LOGINAdrian’s POV.
The empty bottle sits on the dining table. Vitamin B, the label says. I found it in the dustbin. “What is this really?” My mother doesn't look up from her tea. She shifts in her chair, bracing herself. “Vitamins. I told you. For that wife of yours.” “She has a name,” I say quietly. “Elara.” “Elara.” My mother tastes the name like poison. “The pianist. The one with no family, no money, no…” “What is in the bottle, Mother?” My grip tightens around the bottle. She sets down her cup, her eyes meet mine, cold and unblinking. “Birth control. Someone had to protect you from your own stupidity.” The words land like a slap. “You lied to me?” “I've been protecting you. Sophia is the one you should have married. She has connections, money and a future. That girl you dragged to the altar has nothing.” “It's none of your business who I marry,” I reminded her, trying not to lose control. “Everything about you is my business.” She stands, her voice dropping to a hiss. “I built this family. I will not watch you destroy it for a pair of pretty hands that play piano.” I want to scream, I want to hurl the bottle against the wall. Instead, I turn and walk away, my bedroom door closed behind me. I lean against it, the pill bottle still in my hand. Elara thinks it was me, my jaw tightens. I didn’t want her to see the divorce papers, but she did, and I still can’t process it. Yes, Sophia wants marriage, and yes, I would have divorced Elara… but not like this. My heart still aches whenever I remember the pain in her eyes as she signed those papers. Why does my heart beat faster when I see Elara? For ten years, I told myself it meant nothing. It was easier that way. I avoid contact with Elara, it’s easier not to look at her. Not to notice the things I shouldn’t. Sophia is the right choice, that’s what I have always told myself. But Elara… My mind drifted back to the lady that played Chopin in the conservatory garden the day we met. I stood behind a pillar and watched, and I couldn’t breathe. I’ve never told anyone this. Never learned her name. She transferred schools the next year, and I told myself it didn’t matter. Years later, I can’t remember her face, but I marked her by the bracelet. I found that bracelet in Sophia's hands. And I convinced myself she was the same girl. The one I had never forgotten. Yet my heart keeps drawing me to Elara. I tell myself taking away the piano is punishment for what she did. But the silence punishes me more. I crave to hear her play. A knock jolted me out of my thoughts. "Sir, madam has packed her things. She's driving out." “What?!” I exclaimed. Without thinking, I run through the mansion, out the door. Rain pours down. I see her car pulling away. "Elara!" I scream. She doesn't stop. I turn and run inside, grab my phone and keys. “Adrian, come back here! Don't chase after that barren woman!” My mother yells but I ignore her. I dial Elara's number, no answer. Again, nothing. I get to my car and drive out. Dialing her number, I let out a sigh of relief when she picks. “Elara! Where are you? Pull over!'" Silence. Then the line goes dead. I push the accelerator harder, rain blurs the world. Then I see it, her car crumpled against a tree. I stumble out, run to her. She's limp. Blood, so much blood. "No. No, no, no." I hold her. "Elara…please, come back.” My grip tightens. “Stay with me.. Don’t do this…" My voice breaks. Suddenly, headlights. Too bright. I wince. A trailer comes out of nowhere. Before I can react, I scream and throw my body over Elara. The last thing I remember is saying her name. "Elara." Then darkness takes over. I groan as I open my eyes, my head pounds. A white ceiling, familiar. Not a hospital…my room. I sit up too fast, the room spins. I glance at my body, no pain, no bandages or stitches. I touch my chest, my arms, my face. Nothing, not even a scratch. That's impossible, the last thing I remember was the headlights….impact. So why am I here? "Elara!" I throw the covers back, ready to run, to find her…Then I see the calendar. The morning after our wedding. My hand freezes on the bedpost, no. I blink…look again but the date hasn't changed. I stumble back. My legs hit the edge of the bed and I collapse onto it, staring at that calendar. Ten years ago. I drag a hand down my face slowly, forcing my breathing to steady. So this is what it is. A second chance. If I am reborn, it means Elara, she's here, before the pills, the divorce and accident. My fingers curl slowly against the sheets. I won't let it happen again. But first, I need to find out if what my mum said about her is true. “If she lied… I’ll deal with it.” My gaze hardens. “But this time, I will decide.”Elara’s POV.The gala is held in the Sterling Hotel's grand ballroom. Crystal chandeliers. Champagne flowing. The city's elite gathered in their finest, here to see and be seen.I stand at the edge of the room, the emerald dress hugging my body, my hair swept back, my hands steady.Adrian approaches. He offers his arm. I take it.He leads me through the crowd, stopping to greet his business partners, accepting their praise, their envy, their respect. I stand beside him, silent, the dutiful wife."Adrian." A man in a gray suit claps his shoulder. "I hear your wife is playing tonight. How delightful."Adrian's smile is tight. "My wife will play a little piece. Nothing special."In my past life, they would have sunk into my chest, heavy with shame.Now, I smile sweetly and innocently."Nothing special," I echo.Adrian glances at me. Something flickers in his eyes. A question, maybe or the first stirring of unease.He does not know what is coming.The piano sits at the center of the stag
Elara’s POV.The brunch is held in the grand dining room. Crystal chandeliers, a table long enough to seat twenty, though only eight sit at it.I walk in on Adrian's arm. I feel Agatha's eyes on me before I see her.She sits at the head of the table. Diamond rings weighing down her fingers, her gaze travels from my face to my dress and back again.I smile, sweetly. The smile I practiced in the mirror before I walked out of my room.Adrian pulls out my chair. A small gesture. One he never made in my first life. I sit, and he takes the seat beside me. His eyes flick to me once, then away.Agatha begins."Elara," she says, her voice honey over steel. "I see you've chosen something... bold for your first family appearance."In my past life, I shrank. I smoothed my skirt. I mumbled something about not meaning to draw attention.I meet her eyes. "I wanted to look my best for the family. First impressions matter, don't they?"Her smile tightens. "They do. Which is why I'm surprised Adrian
Adrian’s POV.The empty bottle sits on the dining table. Vitamin B, the label says. I found it in the dustbin.“What is this really?”My mother doesn't look up from her tea. She shifts in her chair, bracing herself. “Vitamins. I told you. For that wife of yours.”“She has a name,” I say quietly. “Elara.”“Elara.” My mother tastes the name like poison. “The pianist. The one with no family, no money, no…”“What is in the bottle, Mother?” My grip tightens around the bottle. She sets down her cup, her eyes meet mine, cold and unblinking. “Birth control. Someone had to protect you from your own stupidity.”The words land like a slap. “You lied to me?”“I've been protecting you. Sophia is the one you should have married. She has connections, money and a future. That girl you dragged to the altar has nothing.”“It's none of your business who I marry,” I reminded her, trying not to lose control.“Everything about you is my business.” She stands, her voice dropping to a hiss. “I built this
Elara’s POV.Somewhere, a phone is ringing. No….. not ringing. Someone is shouting. A voice I know."Elara! Elara, answer me! Where are you? Pull over!” His breath is uneven, like he’s been running.Adrian! I have never heard him sound like that. Afraid and desperate. He sounds like a man who might lose something he didn't know he wanted.I smile faintly.Too late, the darkness comes slowly. It wraps around me. I gasp.My body jerks upright, air fills my lungs like fire. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat, my temples, my fingertips.I try to search my mind, but for a moment, everything is blank.Then it hits me. The accident. The rain. The headlights. Fuck!! Immediately, my hands fly to my body, but there is no pain…no scars or stitches.My eyes dart around. That’s when I realize I’m not in a hospital.I am in bed. A large, familiar bed. Silk sheets. Morning light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. I know this room. I know this light. I know the faint scent
Elara 's POV.The message plays in my head all night.I lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, and wonder what she looks like. Sophia. His ex. The woman he laughs with on the phone. The woman he softened his voice for.I have never seen her face, he never kept photos. But I know she exists in the spaces between us, a ghost I have been competing with since the day I said I do.Morning comes. I rise at six, same as always. I make his coffee. I arrange the tray. I place a fresh rose in the tiny vase.He comes down at seven-fifteen. He takes the cup and leaves.But something is different. He is humming.I stand at the kitchen counter, listening to the sound fade down the hall. I have not heard him hum in years. The melody is unfamiliar, something that belongs to a man who is happy. He is happy because she is coming back.When I step out of the kitchen, I see the maid walking in with new shirts. Slimmer cuts, younger fabrics. He never did any of this for me.I remember our first year.
Elara 's POV.“A wife of mine doesn’t need a career.”The words don’t just echo, they settle into my bones as I stand in his study room, my back presses against the cold wall.I bring him the invitation, the Philharmonic, asking me to play. A single concert. I thought he would be proud, he might finally look at me the way he used to, before the ring was on my finger.He looks at me like I’ve handed him something embarrassing.“I don’t understand,” I say. “This is what I trained for. This is who I am.”“You’re my wife now.” He doesn’t look up from his papers. “That’s who you are.”“But Adrian…”His fingers pause briefly on the paper before he speaks.“I don’t care about your little hobby. The conversation is over.”I open my mouth to argue. To tell him that music isn’t a hobby, it’s my blood, my breath, the only thing that makes me feel like myself.He stands. Walks past me without a glance. The door closes behind him, and I am alone in his study, holding an invitation that suddenly f







