Beneath His Lies

Chapter5

The city was half-asleep, humming with the restless noise of traffic and rain.

Clara stood across the street from Drake Enterprises, clutching the small brass key in her pocket like a lifeline. The skyscraper towered above her—glass, steel, and secrets—its lights reflecting off the wet pavement.

She had no plan, only adrenaline. Liam’s voice still echoed in her head. If anything happens to me—don’t open it. Not yet.

But “not yet” had expired the moment she saw his arrest on the news.

She crossed the street and entered the marble lobby. The night guard barely looked up from his desk.

“Ms. Vaughn,” he said politely.

Her heart skipped. “You know me?”

He nodded, eyes flicking briefly to the ID scanner. “You’re cleared for executive access. Mr. Drake’s orders.”

Her breath caught. Liam had known she’d come. He’d planned for it. Or…someone else had.

The elevator doors closed with a hiss. As it rose, her reflection stared back at her—pale skin, damp hair, eyes wide with uncertainty. She looked like someone standing at the edge of a lie too deep to climb out of.

Floor 79. The top.

The office was dark when she stepped out. Moonlight filtered through the panoramic windows, outlining the minimalist furniture in silver. Liam’s desk sat like an altar at the room’s center.

She hesitated, then crossed to it. The air smelled faintly of cedar and something darker—his cologne, sharp and clean.

Her pulse steadied. Focus.

She moved to the rug behind the desk, pulled it back, and found a small cut in the hardwood. The key fit perfectly. The panel clicked open, revealing a hidden safe embedded in the floor.

Inside:

– A silver flash drive labeled Project Rebirth.

– A black envelope sealed with wax.

– And a photograph.

She froze.

The photo was old, slightly water-damaged. Three people stood in front of a private jet. Liam. Lucien. And her.

Clara.

Smiling.

Her stomach turned.

No. She’d never met them before the accident. She couldn’t have. She would have remembered.

But there she was—wearing the same locket she’d lost the night of the charity gala.

She tore open the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper, handwritten in Liam’s sharp script.

> Clara,

If you’re reading this, it means I failed to protect you again.

You were never supposed to remember who you were to us.

Don’t trust anyone—not even me.

Whatever they tell you about the crash, know this: you weren’t a bystander.

You were the reason it happened.

Her hands trembled. The words blurred as her mind spiraled.

She? The reason for the crash?

The air thickened, closing in around her. She grabbed the drive and shoved it into the computer.

The screen flickered to life. Project Rebirth – Confidential.

A folder opened automatically: Flight Archive → June 18th, 2022.

She clicked.

Security footage loaded—grainy black and white. The interior of a private jet. Lucien seated at the table. Liam pacing, angry.

The audio kicked in.

> Liam: “We can’t let her decide this.”

Lucien: “She already has. It’s done.”

Liam: “She doesn’t understand what they’ll do to her!”

Lucien: “Then you should’ve told her the truth.”

The camera panned. Clara appeared—calm, composed, sliding a document across the table.

> Clara (on video): “This is the only way to stop the board. If they think I’m dead too, they can’t use me.”

Her knees buckled.

She watched as the footage showed her removing her necklace—her locket—and placing it in Lucien’s hand.

> Lucien: “We’ll come back for you.”

Clara: “Promise me one of you will remember.”

The next seconds were chaos—alarms, shaking, fire. The jet spiraled. The feed cut to static.

Clara stumbled back from the screen, heart hammering in her ears.

Her past wasn’t a mystery. It was erased.

Her phone buzzed. A new message flashed across the screen.

Unknown Number: “Now you remember.”

A sound behind her—soft, deliberate. The faint creak of a shoe.

She spun around. The glass wall reflected movement. A figure in a dark coat stepped out from the shadowed hallway.

“Hello, Clara.”

Lucien.

Her throat tightened. “You were in that video.”

He nodded. “And so were you.”

“What is Project Rebirth?”

He walked closer, his reflection multiplying in the glass like a ghost surrounding her. “The price of a second chance.”

“Explain.”

He studied her face, almost tenderly. “You were one of us. A neuroscientist working with the board on cognitive replication. We were developing technology to preserve memory—to transfer it.”

Her stomach twisted. “Transfer it? Into what?”

He smiled faintly. “Into a body. A clone. A perfect copy.”

She took a step back. “That’s impossible.”

“Not anymore.”

“You’re saying I’m not me?”

“I’m saying the woman you were—died on that plane. You’re what we brought back.”

The words shattered the air like glass.

She shook her head violently. “No. No, I remember my life—my parents, my job, everything!”

“Fabricated. Constructed memories. Liam did it to protect you from the truth. You were the board’s experiment. Their proof of concept.”

Her vision swam. The walls felt too close. “And you expect me to believe that?”

He looked almost sad. “You already do. You just don’t want to.”

“Why tell me now?”

“Because the board found out you survived. And they want you back.”

Her pulse thundered. “For what?”

“To finish what we started.”

She turned to the screen again, where the frozen image of her past self stared back—alive, confident, someone she didn’t recognize anymore.

Lucien’s voice softened. “You weren’t supposed to remember me. Or him. But your memories are resurfacing faster than we calculated. Soon, you’ll know everything.”

She backed away. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” He nodded toward the desk. “Look inside the drawer.”

Cautiously, she pulled it open. Inside lay a medical bracelet with her name—Clara Vaughn, date of birth, and a barcode. Under it: Subject 12 – Rebirth Trial.

Her hands went numb.

Lucien’s expression was unreadable. “They said it was mercy. That giving you another chance was redemption for what we did. But Liam—he never forgave himself.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because he fell in love with what was left of you.”

The words sliced through her.

“Stop.”

“He rebuilt you,” Lucien continued. “He gave you a new identity, new memories. But you can’t bury a soul forever. That’s why you kept dreaming about the crash. That’s why you felt drawn to us.”

Her breath came in short, sharp bursts. “You expect me to believe I’m some kind of experiment?”

“I expect you to survive it.”

His gaze flicked to the security camera. “They’re already on their way. The board knows you accessed the drive.”

“How?”

“Because that key you used—it wasn’t his.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“It was mine.”

Before she could speak, the building lights flickered red. Security alarms blared.

Lucien grabbed her wrist. “We need to go. Now.”

She yanked free. “You lied to me!”

“And he didn’t?” His voice cracked, raw. “Clara, you don’t understand—if they capture you, they’ll reset you again. You’ll wake up not knowing me, not knowing anything.”

“I don’t even know if I want to!”

The door burst open. Armed guards flooded in.

Lucien turned, pulling her behind him. “Get to the elevator!”

She hesitated, torn between running and fighting, between fear and fury. Then instinct took over. She sprinted for the glass exit.

Bullets shattered the windows. Wind roared through the office.

Lucien slammed his hand on the fire alarm, triggering the sprinklers. Water cascaded down, blurring the chaos into silver mist.

He caught her gaze once through the storm. “Find the vault beneath Pier 27. That’s where it all began.”

“What’s there?” she shouted.

“The truth.”

He pushed her toward the stairwell just as a flashbang detonated. The explosion knocked her off her feet.

When the world steadied again, Lucien was gone.

Smoke filled the room. Clara crawled toward the open window, rain slashing her face. Far below, emergency sirens wailed.

She clutched the flash drive to her chest and staggered into the night.

---

An hour later, she sat in a train station café, soaked and shaking. The drive sat on the table beside her, dripping water. She replayed the words over and over. Project Rebirth. Subject 12.

Her reflection in the window stared back—unfamiliar, distant.

Who was she, really?

Her phone buzzed again. A video message. She pressed play.

Liam appeared on-screen, eyes shadowed. He looked exhausted, defeated.

> Liam: “If you’re seeing this, then Lucien got to you first. Don’t believe him. He’s the copy, not you. The real Lucien died in that crash. The board used his DNA to build him. They used your memories to build you. Two ghosts pretending to be human.”

The video glitched, static consuming the edges of his voice.

> “Go to Pier 27. But don’t open the vault. Burn it. Or it’ll all start again.”

The video cut off.

Clara sat frozen, the rain tapping softly against the window.

Two versions of the truth. Two men claiming to save her.

And one vault holding the answer to who she truly was.

She picked up the drive, her reflection splitting across the dark glass.

“Who am I?” she whispered.

The café lights flickered. A man at the counter glanced at her—a stranger with familiar eyes.

When he smiled, her blood ran cold.

Because it wasn’t just familiar.

It was identical.