Victor's voice cut through the noise, sharp with concern.
I grabbed his arm, my nails digging into his sleeve.
"It's her," I whispered urgently, my voice shaking. "Your secretary."
He frowned. "What about her?"
"She's in danger," I said, my breath uneven. "Something terrible is going to happen tonight."
I tightened my grip on Victor's arm.
"We have to stop it," I said softly.
My eyes moved again slowly, carefully.
That's when I saw them.
Three men stood near the edge of the room, glasses of wine in their hands. They looked ordinary at first well-dressed, laughing lightly, blending in with the crowd.
But their eyes weren't laughing.
They were fixed on Sara.
My breath grew shallow as the pieces from my vision tried to fall into place. My legs felt weak, like the floor beneath me was no longer steady.
"No…" I whispered.
The room started spinning slightly.
Victor noticed immediately.
"Elena?" He stepped closer, his arm wrapping firmly around my waist to steady me. "What's wrong?"
I pointed subtly, my hand trembling. "Them," I said under my breath. "Those three men."
Victor followed my gaze.
"They've been staring at your sara ." I continued urgently. "For a while now."
Victor's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "You're imagining things."
"I'm not," I insisted. "I've seen this before."
"Hey," he said quietly, leaning down so only I could hear him. "You're still not well. I told you you shouldn't have come."
There was worry in his voice but also frustration.
"I know," I said quickly, my eyes never leaving the men. "But something is wrong. Please trust me."
He sighed softly, brushing his thumb against my arm in a grounding gesture.
"You promised you'd leave if you felt unwell," he said gently, though there was an edge to it now. "This is exactly why I didn't want you here."
"I had to," I whispered. "Because if I didn't… something terrible would happen."
Victor looked at me for a long moment, torn between concern and disbelief.
The music swelled.
Laughter echoed.
The three men raised their glasses again still watching Sara.
Victor's arm stayed around me, firm and protective.
"Stay right here," he said quietly. "Don't move."
He signaled discreetly to security nearby, his expression unreadable.
As he did, one of the men smiled slow, deliberate his eyes still locked on Sara.
My heart pounded painfully.
Because this time, the danger wasn't hidden in the future.
It was standing right in front of us
drinking wine, smiling, and waiting.