In my dream, Adrian held me. His arms were solid, familiar. He pressed his lips to my hair and whispered softly, You’re not alone.
When I woke, my face was wet with tears. Yet the echo of his embrace lingered, steadying my heart.
I forced myself home, struggling to breathe properly, my chest tight with exhaustion. That was when I saw it.
A massive billboard loomed above the city, lights blazing against the night sky. The headline was impossible to miss:
“Second Chances Taste Sweeter: Dominic Blackwood to Marry Helena Moore.”
The photo mocked me—Dominic smiling brightly, Helena glowing beside him.
I stood frozen, my heart emptied of everything.
So that was why he never married me. Why every promise faded into nothing.
But I didn’t cry.
There were no tears left to give. Love had burned itself out.
Because in five days, I would be dead.
And when I was gone—every single one of them would finally feel the weight of what they’d done.
The fever wrapped around me like iron restraints, scorching me from the inside. My body shook uncontrollably beneath the covers, sweat seeping through the thin sheets, clinging to my skin. But the heat wasn’t what tortured me the most.
It was the dream.
Adrian.
He stood before me, smiling the way he always had—wide, playful, full of life. That familiar grin that made everything feel safe. We were back on the mountain trails, the air crisp, the sky endless. His fingers laced through mine as he pulled me forward, laughing.
“Hurry up, Seraphina,” he teased. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”
In the dream, I laughed too—light, unburdened, free in a way I hadn’t felt in years. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead, warm and certain. His eyes held promises he never broke.
When we get back down, let’s get married, he had said once, half-joking. But I knew he meant every word.
Then the world shifted.
His footing slipped. The ground gave way. Adrian fell, his hand reaching for mine, his voice torn away by the rushing wind.
I screamed his name, over and over, until my throat burned raw.
“Adrian! Adrian!”
My own cry yanked me out of the dream.
I shot upright, chest heaving, tears pouring down my face.
But it wasn’t Adrian sitting beside me.
It was Dominic.
He sat in the chair near my bed, arms crossed, his expression dark and mocking.