7
Annette was the light of Caden’s world, the person he wanted to be buried beside.
But it was impossible.
His rebirth hadn’t been an accident. It was a contract, a deal he had made with Death himself. He had traded his own life force for
Annette to have a long, peaceful existence in this new life. His own time was limited.
He couldn’t grow old with her. His original plan was to stay away, to watch her find happiness from a distance. He never expected
her to choose him. And he certainly never expected Jenna to set her sights on him as well.
He knew what Jenna and her mother were capable of; he had witnessed their cruelty firsthand in his previous life. He couldn’t affo-
rd a single mistake. His only choice was to play along, to keep his enemies close where he could watch them.
He also had a selfish, painful hope: that his cruelty would drive Annette away. It would be better for her to hate him and leave than
to love him and suffer the agony of his inevitable departure. As long as she was safe and lived a full life, his own early death was a
price he was willing to pay.
To uncover the full extent of the conspiracy behind Jenna and her mother, he had to steel his heart and watch the hope in Annette‘
s eyes slowly die, replaced by pain and confusion. It was a torment beyond words.
He never truly touched Jenna. On the nights they were supposed to be together, he would light a powerful incense that would kno-
ck her out, then let another man into the room.
On their wedding night, when Jenna deliberately caused that scene, he hadn’t wanted to lock Annette in the boiler room. But Jenna had hissed a threat that anyone who hurt her would suffer a terrible fate. He was terrified of what more violent form of revenge she might take. Caught between two awful choices, he chose the boiler room, thinking it the lesser of two evils.
13-51
Chapter 2
12.51
The night he and Annette finally came together, a night of stolen, desperate passion, he had no idea Jenna had installed hidden the video, forced to maintain his cover, unable to risk exposing cameras in their room. He was powerless to stop her from leaking the his long game. Jenna was cunning; she had even sabotaged his car so he couldn’t get back to Annette after the auction.
When he finally saw Annette, bruised and violated after the attack, ss men, paid them off, and instigated a brutal fight that left the
a
who
rage nearly consumed him. He found the homele-
had touched her beaten to death.
He knew Jenna and her mother were plotting something for his father–in–law
that their powerful backer was about to make a move. He had to wait.
birthday. But he couldn’t act yet. He had intelligence
everya
He knew they had already desecrated Annette’s mother’s grave. Long before that night, he had secretly retrieved the real ashes and replaced them with a harmless powder. He had every detail planned, contingency in place. He never, ever imagined that Annette, pushed beyond her limits, would give up all hope and jump from that cliff
If he had known, he would have abandoned his intricate plans. He would have told her
second he had left simply being happy with her.
For his role in dismantling the cartel, Caden was hailed as a public hero.
everything and spent every last precious
But he felt no joy. The cold, powerful tycoon broke down on live television, weeping, begging the public for
his missing wife. He needed to find her. Dead or alive, he had to know.
any information about
Miles away, in a quiet seaside village, I saw his face on a small television screen. His performance of the heartbroken, repentant
husband was so convincing, it was almost laughable.
“Annette,” my neighbor called from her yard. “I smell your stew! I guess your Ash is back.”
After the fall, I was badly injured. I spent a long time recovering, a broken thing in a quiet house. The worst of it was a blood clot in my brain, pressing on my optic nerve, leaving me completely blind.
a
rough, hoarse rasp. He was “Ash,” my mysterious caretaker, wasn’t named for his looks. He was named for his voice, which was rarely in the village for long, disappearing for weeks at a time. But he took incredible care of me. Even when he was gone, he arra- nged for the neighbors to look after me, ensuring I never wanted for anything.
“You’re free now, Annette,” he would tell me, his voice soft despite its roughness. “No one will ever hurt you again.”
And sometimes, in a more somber tone, he would ask, “Annette, if you ever find out I’ve lied to you, will you hate me?”
Today, Ash was more talkative than usual, his questions strange and heavy.
“Ash, what’s wrong?” I asked.
All I got in return was a soft, weary sigh.
That night, I was jolted awake by a sound from the other bed. It was Ash, letting out low, pained groans, trying to muffle his agony.
I felt my way to his bedside. His skin was burning hot, his body drenched in a cold sweat.
“Annette, go away,” he gasped. “Don’t worry about me…”
His voice… it sounded different. Clearer. And terrifyingly familiar.
No, it can’t be, I told myself. I’m just imagining things. It can’t be Caden.
