CHAPTER - 1
Author's POV
The night was eerily still. No wind, no rustling leaves—just silence so thick it pressed against Celeste’s skin. She stood in the middle of a lonely road, shrouded in fog. Her breaths came in shallow puffs, mist curling from her lips.
She had been here before.
She didn’t know how. She didn’t know why.
But she knew what came next.
A sound—faint at first, then growing louder. A deep, guttural growl of an engine roaring to life.
Her body tensed.
The headlights appeared out of nowhere, searing into the darkness like twin suns.
She tried to move. To scream.
Too late.
The impact stole her breath.
Pain, sharp and unrelenting.
And then, nothing.
Celeste shot up in bed, air rushing into her lungs like a drowning woman breaking the surface. Sweat dampened her skin, her hands trembling against the sheets. The nightmare again. The same one that never faded.
A presence lingered in the shadows outside. Silent. Patient. Waiting for the moment fate would call her name.
She ran a trembling hand over her face, whispering, “It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.”
But even as she buried herself beneath the covers, the nightmare clung to her, refusing to let go.
Celeste had been seeing this dream since childhood. For years, she dismissed it as nothing more than a recurring nightmare. But now, it felt different—too real, too vivid. Like a warning she could no longer ignore.
Celeste had learned to live with ghosts—of memories, of past hurts, of the home that was never truly hers. She had left at eighteen, stepping into the world with nothing but a bag of belongings and the quiet desperation to build a life of her own.
Now, at twenty-one, she had carved out an existence as a museum assistant, balancing work with her dream of becoming an artist. But no amount of distance erased the scars of her past.
Some wounds never faded. Some whispers of doubt never stopped.
Was she meant to suffer? Was this all her life would ever be?
Celeste’s parents had died in a car accident when she was too young to understand loss. Their absence had left a void, one that no amount of time or distance could ever truly fill.
After that, she had been sent to live with her uncle and aunt—a place that was supposed to be her home but never felt like one.
They hadn’t welcomed her with warmth or love. Instead, they reminded her every day that she was a burden, an unwanted weight on their shoulders.
Every meal she ate came with a price. Every piece of clothing was a debt. Every breath under their roof was tolerated, not accepted.
Her cousins had been no kinder. Their cruelty was sharper than words, their taunts carefully aimed to cut deep. They took pleasure in making her feel small, insignificant—like an outsider in a house that was never meant for her.
She had endured it all in silence, swallowing her pain, clinging to the hope that one day, she would leave.
And when she turned eighteen, she did.
She stepped into the world with nothing but a suitcase and the desperate need to be free. It hadn’t been easy, but at least the life she built now was her own.
At twenty-one, she worked as a museum assistant, juggling responsibilities while chasing the dream of becoming an artist. But no amount of distance erased the scars of her past.
Some wounds never faded. Some ghosts never left.
And some nightmares… never ended.
Author’s POV
Unseen. Unheard. Yet always there.
From the rooftop of the building across the street, Malphas watched her—the girl who haunted his existence just as much as he haunted hers.
She lay in bed, hands trembling, trapped in the grip of another nightmare. Fear clung to her like a second skin.
He had seen it all before. The restless nights. The whispered reassurances to herself—It’s not real. It’s not real.
But it was.
It had always been real.
No one knew that better than Malphas. Because he was the one who was meant to make it happen.
Her fate had been sealed the moment she was born. She was meant to die.
Yet, sixteen years ago, when death came for her, he did the unthinkable—he stopped it.
He wasn’t the one who caused the car accident. That was never his role. He did not meddle in fate, did not choose who lived or died. He was merely a collector of wicked souls, bound to take only those who had earned their damnation.
But he had saved her.
He had broken the law of the universe itself, interfering in something he was never meant to touch. A soul destined for death should never have been spared. And because of his defiance, the same universe he betrayed had now set his punishment.
He was assigned to finish what he had once undone. To correct his mistake.
To kill her.
And yet—he did nothing.
For years, he had watched her. Watched her struggle, endure, survive. Watched the quiet resilience in her eyes, the way she held onto dreams in a world that had never been kind to her.
It infuriated him.
Why had he saved her? Why did he still watch over her? Why did he care?
She was fleeting. Mortal. Insignificant.
And yet, something about her held his gaze longer than it should.
Maybe it was the way she still dared to dream despite the weight of her past. Or the way she kept searching for meaning in a life that had never given her a reason to.
But none of that mattered.
Her fate had been written long before she was born.
She was destined to die.
And this time, it would be by his hands.
