The Romance in ‘ME’

Chapter One: The Girl Who Died Twice The first thing I remember is the sound of shattering glass. Not from this life. From the one before. There was rain. There were headlights. There was someone screaming my name. And then— Darkness. I died at nineteen. I know that sounds impossible. Dramatic. Insane. But when I opened my eyes again, I wasn’t on the wet pavement anymore. I was beneath silk sheets. The ceiling above me was painted ivory, lined with gold trimming that caught the early morning sun. The mattress beneath my body felt too soft, too expensive. My hands trembled as I lifted them in front of my face. They were not the hands I remembered. These were smoother. Paler. Unscarred. Alive. A sharp knock echoed against the door. “Miss Kestrel? Your father is waiting downstairs.” Miss. Kestrel. The name hit like a foreign language. I wasn’t Kestrel. I was— The thought fractured. My head throbbed violently, and flashes burned behind my eyes. A cramped apartment. Stacks of unpaid bills. A part-time job that barely covered rent. Dreams of becoming something more. And him. There had been someone. A boy with dark eyes and a temper he never apologized for. He used to look at me like I was the only thing that made sense in a broken world. I never got to say goodbye. The memories slipped through my fingers like smoke. “Miss Kestrel?” the voice pressed again. “I’ll be down,” I managed. My voice sounded different too. Stronger. Softer. I pushed myself upright, heart racing, and crossed the massive bedroom toward a mirror taller than I was. The reflection staring back at me wasn’t mine. Long dark hair fell in polished waves over my shoulders. My features were sharper, more refined. My eyes—still brown—looked older than nineteen. Like they had seen death. Because they had. I wasn’t just alive. I had been reborn. The Kestrel mansion was everything my past life had never touched. Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Silence that felt expensive. A man stood near the staircase, his posture rigid, suit tailored to perfection. When he turned, I knew instantly. Power. Cold, commanding power. “Sit,” he said. No warmth. No smile. Father. I obeyed, though every instinct inside me resisted. “You caused quite a scene last night,” he continued calmly. Last night? My mind scrambled, searching for memories that belonged to this body. A party. Music too loud. Champagne. Whispers. And then— Him. A boy leaning against a balcony railing, jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loosened like rules didn’t apply to him. Dark eyes. Sharp jaw. Dangerous stillness. The moment our gazes met, something inside my chest had twisted violently. Recognition. Not from this life. From before. “You embarrassed the family name,” my father said evenly. “You will attend campus today and avoid further incidents.” Campus. Right. This life belonged to Freya Kestrel. Nineteen. Elite university. Heir to Kestrel Holdings — one of the largest corporate empires in the city. Wealth. Influence. Expectations. And apparently, enemies. “I understand,” I replied quietly. He studied me as if measuring damage. “You seem different.” Because I died. But I only nodded. Campus felt like a different world from the mansion — louder, younger, careless. Students parted slightly when I walked past. Not out of kindness. Out of status. Whispers followed me. “That’s her.” “The scandal girl.” “Kestrel’s daughter.” I kept walking. Until I felt it. That pull. Slow. Magnetic. I didn’t need to turn around to know he was there. But I did. He stood near the fountain at the center courtyard, surrounded by a small group of guys who laughed too loudly at whatever he’d said. He wasn’t smiling. He was watching me. Damien. The name surfaced from this body’s memory. Damien Vale. The boy no one controlled. The boy professors tolerated but didn’t trust. The boy whose father’s company had mysteriously collapsed years ago. Our eyes locked. The world stilled. And something inside my chest shattered quietly. Because I knew those eyes. I knew that intensity. That restrained anger. That look of someone who had already lost too much. In my past life, I had loved someone like him. Or maybe… I had loved him. His expression darkened slightly as I approached. “You look different today,” he said, voice low, edged with something unreadable. “Do I?” “Yeah.” His gaze lingered. “Like you finally woke up.” A chill slid down my spine. “What makes you think I was asleep?” A faint smirk touched his mouth. “Because you never used to look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you remember me.” My breath caught. The air between us felt charged. Heavy. Familiar. Impossible. That was absurd. Footsteps approached from behind. “Freya.” I turned to find Caleb. Soft-spoken. Composed. Always steady. Blond hair neatly styled. Glasses resting lightly against his nose. His presence was calm in a way that didn’t demand attention — it earned it. “You left the meeting early yesterday,” he said gently. “Are you okay?” Meeting. Right. This life was full of obligations. “I’m fine,” I said. But I wasn’t. Because standing between these two boys felt like standing at a crossroads I had walked before. Damien’s intensity burned. Caleb’s steadiness grounded. And somewhere deep inside me, a quiet voice whispered: You were given another chance. Don’t waste it. Damien stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “Be careful, Kestrel.” “Of what?” “Of thinking you’re untouchable.” His gaze flicked briefly toward the main administration building — toward power. Toward legacy. Toward war. Then he walked away. Just like that. Leaving heat in his absence. Leaving questions. Leaving something that felt terrifyingly like fate. Caleb studied me carefully. “You shouldn’t get involved with him,” he said softly. “Why?” “He doesn’t lose gently.” Neither do I, I thought. Because I had already lost once. I died at nineteen. And somehow, I was nineteen again. But this time… I wasn’t poor. I wasn’t powerless. I wasn’t invisible. This time, I was Freya Kestrel. And I had a feeling this life would demand more from me than survival. It would demand choice. And maybe— Love.