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Chapter 3 - chapter Three

Chapter 3

A New Heart

Rayna stood at the edge of the mirror, unsure of the girl staring back.

The woman in the reflection had the same eyes—but sharper, deeper. Her cheeks were no longer hollow from sleepless nights and skipped meals. Her skin no longer pale from years spent hidden behind shadows. A long scar ran beneath her collarbone, peeking out from the hospital gown like a secret reminder: she had died once… and come back.

Weeks had passed since the accident.

The first few days were a blur of pain, machines, and faces she didn't know. Alon Mendoza had been there—every time she opened her eyes, he was sitting quietly nearby. He never touched her, never asked questions. Just waited. A storm wrapped in patience.

Now, she could walk again. Eat. Speak. Her body was healing—but her soul, her memories, her purpose… those still hovered like ghosts.

"Rayna?" Alon's voice came gently through the open doorway.

She turned. He stood there with a coat draped over one arm, his expression unreadable but kind.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere you can breathe."

---

The car ride was silent. The city rolled by in gold and gray. Rayna noticed for the first time how loud the world was—sirens, chatter, traffic, laughter. It overwhelmed her.

Alon didn't drive them to a mansion. Not a hotel. Not even a hospital wing.

He drove to a quiet villa just outside the city. It sat on a hill surrounded by garden vines and overlooking the ocean. There were no gates, no guards, no marble statues. Just peace.

"I bought this for my wife," he said quietly. "She always wanted a place to disappear."

Rayna looked at him. "I'm not her."

"I know," he replied. "But I think you need a place to become whoever you're going to be next."

---

The Ghost and the Garden

The days blurred into each other like soft brushstrokes.

Rayna spent mornings walking barefoot in the garden, touching petals like they might whisper the truth. She spent afternoons in the small library, reading books she never had access to. She wrote in a journal Alon left on her nightstand—pages filled with pieces of a woman she was still trying to understand.

At night, she stood on the balcony and listened to the wind.

Sometimes, she remembered things.

Dakila mocking her.

Divina locking her in the cellar.

Carmelita's voice calling her a burden.

But sometimes… she remembered Brian.

His smile. His voice. His hands as he slipped the ring on her finger.

It felt like someone else's life. Like a dream that belonged to a girl who no longer existed.

---

Alon's Past

One evening, Alon brought her tea and sat across from her on the patio. The stars were faint above the sea.

"You never talk about her," Rayna said, wrapping her fingers around the warm mug.

He blinked. "Elaine?"

She nodded.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the dark waves. "She was my anchor. Fierce. Brilliant. Diagnosed two years ago. Rare condition. We tried everything."

Rayna was silent.

"She knew she was going to die," he continued. "But she made peace with it long before I did. When she heard about you—what happened—she didn't even hesitate."

Rayna swallowed the lump in her throat. "Why me?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe she saw something in you. Or maybe... you were the only one who hadn't given up."

Their eyes met, and something passed between them—unspoken, fragile, and real.

---

The First Smile

Rayna laughed for the first time in months.

It was small. Unexpected. A snort, really—when Alon burned the toast and tried to hide it under perfectly arranged fruit. He stood there, apron crooked, toast black as sin, looking like a lost boy in a billionaire's body.

She laughed.

He smiled.

And the air between them shifted.

He didn't touch her. Didn't rush it. But the space between them grew warmer after that.

He would hand her tea, and their fingers would brush.

He would say her name, and her heart would skip—not out of fear, but something else.

Something dangerous.

---

The Truth in the Mirror

Rayna stared at the mirror again a few nights later. This time, she saw two women.

One—thin, bruised, terrified, forgotten.

The other—strong, scarred, beautiful, reborn.

"I'm not just her anymore," she whispered. "I'm both."

She walked into the guest room and picked up her journal.

> "Dear Dad,

I think I understand now. Why you made the will.

Why you tried to protect me.

I didn't survive to stay quiet.

I didn't live to be safe.

I'm going back.

And I'm taking back everything she stole."

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