[3]

A sharp, distant noise slowly crept into my consciousness. My body felt heavy, like I was being dragged back into a bottomless pit every time I tried to open my eyes. But eventually, after several attempts, I managed to force them open—even though the pain in my chest still throbbed relentlessly.

The room was bright—far too bright. The harsh light stung my eyes. Around me stood a few people: a man in a white coat, nurses in crisp uniforms, and two others whose faces I didn’t recognize.

“Where... where am I?” I croaked, my voice hoarse and fragile.

A man with a stethoscope around his neck stepped closer. “Relax, Miss Vanesa. You’re safe now.”

That name made me frown. “Vanesa?” I echoed faintly, trying to sit up, but my head spun like a carousel. One of the people standing nearby reached out, gently keeping me from moving too much.

“You're still recovering, Vanesa. Please, take it slow,” he said with a soft smile.

Ugh. Who is he? Why is he calling me Vanesa?

The doctor smiled kindly and spoke in a calm, understanding tone. “We almost lost you, Miss Vanesa. When you were brought here, your body was in critical condition after a severe accident. Your heart stopped for several minutes—we had even prepared to declare your death.”

I froze, trying to wrap my head around what he had just said. “Wait... what do you mean, you lost me? And a death declaration?”

His gaze turned serious. “You were clinically dead. In medical terms, it's called death by cardiac arrest—your heart stopped beating, which cut off blood flow to your brain and vital organs. We performed CPR for fifteen minutes without success. Your injuries were extensive. But just as we were about to stop... your heart started beating again.”

“My heart... started beating again? You mean—it had stopped?” I repeated, still in disbelief.

He nodded. “It’s an extremely rare event, sometimes called the Lazarus phenomenon in medicine. In most cases, patients who experience it suffer brain damage due to the lack of oxygen. But you... you recovered quickly. Although there may be some side effects—temporary memory loss is common.”

I swallowed hard, trying to process everything. “Memory loss?”

“Yes,” the doctor replied, adjusting his glasses. “But don’t worry. It’s usually temporary. You’ll likely start remembering things gradually.”

“But I do know who I am,” I protested. There was no way I could forget that. The painful memories before I ended up here were still vivid—my husband, whom I loved, had cheated on me. He had a son. He handed me divorce papers, and even my mother-in-law supported his decision. As much as I wanted to forget it all, those memories clung tightly to me. “I’m Paula Whitney. What are you all talking about?”

The doctor furrowed his brow and exchanged a glance with a short-haired woman standing nearby. She sighed, then nodded as if understanding something unspoken. She approached my bedside, concern written across her face as our eyes met.

“Vanesa, don’t you remember me?” she asked, her voice trembling.

I shook my head slowly, my confusion deepening. “I don’t know who you are. And... why do you keep calling me Vanesa? Who is Vanesa?”

The woman took a deep breath before answering. “I’m Jihan, your personal assistant. I’ve worked with you for the past three years. You are Vanesa Khiel—a famous singer.”

My eyes widened. A singer? Vanesa Khiel? That couldn’t be right. I couldn’t even carry a tune without sounding like a rusted can. Were they all hallucinating?

“I don’t know you. And I’m not Vanesa!” I said, my voice rising with panic.

Another man—tall, with thin glasses—stepped forward from the corner of the room. “Vanesa, please, calm down. It’s me, Rio. I’m your manager. I was terrified when I heard about your accident. But look—you’re alive. That’s what matters most.”

I shook my head rapidly, frustration and fear rising in my chest. “Stop calling me Vanesa! I’m not her! I’m Paula Whitney! My husband—” I paused, biting my lip. “My husband... Orlando... where is he?”

Everyone in the room exchanged uncertain glances, as if I had just said something completely absurd.

The doctor gave my shoulder a gentle pat. “Miss Vanesa, memory loss can cause confusion like this. We’ll continue to monitor your condition, but for now, you need to rest and avoid overexerting yourself.”

I wanted to scream. I knew who I was. I remembered what had happened to me. Orlando broke my heart, shattered it into pieces, and Jeany stole what little happiness I had left.

And now they expected me to believe I was someone else?

It was absurd.

The woman named Jihan approached me again, placing a warm hand on mine. “We’re here for you, Vanesa. Don’t worry—we’ll help you remember everything.”

I looked at each of them in turn—the doctor, the nurse, Jihan, and Rio. They all looked sincere, their concern genuine. But I couldn’t accept a single word they said. Was I the one who was wrong… or was the world around me twisted?

Their words stirred something in me. I didn’t know why, but suddenly I felt a desperate urge to see myself in a mirror. Just to be sure. Just to confirm my fear wasn't real.

“I want to go to the bathroom,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Could you help me?”

Jihan nodded quickly, clearly relieved to be useful. She gently helped me down from the bed, occasionally reminding me to watch my step. Slowly, we made our way to the restroom—

—and there it was.

The mirror.

The one thing that couldn’t lie to someone whose memories were still intact.

The mirror that—“Damn it!”

I stared in shock, my fingers trembling as they touched my face, my hair, my warm skin. Everything felt real. Everything matched the reflection.

No mistake.

The woman in the mirror had sleek, silver-toned hair. Her face was strikingly unfamiliar, a little pale, but beautiful.

I knew this face.

I had seen it once—right before everything faded into darkness.

It was the face of a woman crying, begging me for something. A face I had silently admired, even as the world slipped away.

“You only asked me to protect your little brother,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “This... this isn’t how it was supposed to end, is it?”

I was Paula Whitney...in Vanesa Khiel’s body. Then where was my body?

“What did you just say, Vanesa?”

Jihan’s voice cut through my thoughts. She looked confused, concerned. “Are you okay?”

My heart thundered in my chest. Memories were colliding—Flashes of a conversation I’d had with Vanesa—“Jihan,” I said, barely managing to speak her name.

“Yes? What is it, Vanesa? You don’t look well. We should get you back to bed—you’ve moved too much already.”

She quickly supported me, or I might have collapsed right then.

“Do I… have a younger brother?”

Jihan’s eyes lit up, her face blooming with joy.

“Yes! You do. His name is Adam. Do you want to see him?”

Damn it, Vanesa! What the hell did you do to me?

"Use me well. I’m sure you’ll know what to do. And please… don’t break your promise. Take care of my brother."