Elara's trembling fingers hovered just above the porcelain sink, afraid that one wrong touch might shatter the fragile world holding her together. The face in the mirror wasn't hers—porcelain skin stretched over high cheekbones, dark hair falling in gentle waves past slender shoulders, lips soft and unfamiliar.
She leaned closer, willing the reflection to change. But it didn't. The woman staring back looked almost peaceful, untouched by sleepless nights or fear.
Her throat tightened. Words jammed behind her teeth. She wanted to scream, to demand an answer, yet all that slipped out was a whisper.
"Who are you?"
The silence thickened until a low, melodic voice stirred in her mind—neither male nor female, calm as wind through trees.
I am Celine Arden, it said softly.
The name slid into her thoughts like a half-remembered melody. Foreign, yet familiar enough to make her chest ache.
This is your name now, the voice continued. You are occupying my body.
The words hit like a stone dropped into water, sending panic rippling through her. "No…" Her own voice rasped. "I'm Elara Vaughn."
You were, the voice answered gently. That life has ended.
Her gaze locked on the stranger in the mirror. Those dark eyes held patience, waiting for comprehension she didn't have.
"Who was I?" she whispered.
You were a woman trapped in a life you didn't want, came the quiet reply. Your name is Celine Arden. You have been married for one year.
Married. The word struck like lightning. Images of the man who had shared her bed flashed behind her eyelids.
Your husband is Kael Rhyne.
Her lips parted in disbelief.
It was not a marriage of love, the voice confessed. It was arranged by our families—my grandfather and his, binding two old names through us.
Fragments stirred—faces she didn't know, emotions that weren't hers. A life unfolding behind the eyes of the woman in the mirror.
Her pulse thundered. "Why me? Why am I here?"
I sought a soul newly freed from its body, the voice said, calm as rain. I found you.
The truth crushed her. She was dead. The endless grind, the fluorescent lights, the moment she'd wished not to wake—it had all ended.
She staggered backward, gripping the sink until her knuckles turned white. "What happened to me?" Tears burned behind her eyes. "How long has it been?"
Over two weeks, the voice murmured.
"Two weeks?" The words tasted like ash.
Your absence was noticed. They reported you missing. Your body was found two days later. A funeral was held. People mourned… and life moved forward.
Her knees buckled. She slid to the cold tile floor, the chill biting through the thin fabric of her pajamas.
"So I'm really gone," she breathed.
Yes.
The walls seemed to close in. The air thickened until every breath scraped her lungs.
"What am I supposed to do now?"
No answer came at first—only the hollow tick of a clock somewhere beyond the door. Then the voice returned, softer.
You can live. That is all any of us can do.
Her composure cracked. "My mom… my dad…" She pressed shaking hands to her face. "Did they know? Did they cry? The bills, the apartment—what happens to them?"
Because you died from overwork, your company compensated your family, the voice explained. The settlement will sustain them for some time.
Elara's shoulders trembled. Tears spilled freely now, staining the stranger's skin she wore.
They miss you, the voice added. But they are learning to let go.
Her sobs came harder. "They moved on."
They had to.
She lifted her head, eyes red and glassy. "And you? What about you, Celine?"
I didn't want this life any longer, the voice confessed. I tried to end it.
Elara's breath caught. "Then why am I here?"
Because I was given a choice, Celine said softly. A chance to place another soul where mine would have vanished. I chose you.
The words wrapped around her like chains and comfort all at once.
"That's me," she whispered.
Yes. You are me now.
Elara—Celine—looked up again. The reflection no longer seemed entirely foreign. The shape of the mouth, the curve of the jaw—bits of herself hiding inside the stranger's beauty.
Her fingers touched the mirror, cool glass meeting trembling skin.
Her heart slowed, heavy but certain. This was real.
Your name is Celine Arden, the voice whispered one last time, fading into the quiet.
She breathed the name aloud. "Celine Arden."
It settled in her bones, deep and final, a vow more than an introduction.
This wasn't just a new face. It was a new existence—borrowed, fragile, and terrifying.
And it had only just begun.