Chapter one: She Woke Beneath the Earth
1070 Words
The darkness was suffocating.
It wrapped around Isabella like a living thing, pressing against her chest, stealing every breath she fought to take.
She couldn't see.
She couldn't move.
The air inside the coffin was becoming unbearably hot.
Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs with such force that she thought it might break free.
This isn't happening...
Her trembling hands searched the narrow space around her.
Smooth satin.
Soft silk lining.
The sweet scent of lilies.
Her fingertips brushed against the cold wood only inches above her face.
Reality crashed into her.
She wasn't dreaming.
She was trapped.
Buried alive.
"No..."
Her whisper barely escaped her lips before panic took over.
She slammed both fists against the coffin lid.
"Help!"
The sound echoed around her but seemed to go nowhere.
She hit it again.
And again.
Pain shot through her knuckles, but she refused to stop.
"I'm alive!"
Silence answered her.
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.
Her breathing became ragged.
Every breath felt smaller than the last.
She remembered the note.
"Don't trust your husband. Run before they find you."
Who had written it?
Why had someone hidden it inside her coffin?
More importantly...
Who were they?
Her fingers searched the satin again until they found the small silver lighter.
She flicked it open.
A tiny flame danced in the darkness.
Its warm glow revealed the inside of the coffin once more.
She stared upward.
Solid oak.
Beautifully polished.
Expensive.
Someone hadn't simply buried her.
Someone had planned her funeral.
A sudden wave of fear washed over her.
How long have I been down here?
Minutes?
Hours?
She didn't know.
The lighter's flame flickered.
She looked around desperately.
Near her shoulder, she noticed something strange.
A tiny metal latch hidden beneath the satin lining.
It didn't belong there.
Her brows knitted together.
Using shaking fingers, she pulled at the fabric.
The lining tore away with a ripping sound.
Behind it...
A narrow compartment.
Inside lay a small folding knife.
Isabella froze.
Someone hadn't just expected her to wake up.
Someone had expected her to escape.
"Who are you?" she whispered to the unknown person who had left these things behind.
There was no answer.
Only silence.
She unfolded the knife and began striking the wooden lid.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The blade chipped away at the wood.
Splinters fell into her face.
She ignored them.
Minutes passed.
Sweat soaked her hair.
Her hands cramped.
Still she kept cutting.
A tiny crack appeared.
Then another.
A thin stream of damp soil trickled through.
Hope surged inside her.
She attacked the crack with renewed strength.
The wood finally gave way.
Earth poured into the coffin.
Cold.
Heavy.
She gasped.
The weight threatened to crush her, but she clawed desperately through the loose soil above her.
Every handful felt heavier than the last.
Her fingernails tore.
Blood mixed with mud.
She didn't stop.
She couldn't.
Keep moving...
Keep breathing...
Don't die here...
At last—
Fresh air.
A cool breeze brushed her fingertips.
She pushed harder.
The earth above her shifted.
Grass.
Rain.
She broke through the surface with a desperate gasp.
Air flooded her burning lungs.
She coughed violently, dragging herself from the grave inch by inch.
Mud covered her white burial dress.
Her hair clung to her face.
Her hands were raw and bleeding.
She collapsed beside the freshly filled grave, staring up at the stormy sky.
She was alive.
Lightning flashed overhead.
Thunder shook the cemetery.
For several long moments she simply lay there, unable to move.
Then her eyes drifted toward the headstone.
The engraved words sent a chill through her entire body.
ISABELLA HART KINGSLEY
Beloved Wife. Loving Mother.
She reached out with trembling fingers, touching her own name carved into the stone.
"This can't be..."
She was looking at her own grave.
A fresh bouquet of white lilies rested at its base.
Beside it was a framed photograph.
She picked it up.
The woman smiling in the picture was unmistakably her.
Standing beside her was a handsome man in a black tuxedo.
His arm was wrapped around her waist.
They looked happy.
Deeply in love.
A little girl stood between them, laughing as she held both of their hands.
Isabella stared at the child's face.
Something stirred inside her.
A warmth.
A memory.
Tiny arms around her neck.
A little voice giggling.
"Mama!"
The vision vanished before she could grasp it.
A sharp pain exploded through her head.
She dropped the photograph.
"No..."
She pressed both hands against her temples.
"Please..."
Nothing returned.
Not her past.
Not the man.
Not the little girl.
Only fragments.
Broken pieces of a life she could no longer remember.
Rain continued falling.
Her thin burial dress offered no protection against the cold.
She forced herself to stand.
Her legs trembled beneath her weight.
As she looked around, she realized the cemetery was deserted.
Everyone had already gone home.
She was alone.
Or so she thought.
A twig snapped behind her.
She spun around.
Nothing.
Only rows of silent graves disappearing into the darkness.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
The wind rustled the trees.
She told herself she was imagining things.
She bent down to pick up the wedding photograph.
Something on the back caught her attention.
Written in elegant handwriting were five words.
Trust no one except Damian.
Her breath caught.
Damian?
Who was Damian?
Before she could think further...
Headlights swept across the cemetery.
A black SUV rolled slowly through the iron gates.
Its engine purred softly as it stopped a short distance away.
The driver's door opened.
A tall man stepped out.
He wore a long black coat that reached his knees.
Rain dripped from his dark hair as he looked directly at Isabella.
For a long moment...
Neither of them spoke.
Then he smiled.
Not warmly.
Not cruelly.
Like someone who had finally found what he had been searching for.
"You're alive," he said quietly.
Isabella took an instinctive step backward, tightening her grip on the knife hidden beneath her dress.
"Who are you?"
The man looked toward the freshly disturbed grave before meeting her eyes again.
"My name is Damian Cross."
His expression became serious.
"And if you want to stay alive..."
He glanced toward the cemetery gates.
"We need to leave."
Before Isabella could answer...
The sound of another vehicle echoed through the cemetery.
This one was coming fast.
Very fast.
Damian's face hardened.
"They found you."
- Writer
