The sa dream from her past life jolted Anna awake. Her breath hitched, chest rising and falling in uneven waves. But this ti—unlike every other ti she had relived that nightmare—she wasn’t alone.
She was wrapped securely in Daniel’s arms.
It had been years since she last dreamt of her death, yet the chill that followed her into consciousness felt just as sharp, just as real. A cold shiver traveled down her spine.
"What’s wrong?" Daniel’s deep voice brushed the back of her neck, startling her. She blinked and slowly turned to face him, realizing he was very much awake.
"How long were you watching over ?" she whispered, confused by how alert he looked.
The last thing she rembered was being in the car. Sleep had claid her so quickly she didn’t even realize when Daniel carried her inside or laid her in bed. And judging by their clothes, neither of them had bothered—or had the heart—to change.
"For a while," he murmured, gently brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
In truth, Daniel had been awake for hours, silently holding her while wrestling with his own growing fear. He had dozed off at so point, only to wake monts earlier when she stirred and trembled in his arms.
"Did you have a bad dream?" he asked, his gaze tightening as he took in the sheen of sweat on her forehead.
Only then did Anna realize she couldn’t hide it—he had sensed everything.
"Yes," she breathed. "A really bad one. Sothing I haven’t seen in a long ti."
Daniel’s thumb traced her cheek, coaxing her gently. "Can I ask what you saw?"
He assud she was shaken because of what happened to her mother, or the accident. It made sense. But when Anna finally spoke, the air between them shifted sharply.
"I saw my death."
Silence stretched between them, thick and unmoving. Anna watched Daniel’s face carefully, searching for any reaction—anger, confusion, disbelief—but his eyes were blank. Empty in a way they hadn’t been monts ago. Unreadable. It unsettled her more than the dream itself.
He wasn’t supposed to know. He must never know.
Her past life—her death, her rebirth, the strange second chance she had been given—was the one truth Anna intended to bury forever. Daniel could never understand it, not when he hadn’t lived through two lifetis the way she had. Not when her death had once been tied to him.
"But I know that dream will never co true." She forced a blink, attempting to shake away the tension pressing in around them. She tried to sound light, dismissive—normal.
But Daniel didn’t move. Didn’t soften. Didn’t let it go.
If anything, sothing darkened in his gaze.
Because he, too, was rembering. The dream that had haunted him for weeks—Anna lifeless in his arms, his entire world collapsing in a way he had no power to stop.
"You can’t die." His voice broke through the silence abruptly, rough and unsteady. "I won’t let you die."
Anna stiffened, stunned by the raw edge in his tone.
The emotion swirling in his eyes—terror—caught her completely off guard. She had never seen Daniel look scared. Not of enemies. Not of loss. Not of anything.
But tonight, he looked terrified of her slipping away.
She reached for a smile, weak but gentle. "Daniel... it was just a dream."
He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. That fear stayed carved into his expression, stubborn and wild.
Heart tugging painfully, Anna cupped his face in both hands and pulled him closer. She brushed a soft, calming kiss to his lips—just a whisper of touch, hoping it grounded him.
"I’m not going anywhere," she murmured, sealing the promise with another kiss, this ti slower... longer... lingering just enough for him to feel her warmth, her presence, her certainty.
And only then did Daniel finally exhale.
Daniel would never allow himself to return to that nightmare—
the one where he was alone, drowning day after day in the mories of the woman he had ignored, misunderstood, and lost.
A life where regret hollowed him out from the inside.
He couldn’t live that again. Not even in dreams.
He closed his eyes, exhaling shakily as he lifted Anna’s hand from his cheek. Turning it slowly, reverently, he pressed a soft kiss to her palm—almost as if anchoring himself to her warmth.
I won’t let you leave alone, Anna. The silent vow echoed through him, heavy and desperate.
Anna felt his breath against her skin, but instead of comfort, a swirl of uneasiness tightened her chest. Daniel’s reaction... it hadn’t felt like fear of a simple nightmare. It felt deeper. Older. Lived.
For the first ti, she wondered if he had faced a similar tornt in his own way—sothing she didn’t know, sothing he never voiced.
He felt distant, as if part of him was trapped in a mory she couldn’t reach.
Silence cocooned them, each sinking into their own storms of thought—until the shrill ring of a phone abruptly shattered the mont.
Anna blinked, startled. She turned toward the sound and reached for the phone on the side table, her fingers still trembling slightly.
She answered. "Hello?"
Kathrine’s voice ca through instantly, breathless and trembling with emotion.
"Mom’s awake."
Anna froze. All her earlier fear, all her uneasiness, everything she had been drowning in—vanished in an instant.
***
[Hospital]
"Everything seems to be fine," the doctor concluded gently after finishing his examination of Roseline.
She still looked fragile—her skin pale, her movents slow—but she followed every word with clear, alert eyes, easing so of the tension that had been suffocating the room since she woke.
Once satisfied, the doctor offered a reassuring nod and left with his team, the door clicking softly behind them.
Kathrine imdiately pulled a chair beside the bed and sat down, her gaze fixed on their mother. Even now, even awake, Roseline seed too delicate for comfort. But the mont Kathrine blinked away her worry and refocused, she saw the truth—Roseline was exhausted, yes, but fully capable of talking.
"The officer will be here soon to take your statent," Kathrine said quietly, brushing a hand over her mother’s arm. "They’ll want to hear what happened from you."
Roseline nodded faintly.
The attack had stirred far more attention than any of them wanted. If it had been a private matter, they could have kept it contained, hidden from prying eyes. But with Ester witnessing the entire incident—and the whispers spreading before they could intervene—the news had already spilled into the public eye.
There was no covering it now, no matter how much they wished they could.
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