Prologue
Seven years of silence.
Seven years of watching from the shadows while they one by one—rose from the ashes and walked away.
While she—was left to be devoured by the fire. Buried, though no body was ever found.
And now... the ghost has returned.
Selene closed her eyes as she stood before the crumbling house.
Once a mansion.
Once a palace of wealth and power.
Now, nothing more than the haunted vision of a tragedy consumed by time and lies.
The windows were shattered.
The pillars blackened. .
The roses in the garden long gone.
As though even the memories had been swallowed by smoke.
But not everything that is left behind disappears.
One thing remained.
Alive.
Breathing.
Returning.
The wind was cold, bitter—as if carrying the remnants of ash and blood with every breath she took.
In her hand, she clutched a pendant she had hidden for years.
Cracked.
Rusting.
But inside it, the photo of a young girl with a name that should no longer exist still remained.
Luna Mendez.
"Are you ready?" a voice broke the silence.
She didn't turn.
Behind her, Nico stood quietly.
The only person who hadn't looked away as she slowly turned to ash.
The man who saved her when no one else even tried.
"I'm ready for them to see the hell they created," Selene answered, her voice heavy with the weight of rising rage and vengeance swelling in her chest.
As the pain surfaced, the memories of the past resurfaced.
Fire.
Smoke.
Screaming.
And in the middle of the flames, a voice— "I'm sorry, Luna… you have to disappear."
Her father's voice—the very voice she cursed that day.
But now she had a scream loud enough to rupture every eardrum.
She returned to the present.
To the land that once was her home—but was now the grave of her name.
She was declared dead.
Buried without a body.
And yet here she stood.
Stronger.
Colder.
Hungrier.
Selene Cruz.
The name on the badge clipped to her coat.
Forensic Psychology Intern.
A false identity.
A mission.
"Someone's here," Nico said. He paused briefly before speaking again. "One of the people who never came back for you."
"Who?" she asked.
"Ezra Villanueva. Guest speaker at the forensic conference. Press is with him. It's being live-streamed."
Selene's world stopped.
Ezra.
The man who promised to come back.
The man who never looked back.
"Luna, I'll come back. I promise. I won't leave you."
But the last sound she heard... was a door closing.
Her body turned rigid.
Now, Ezra was here.
Alive.
Successful.
Adored by the media.
And he had no idea...
That the nightmare from the past was already one step away from tearing it all down.
Selene opened her eyes.
She was no longer Luna.
Gone was the girl abandoned by a father, betrayed by a friend, and left behind by the man she loved.
Now, she was a ghost walking in daylight.
Now... she was the danger.
She smiled silently.
A smile not born of joy—but vengeance.
For the fire.
For the pain.
For the self reborn in ash.
"They think my story ended," she said, watching the building Ezra was about to enter.
"But I haven't even started. You buried Luna Mendez. You should've made sure she stayed dead."
Sometimes, your body remembers the love before your brain catches up.
The applause hadn't even faded when Ezra stepped down from the stage.
He still wore the controlled composure of a man used to the spotlight. He stood straight, shoulders squared, a polite smile fixed on his face as he took the pen handed to him by a forensic student.
"Sir Ezra, pa-sign po?"
"Of course," he said, voice even, eyes unreadable.
He was grace in a hurricane of noise—confident, calm, untouchable.
But as he neared the VIP lounge, as the noise of the press slowly faded behind him…
Someone passed by.
She didn't acknowledge him.
Didn't look his way.
Just a woman.
Ordinary.
Almost invisible in the crowd.
She was wearing a cream blouse and fitted slacks. Holding a clipboard in one hand. Her hair tied in a loose bun—effortless, yet calculated.
But in that exact moment—as she passed him—something happened.
Ezra's fingers twitched.
His chest rose—then hitched, like the air had been knocked out of his lungs.
It felt like an invisible string pulling him toward her.
He didn't know why.
But his body reacted before his mind could make sense of it.
His eyes found her back.
Then her side profile.
Then her walk.
Deliberate.
Controlled.
Like someone trained to disappear in plain sight.
But it couldn't be her.
The girl he buried had red hair.
An untamed laugh.
Soft.
Light.
This one?
This one looked like silence that could slit your throat.
But still… something inside him cracked.
Why does my heart feel like it's looking at home… and heartbreak?
Ezra blinked, his pupils narrowing.
Beneath his wrist cuff, his smartwatch gave a subtle, almost imperceptible vibration.
He glanced at it instinctively.
No warning chimes.
No alarms.
Just a screen lit in red:
BIOMETRIC ALERT
Proximity Sensor Triggered.
UNKNOWN SUBJECT – HIGH
EMOTIONAL IMPACT.
HR SPIKE: +26bpm / Cortisol: Elevated / Muscle Tension: 47%.
He frowned.
That had never happened.
Not even with threats.
Not even with lovers.
The last time it had triggered like that?
Seven years ago.
Luna.
The night of the fire.
The last kiss that tasted like smoke.
She was still walking.
She hadn't looked back.
But Ezra had already turned.
Fully.
His eyes locked on her figure.
She was halfway past the hallway when he spoke.
Low. Measured. Uncertain.
"Do I… know you?"
She stopped.
Slowly.
Gracefully.
No panic.
No hesitation.
She turned her head, just slightly—enough for him to see the curve of her lips.
She gave a small smile.
Chilling.
Familiar.
Like an echo with a razor hidden underneath.
And she said, "Not anymore."
Ezra froze.
Not from confusion—but from recognition he couldn't explain.
There it was again—that pull.
That ache.
Like something had ripped open inside him.
And he didn't know why.
He didn't know who she was.
But his body—his heart—felt like it had been searching for her for a long time.
She walked away first.
But this time, the silence stayed with him.
You can fake your death. But you can't kill unfinished love.
The rooftop was high—so high that even the sound of the city below couldn't touch her.
Only the wind reached her.
And even that wind carried weight.
As if it remembered her too.
Selene stood near the ledge, her arms wrapped around herself like armor.
The night sky above her was cloudless, but the storm inside her chest refused to clear.
Below, the ballroom lights still flickered like a memory she couldn't kill.
All of them clapped and smiled, unaware that a ghost stood just twenty floors above them.
She wasn't here for applause.
She was here to haunt.
Selene watched the skyline, hiding from press and memory.
She didn't need noise.
She needed silence to breathe.
Because it was in the silence that the truth screamed loudest.
She reached inside her coat pocket and pulled out the only piece of the past she couldn't burn.
She opened her old locket.
It was heavy in her palm.
Small.
Scratched.
Slightly rusted.
But to her, it weighed more than her entire past life.
Inside: a torn photo of Ezra and a burned hospital band.
One look—and time fractured.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as her thumb brushed the blackened metal.
SELENE V. C.
The locket felt like it still remembered the fire.
As if it still held heat in its metal.
As if it wanted to remind her that no matter how beautiful the present, there was a yesterday that never said goodbye.
And just like that—the flashback hit her like a freight train.
Rain poured like knives.
She was cold.
Wet.
Bleeding.
Sirens.
Screams.
Crashing doors.
Someone was shouting her name.
Ezra, begging in the rain.
His voice cracked from panic, arms covered in her blood.
"Please—please don't take her away from me!"
His hands were shaking as he tried to hold her together, as if his love could keep her soul from slipping out.
Her body on a stretcher.
Medical gloves gripping her arms.
Lights blurring.
The world tilted.
Everything was pain. Then nothing.
A voice yelling: "We need to call time of death—NOW."
The moment was strange.
Quiet.
As if the world paused.
Time of death... 2:16 A.M.
"No, she's not—she's not gone, you don't know her, she fights—"
But the line went flat.
She was pronounced dead.
And in that moment…
Luna Mendez became a name on a death certificate.
But death is negotiable when the living still need revenge.
She wasn't given a second life by heaven.
She wasn't a miracle.
There was no magic.
No light.
What brought her back... was fury.
Selene didn't just survive.
She crawled out of that fire with nothing but breath and a name someone else gave her.
She was erased—by someone close to Ezra.
It wasn't just a coincidence.
Someone pulled her name from the system.
Deleted her file.
Signed her death.
Then left her alone in the dark.
That's when she knew.
She wasn't meant to live again.
She was meant to disappear.
But she chose otherwise.
And she's here not just for answers…
But to burn everything he built.
Her grip tightened on the locket, her knuckles white, her jaw locked.
There were no tears.
Not anymore.
Grief had long since turned to stone.
Now, only revenge remained.
"He buried me. But forgot I know how to rise."
And tonight, she would begin digging him a grave of his own.