The first thing I heard was a heartbeat.

Slow.

Steady.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

I opened my eyes.

White.

Everything around me was white—the ceiling, the walls, the curtains hanging beside the window.

For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was.

I tried to move my arm.

Pain shot through my body.

A gasp escaped my lips.

A woman in a white coat immediately appeared beside me.

“She's awake.”

Another woman rushed into the room.

“Can you hear me?”

I stared at them.

My throat felt dry.

“Where am I?”

My voice sounded strange.

Weak.

The doctor leaned closer.

“You're in the hospital. Try not to move too much.”

I swallowed.

“What happened?”

She exchanged a quick glance with the nurse.

“You were involved in an accident.”

An accident.

I closed my eyes.

I tried to remember.

Nothing.

My mind was completely blank.

“An accident where?”

“We're still investigating the details.”

“When?”

The doctor hesitated.

“Six days ago.”

My eyes widened.

“Six days?”

She nodded.

“You've been unconscious since then.”

I stared at the ceiling.

Six days.

How could I lose six days of my life?

I slowly lifted my hand to my face.

There was a bandage wrapped around my forehead.

“What happened to me?”

“You suffered a head injury, among other injuries. Thankfully, nothing appears to be life-threatening.”

I let out a shaky breath.

Then a terrifying thought crossed my mind.

“Who am I?”

The doctor went silent.

I looked at her.

“What's my name?”

She pulled a chair beside my bed.

“That's what we're trying to determine.”

My heart began racing.

“No.”

She spoke gently.

“You were carrying identification when you were brought in.”

The nurse reached for a small handbag on the table.

It was black, elegant and unfamiliar.

She opened it and pulled out a wallet.

“This belongs to you.”

I stared at it.

Nothing.

No memory.

No recognition.

The nurse removed an identification card and handed it to me.

I looked down.

A photograph stared back at me.

A young woman with long dark hair, pale skin and deep brown eyes.

My eyes.

I touched the photograph with trembling fingers.

“That's me.”

“Yes,” the doctor said.

I looked at the name printed beneath the picture.

ELARA QUINN.

“Elara…”

The name felt strange.

But somehow, it also felt right.

“That's my name?”

“Yes.”

I repeated it quietly.

“Elara Quinn.”

Something inside me shifted.

A tiny fragment of familiarity.

Like hearing a song I'd forgotten I knew.

But nothing else came.

No childhood.

No family.

No friends.

No home.

Nothing.

“Why can't I remember?”

“You may be experiencing temporary memory loss because of the trauma.”

“How long will it last?”

“We can't say.”

I looked down at my hands.

They were shaking.

“What if it never comes back?”

The doctor didn't answer immediately.

And that silence frightened me more than anything else.

Before I could ask another question, the door opened.

A man stood there.

He was tall.

Very tall.

He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, his dark hair slightly messy as though he'd run his fingers through it too many times.

But it wasn't his appearance that caught my attention.

It was his expression.

The moment he saw me, he froze.

His face lost all color.

His eyes widened.

He looked at me as if he'd just seen someone who shouldn't exist.

The doctor stood.

“Mr. Devereux.”

The man didn't respond.

He continued staring at me.

I felt uncomfortable.

“Do I know you?”

His jaw tightened.

He took a slow step into the room.

“No.”

His voice was deep.

Cold.

But there was something beneath it.

Fear.

He looked at the doctor.

“Who is she?”

The doctor frowned.

“This is Elara Quinn. She was brought in after the accident—”

“I know who she is.”

I looked at him.

How could he know me?

I had never seen him before.

At least, I didn't think I had.

He took another step closer.

His eyes moved over my face.

My forehead.

My eyes.

My lips.

Then he whispered something I barely heard.

“Impossible.”

I frowned.

“Who are you?”

He finally looked at me properly.

“Roman.”

“Roman what?”

“Roman Devereux.”

I waited for recognition.

Nothing.

“I don't know you.”

His expression hardened.

“You're lying.”

My eyebrows pulled together.

“Why would I lie?”

He reached into his jacket.

I immediately tensed.

He noticed.

For a moment, he stopped.

Then he slowly pulled out his phone.

He unlocked it.

His thumb hovered over the screen.

He seemed almost afraid of what he was about to show me.

Finally, he turned the phone toward me.

“Look.”

I stared at the photograph on his screen.

My breath caught.

A woman stood beside him.

She wore a beautiful white wedding gown.

Her dark hair fell over one shoulder.

One hand rested against Roman's chest.

A diamond ring glittered on her finger.

And her face—

My face.

I stared at the screen.

Then at Roman.

Then back at the photograph.

My heart began pounding.

“No.”

Roman didn't say anything.

I touched my face.

The woman in the photograph had the same eyes.

The same lips.

The same small beauty mark beneath her left eye.

Even the tiny scar near her eyebrow was there.

“How…”

My voice broke.

“Who is she?”

Roman's eyes remained fixed on me.

“My wife.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“Your wife?”

“Was.”

His voice cracked slightly on the last word.

I stared at him.

“What do you mean, was?”

Roman's expression became unreadable.

“My wife died three years ago.”

The words echoed inside my head.

Died.

Three years ago.

I looked at the photograph again.

“That woman…”

I couldn't finish.

Roman nodded.

“Her name was Elara.”

My stomach dropped.

I shook my head.

“No.”

He stepped closer.

“I watched them bury her.”

“No.”

“You have her face.”

“I don't know you!”

My voice came out louder than I intended.

The door opened slightly, but Roman didn't look away from me.

“I don't know you,” I repeated, tears burning my eyes. “I don't know your wife. I don't know this place. I don't even remember what I did yesterday.”

Roman stared at me.

For the first time, something broke through his cold expression.

Pain.

Real, devastating pain.

“You really don't remember me?”

I shook my head.

“No.”

He looked down.

His fingers tightened around his phone.

Then suddenly, a sharp pain exploded inside my head.

I cried out.

“Elara?”

I grabbed my temples.

Images flashed through my mind.

A huge staircase.

Dark marble floors.

A little girl laughing.

A woman's voice screaming.

A glass shattering.

Blood.

So much blood.

Then a man's voice.

Deep.

Angry.

Terrified.

“If you love me, Elara, forget everything.”

I gasped.

The vision disappeared.

Roman grabbed my shoulders.

“Elara!”

I shoved him away.

“Don't touch me!”

He immediately stepped back.

I was breathing heavily.

“What did you see?”

I stared at him.

“I don't know.”

“What did you see?”

“I don't know!”

He looked frightened.

Not confused.

Not surprised.

Frightened.

“You remembered something.”

“No.”

“You did.”

“I said I don't know!”

The door opened and the doctor hurried inside.

“What happened?”

Roman stepped away from the bed.

“She remembered something.”

The doctor looked at me.

“What did you see?”

I hesitated.

“A house.”

The doctor waited.

“A little girl.”

Roman's face changed.

“And a voice.”

“What did the voice say?”

I looked at Roman.

I didn't know why, but suddenly I was afraid of him.

“It told me to forget.”

Roman went completely still.

Before anyone could speak, a small voice came from the doorway.

“Daddy?”

We all turned.

A little girl stood there.

She couldn't have been older than five.

Her dark hair was tied into two little ponytails, and she held a stuffed rabbit against her chest.

Her eyes moved from Roman to me.

Then she dropped the rabbit.

Her mouth fell open.

“Mommy?”

Silence.

I stared at her.

Roman's face went pale.

“Lyra.”

The little girl ignored him.

She ran toward me.

Roman quickly caught her before she could reach the bed.

“No.”

She struggled in his arms.

“Let me go!”

“Lyra, stop.”

“But Mommy is awake!”

My heart pounded.

Mommy?

I looked at Roman.

“What is she talking about?”

He didn't answer.

Lyra stared at me over his shoulder.

Tears filled her eyes.

“Why doesn't Mommy remember me?”

I felt something inside my chest crack.

“I don't know you,” I whispered.

The little girl's face crumpled.

Roman held her tighter.

“She's not your mother.”

“But she is!”

“No.”

“She looks exactly like her!”

Roman closed his eyes briefly.

I couldn't stop staring at the child.

Something about her felt familiar.

Her voice.

Her eyes.

The way she tilted her head.

I didn't know her.

I couldn't know her.

And yet…

My heart hurt when she cried.

Then she said something that made the entire room go silent.

“You promised you'd come back.”

My breath caught.

A strange warmth spread through my chest.

A memory.

Almost.

A tiny hand in mine.

A little girl's laughter.

A voice calling me Mommy.

I reached toward her without thinking.

Roman immediately pulled her away.

“No.”

I looked at him.

“Why are you scared of me?”

His eyes met mine.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he glanced at the photograph still displayed on his phone.

His dead wife's face.

My face.

And when he looked back at me, the fear in his eyes was unmistakable.

“I don't know who you are,” he whispered.

“Neither do I.”

He stared at me.

“But I'm going to find out.”

He turned toward the door.

Then stopped.

Without looking back, he said quietly,

“Because three years ago, I buried a woman who looked exactly like you.”

I watched him leave with Lyra in his arms.

My heart wouldn't stop racing.

I looked at the photograph again.

At the woman wearing Roman's wedding ring.

At the woman with my face.

And for the first time since I woke up, one terrifying thought entered my mind.

What if I wasn't the woman who survived the accident?

What if I was the woman who died three years ago?