A.K was once the most sought-after ghostwriter in the industry — the invisible hand behind bestselling authors and viral stories.
Until one scandal ruined everything. Her name became a curse, her career shattered, and her words, her only escape, betrayed her.

Then one night, an email arrives.
The sender’s name makes her heart stop.
Because the man who sent it… died three years ago.

He knows her secrets.
The kind she buried beneath grief, guilt, and silence.
The kind no one alive should ever know, including the truth about a friend’s mysterious death she’s long tried to forget.

Now he wants her to tell his story.
Each chapter she writes pulls her deeper into his world, a world that blurs the lines between reality and insanity.
Voices whisper through her drafts, shadows linger where light should be, and the haunting question remains:

Is she writing his story… or rewriting her own?

The story was never his alone.
Even dead men write too… they just need the right writer to bleed for them.

The night came early.Or maybe I just didn't notice the day leaving.


I'd been awake for almost forty hours.The apartment smelled of burnt coffee and static — that sharp, electrical scent that comes right before something breaks.


I told myself I wouldn't open the laptop again.That I'd sleep, or shower, or call someone, anyone, just to hear a human voice.But the typewriter had other plans.


It started at 2:13 a.m.One key. Then another. Slow. Steady. Like someone testing the weight of each letter.


I should've ignored it.Instead, I found myself standing over it, watching words appear.


"You wanted an ending. Let's write it together."


Nothing.Just the sound of the machine breathing ink.


"Do you remember what really happened?"


My pulse stuttered."I told you already. It was an accident."


The carriage shifted, metal clicking softly, like laughter.


"You keep saying that. But accidents don't leave fingerprints on steering wheels."


I felt the floor tilt. The room swam."I wasn't driving," I said. "You were."


The only glow came from the laptop on my desk, open, waiting.A new document pulsed on the screen, titled The Night You Killed Me.


I didn't type a single word, but the page began to fill itself:


"She sat in the passenger seat. You told her you'd drive because Kane was too drunk. You said it would be safer that way.But you were angry. You wanted to scare them.You didn't see the turn until it was too late."


I shook my head. "No… that's not how it happened."


"You told the police Kane was behind the wheel. You told yourself the same lie until it became true."


I felt the room compress, the air thick as oil.My reflection in the black window looked older, hollowed out, a stranger mouthing my denial.


"You wrote your first bestseller from the ashes of that night. Every page was mine. Every line was hers."


My hands were trembling so badly I could barely breathe."Stop," I whispered. "Please stop."


The screen flickered. The words rearranged themselves one last time:


"A.K., the truth isn't what kills us. It's the story we tell to live."


In the dark, I could still hear the faint click of keys,one letter at a time.


Chapter 10 - THE NIGHT YOU KILLED ME