The File That Shouldn’t Exist

My hands went cold around the file.

The photograph showed the same crushed windshield, twisted door, and black current that had filled my final moments.

It was not a similar accident.

It was mine.

The date printed beneath the image was November 18, three years from now—the night I had died in my first life.

I turned the page.

ELARA MERCER VOSS—VEHICLE RECOVERY REPORT.

Voss.

Not Vale.

According to the impossible report, I would die as Caelan’s wife.

A red line had been drawn across the official cause of death: accidental drowning.

Beside it, someone had written:

BRAKE FAILURE CONFIRMED. DRIVER’S RESTRAINT SABOTAGED.

Footsteps sounded outside the study.

I closed the file but did not return it to the drawer.

Caelan entered.

He stopped when he saw what I held.

Neither of us spoke.

Then he closed the door behind him.

“You violated the contract,” he said.

“This isn’t the west wing.”

“The file was locked.”

“The drawer was open.”

His gaze shifted toward the desk. “Someone searched this room.”

“That’s your concern?”

“My concern is that whoever opened the drawer may still be inside the house.”

He crossed to the wall and pressed a concealed security button.

I moved away from him.

“Explain the file.”

“Give it to me.”

“No.”

“Elara.”

“How do you possess a report about an accident that hasn’t happened?”

Security officers appeared outside. Caelan ordered them to lock down the estate and review every camera feed.

I waited until we were alone again.

“You knew about the bridge.”

His expression remained controlled, but the silence confirmed more than any denial.

“The date is impossible,” I continued. “The car in this photograph is mine, but I haven’t purchased it yet.”

He stepped closer.

“Where did you see that car?”

The question struck me like a physical blow.

He had not asked whether I recognised it.

He had asked where.

“You know I’ve seen it.”

“Answer me.”

“You first.”

We stood on opposite sides of the desk, two people guarding truths neither could safely reveal.

In my first life, I had considered Caelan a possible participant in my murder. Yet the notes in the file accused someone of sabotaging the vehicle. Why would a murderer investigate his own crime?

Unless the file was designed to mislead me.

“You were on the bridge that night,” I said.

His face changed.

Only slightly, but I saw it.

“What night?”

“The night in that photograph.”

“That date has not occurred.”

“Stop speaking to me as though I’m confused.”

He reached for the file. I stepped back.

“Did you kill me?”

Pain flashed across his face before anger buried it.

“No.”

The answer came without hesitation.

“Were you trying to save me?”

He looked toward the dark windows.

“That file is part of an investigation.”

“Into the future?”

“Into a threat against you.”

“How did you obtain a future police report?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“Then our contract ends now. Concealing information that threatens my life violates my condition.”

“You won’t survive without my protection.”

The certainty in his voice frightened me more than the file.

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact.”

I placed the report on the desk.

“I survived Lucien once.”

“No, Elara. You didn’t.”

The room seemed to tilt.

Caelan realised what he had said.

I stopped breathing.

He knew.

Before I could force the truth from him, the lights went out.

Glass shattered behind me.

Caelan moved with terrifying speed. He pulled me down as a bullet struck the bookshelf where my head had been.

Security alarms screamed through the estate.

Caelan covered my body with his while another shot cracked through the window.

“Stay down.”

He drew a weapon from beneath the desk and fired toward the garden.

The shooting stopped.

Within seconds, guards flooded the room.

Caelan rose and pulled me behind the stone wall beside the fireplace. Blood darkened his upper arm.

“You’ve been shot.”

“It passed through.”

The security chief reported that the shooter had escaped beyond the eastern wall. The cameras covering that section had been disabled six minutes earlier.

Someone had entered Caelan’s protected estate, opened his drawer, and left it where I would find the file.

The photograph had not been exposed by accident.

It had been bait.

A guard handed Caelan a black envelope discovered beneath the broken window.

My name was written on it.

I opened it despite Caelan’s warning.

Inside was a photograph of Lucien and me taken during our engagement party. His face had been crossed out in red.

On the back were six words:

ASK THE MAN YOU USED TO LOVE.