Chapter five

“Touch me again, Ethan, and I’ll break your fucking fingers.”

Ethan’s hand froze mid-air, inches from Amara’s wrist. The shadow of the massive metal bleachers cast a dark, grid over both of them, cutting off the bright afternoon sun.

He blinked, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. “Jesus, Amara, calm the fuck down. What is wrong with you today? I’m just trying to hold your hand.”

Amara backed up until her spine hit the cool brick wall of the gymnasium, her arms folding tightly across her chest.

This exact spot, she thought, the hatred burning so hot in her stomach it tasted like iron. Ten years ago, right under these rusty bleachers, in this exact spot.

In her first life, she had stood here with a blushing face, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs while Ethan took her soft, trembling hands in his. He had looked at her with those deceptive, clear eyes and spun a fairytale that trapped her for a decade.

“I was just going to tell you something important,” Ethan said, quickly shifting into his rehearsed, charming persona. He lowered his voice, stepping closer into her personal space, putting on that soft, puppy dog expression she used to worship. “Look, I know I can be an asshole sometimes. I make stupid jokes. But the truth is... you’re not like other girls, Amara. You’re genuine. You actually care about me. I don't care what anyone else in this damn school says about you I want you to be my girlfriend.”

There it was.

The exact pitch. The poison wrapped in sugar.

In her past life, those words had made her feel chosen. They had made her feel like a charity case saved by the prince.

Now, hearing them again made her want to vomit.

Amara looked him straight in the eyes, her expression as deadpan as ice. “Why me, Ethan?”

Ethan blinked, completely thrown off his script. “What?”

“I asked why me,” Amara said, her voice dropping into a deadly, quiet register. “Why the fuck are you asking the chubby, flannel wearing girl to be your girlfriend when you spend half your day ogling Chloe Vance in the cafeteria?”

Ethan’s face flushed a deep, ugly red. His sweet posture dissolved instantly into sharp irritation. “Are you serious right now? What the fuck does Chloe have to do with this? I’m standing here opening my heart to you, and you’re throwing bullshit accusations in my face?”

“It’s a simple question,” Amara snapped back, stepping right toward him instead of shrinking away. “What do you actually want from me?”

“I want a girlfriend who appreciates me!” Ethan hissed, his voice rising in bruised frustration. “Damn it, Amara! Do you have any idea how lucky you are right now? Most guys wouldn't even be seen talking to you behind the bleachers, let alone asking you out! I’m giving you a fucking chance here!”

The mask had slipped. The rotten, narcissistic core beneath his handsome face was fully on display.

Amara let out a bitter, laugh that sent a shiver straight down Ethan’s spine.

“A chance?” Amara whispered, her brown eyes locking onto his with terrifying intensity. “You think you’re doing me a favor? You conceited, arrogant piece of trash.”

“What did you just call me?” Ethan choked out, his jaw dropping in sheer disbelief.

“I need time to think,” Amara said flatly.

Ethan stared at her like she had just spoken in a foreign language. “You... you need what?”

“Are you deaf?” Amara said, taking a step back and slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “I said I need time to think about whether you’re even worth my time. And right now? The odds aren't looking good.”

“Are you fucking insane?!” Ethan yelled, his voice cracking as panic and fury collided in his chest. “You don't tell me you need time to think! I’m Ethan Vance! Girls pray for a guy like me to look their way!”

Amara didn't even give him the courtesy of an answer. She turned on her heel and walked out from under the dark shadow of the bleachers, leaving him standing there in the dirt, sputtering with rage.

“Hey! Amara! Don't you fucking walk away from me!” Ethan screamed after her, his ego utterly shredded. “If you walk away right now, we’re fucking done! You hear me? Done!”

“Keep barking, dog,” Amara muttered under her breath, not slowing down for a single second.

She turned the sharp corner of the brick gymnasium building, taking a deep, ragged breath as the cool autumn wind hit her face. Her chest was heaving, her hands trembling from the sheer rush of adrenaline.

I did it, she thought, a wild, victorious thrill surging through her veins. I stripped him of his power.

“You shouldn't have pushed him like that.”

Amara gasped, jumping violently as a deep, low voice spoke from the shadows beside the gym's rear exit door.

She spun around, her heart pounding against her ribs.

Leaning casually against the red brick wall, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a dark leather jacket, was Damian Cross.

At seventeen, Damian was already a striking, dangerous presence tall, lean, with messy black hair falling over dark, intense eyes that seemed to look right through everything. In her first life, he had been the silent, untouchable loner who sat in the back row of her AP classes, completely invisible to her because her entire world had revolved around Ethan.

“What the fuck?” Amara breathed, her hand over her heart. “Were you fucking stalking me?”

Damian didn't flinch. He slowly pushed himself off the wall, stepping into the dim sunlight. “Hardly. The guy screams loud enough to wake the dead. You didn't have to be a detective to hear him throwing a temper tantrum.”

Amara narrowed her eyes, studying his unbothered, calm face. “And what business is it of yours?”

“None,” Damian said softly, stopping a few feet away. His gaze lingered on her face not with pity, and not with the judgment she was used to from other boys. He looked at her with a heavy, quiet intensity that made her breath hitch. “Just a warning. Ethan doesn't take rejection well. He’s petty, and he doesn't like losing what he thinks belongs to him.”

Amara’s eyebrows knitted together in sudden suspicion. “And how the hell do you know how Ethan takes anything? You two don't even talk.”

Damian stood in silence for a long moment. The autumn breeze rustled his dark hair, but his eyes remained completely fixed on hers holding a strange, profound sadness that felt far too old for a seventeen-year-old boy.

“Because I’ve known him a lot longer than you think,” Damian said quietly.

Before Amara could demand a real explanation, Damian turned and began walking away toward the parking lot, his long strides carrying him effortlessly across the pavement.

Amara stood paralyzed near the gymnasium wall, watching his tall silhouette fade into the distance.

Her mind was racing in utter chaotic circles.

Known him longer than I think?

In her first life, Damian had vanished right before her death at twenty seven. She had never known anything about his family, his past, or why he had always been nearby.

She looked down at her hands, a sudden, cold realization striking her like a bolt of lightning.

The way he had looked at her... the…., knowing darkness in his eyes... the calm, unbothered warning about Ethan’s true nature...

No way... Amara thought, her heart stopping dead in her chest as a chilling question echoed through her mind.

Is Damian reborn too?