Linh Nguyet sat frozen in the intricately carved wooden chair, her eyes wide, heart pounding in her chest after the butler's quiet words:
"You are the one who once died in this house."
A moment later, he turned and walked away, as if he'd never spoken at all—leaving her alone with a thousand questions tearing through her mind.
She… had died?
How could that be possible?
She had vivid memories of childhood, of her parents, of school and friends. Everything felt so normal—until she stepped into this house. So were those memories real? Or just a carefully crafted shell?
That afternoon, the rain continued to pour.
The wind slapped against the windows, making the curtains billow wildly—as if someone invisible stood behind them, pulling gently.
Linh Nguyet didn't sleep. Instead, she made her way to the one place in the house she had never dared to enter.
The basement.
The heavy wooden door groaned as she pushed it open. A narrow spiral staircase of stone descended into darkness.
No light. No sound.
Only a single candle, half-melted, resting on the first step—waiting, as if someone had prepared it just for her.
With trembling fingers, she picked it up and slowly descended.
Dampness. Mold. And something else.
A scent she recognized.
Faint, but unmistakable—old blood.
At the bottom was a small room, sealed off and blanketed in dust and cobwebs. And in the center of that room stood a white wedding dress, yellowed with age, displayed on a wooden mannequin. Next to it, a framed portrait of a young bride wearing the same dress—her face identical to Linh Nguyet's, though her eyes were filled with terror.
Etched beneath the photo were the words:
"For Nguyet — the one who will forever belong to me."
Bang.
The basement door slammed shut behind her.
She spun around. The exit was gone.
Footsteps echoed behind her. Slow. Measured. Like death itself drawing near.
"Do you remember now?"
The familiar voice rose from the darkness.
She turned.
It was him.
Luc Trac.
Tonight, he was no longer a shadow. His body was solid, his face frighteningly real. But his eyes… they were darker than ever — deep enough to pull her soul in and drown it.
"Who… am I?" she whispered.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them until only one heartbeat remained.
"You are my wife," he said softly. "My bride… from two lifetimes ago."
Two lifetimes?
Her heart skipped a beat.
He gently took her hand and pressed a cold kiss onto her ring finger.
"In your first life, you died saving me.
In the second, you were taken from me the night before our wedding.
And now… in this life, you must stay."
"No… I don't believe you…"
He didn't grow angry. He didn't look hurt. He simply gazed at her with an ache so deep, it felt eternal.
"Then let me show you."
Suddenly, the world shifted.
The stone walls faded into brick. The dusty basement transformed into a brilliant ballroom. Chandeliers glowed. Music played. Guests clapped and smiled.
She stood in the center — wearing the white dress — walking down the aisle.
Toward him.
Luc Trac stood at the end, waiting.
Just as their hands were about to touch—
a gunshot rang out.
Everything turned red.
Blood. Screams. He cradled her in his arms, trembling. "Nguyet! Don't sleep—don't leave me!"
She felt the last warmth of his embrace. His desperate promise. His tears falling onto her cheek.
And then—darkness.
She opened her eyes.
Luc Trac was carrying her in his arms. He laid her gently on the bed, tucking a thin blanket around her like one would protect a sleeping soul.
"You've seen it," he whispered, sitting by her side. "You can't run from this fate anymore."
Linh Nguyet struggled to sit up. Her eyes burned.
"Then how many times… do I have to die before I'm finally free?"
He stared at her for a long moment, then answered softly:
"Until the day you truly choose to stay."