Chapter 3 The One who Ended Her

The letter trembled in Leo's hands.

"Beware the one who never forgot."

The ink had faded, but the weight of the message crushed the air around him. His great-great-grandfather's voice echoed through the past-Leontius had written this, warning someone. Or maybe himself.

She would return. So would the one who ended her.

Leo stared at the fire crackling in his study. Something about Amara stirred something old in him. And now the shadow creeping around her wasn't paranoia-it was real. A faceless threat with no name.

He picked up his phone and dialed.

"Silas, get me everything you can find on the Valencia bloodline. Starting with Amara's maternal ancestry. Quietly."

"Yes, sir."

He ended the call and looked down at the portrait Estelle had secretly shown her. Amara didn't know he'd seen it too. A copy had been locked away in Ardent Corp's family vault-labeled "Lady M".

Her face. The same.

But if she had returned... then so had the killer.

Amara woke to silence.

The city was oddly still that morning, as though holding its breath. She padded across her apartment barefoot and opened the curtains. Across the street, a black car sat idling.

The same one from yesterday.

She froze. Her heart slammed in her chest.

Without thinking, she snapped a photo, then backed away, double-locking her door.

Who were they? What did they want?

She pulled up the picture on her phone. No visible plates. Tinted windows. But just as she zoomed in, a strange haze distorted the image-just like the dreams. As if reality itself was slipping when she got too close to the truth.

She shivered.

Leo hadn't responded to her last message. Should she call?

Instead, she reached for the one person who might know more than she'd let on.

The bell above Estelle's flower shop rang softly as Amara entered.

Estelle looked up from tying lavender bundles, her warm expression clouding the moment she saw her.

"He's watching me," Amara said, voice trembling. "The man who killed me. The one who never forgot."

Estelle's hand paused mid-knot. She set the ribbon down. "You remembered his face?"

"No. But I can feel him. Like he's close. Like he's always one step behind."

Estelle motioned her to the back room, then locked the door behind them. Inside, the air was heavy with old books, herbs, and timeworn secrets.

"I hoped it wouldn't come to this," Estelle murmured.

She retrieved an ancient-looking book from the cabinet-a leather-bound tome with gold lettering.

"Bloodlines of the Reclaimed."

Amara blinked. "What is this?"

Estelle opened it to a bookmarked page. There, hand-sketched and labeled in ornate script, were twin bloodlines: The House of Ardent and The Line of Mariselle.

"These are not just noble families," Estelle said. "They're bound by a sacred pact. One that was broken the night you died."

Amara's skin prickled.

Estelle pointed to the bottom of the page. "There was a third house. A hidden one. The Order of the Veiled Flame. Jealous of the union between you and Leontius. They believed it would tip power into the wrong hands."

"Wrong hands?" Amara echoed.

"They called your love a threat. They sent one of their own to poison you."

"Who?" Her voice cracked. "Do you know who it was?"

Estelle hesitated.

"His name," she said slowly, "was Cyras Vane."

The name hit Amara like an old wound reopening.

"I don't remember him."

"You will," Estelle said. "Because he remembers you. In every life."

That evening, Leo waited in a dim café tucked between two buildings that didn't exist on any official map.

His source was late. She was always late.

Finally, the back door opened, and in walked a woman dressed in all black, red hair tumbling down her back like fire. She wore dark glasses and smelled of smoke and secrets.

"Hello, Leo," she purred. "Still chasing ghosts?"

"Still selling them, Rhea?" he replied coolly.

She smiled. "You asked for Valencia family records. I brought them." She tossed a folder on the table. "You owe me."

Leo flipped it open and scanned the pages. Birth records. Marriage licenses. And-

He stopped cold.

Clara Vane.

Mother: Estelle Valencia.

Father: Cyras Vane.

His blood turned to ice.

"She's his descendant," he whispered.

Rhea's voice softened. "No. She's not. She's the same girl. Reborn. Just like you."

He stared at her.

"She's Mariselle," Rhea said. "And you're Leontius."

Leo closed the folder. "Then who is Cyras now?"

Rhea leaned in. "That's the real question. And the real danger."

Later that night, Amara stood at her window, sketching again.

This time, it wasn't a corridor or ballroom. It was a sigil-a strange symbol she couldn't recall ever seeing before, but her hand drew it perfectly. A circle with a flame in the center, crossed by two serpents.

She gasped.

It was the same mark that had been etched into the letter Leo found.

And suddenly, she remembered something else.

A voice in the darkness. Cold hands. A whispered vow.

"You can run through a thousand lifetimes, Mariselle. But I will find you in every one. You belong to me."

The candle flickered beside her. A shadow passed by her window.

When she turned, the black car was gone.

But carved into the sidewalk below were fresh letters in the concrete.

"Soon."