The Dream Between Us

At twenty-nine, Victoria Harrington had everything people spent their lives chasing. She was the youngest CEO in the history of Harrington Global, a multinational technology and infrastructure company founded by her grandfather over fifty years ago. Newspapers called her "The Ice Queen of Business." Investors admired her sharp instincts. Employees respected her unwavering standards. No one ever saw her hesitate. Every morning, Victoria stepped into the towering glass headquarters wearing tailored suits, flawless heels, and an expression that revealed nothing. She negotiated billion-dollar contracts before lunch, solved corporate crises before dinner, and rarely left the office before sunset. Her life was perfectly organized. Or so everyone believed. Because every night, without fail, she dreamed of the same man. She never saw how the dreams began. Sometimes they stood in a rain-soaked forest beneath towering trees. Other nights they were inside an ancient library filled with shelves that stretched endlessly into darkness. Once, they found themselves on a cliff overlooking a restless ocean beneath a sky full of unfamiliar stars. The locations changed. The man never did. He was tall, with dark hair that fell untidily across his forehead and piercing grey eyes that seemed to carry years of sorrow. He never frightened her. Somehow, despite being a complete stranger, he felt... familiar. As though she'd known him all her life. Yet she was certain they'd never met. In every dream, they spoke. Not about ordinary things. They talked about destiny, loneliness, impossible choices, and promises neither of them remembered making. "You're looking for something," he would often say. "What?" "You'll know when it's time." Before she could ask another question, she'd wake. Every single time. Victoria had spent months convincing herself the dreams meant nothing. Stress. Exhaustion. Too much coffee. Yet the dreams grew more vivid each night. Sometimes she woke convinced she could still hear his voice. Other times she caught herself searching for his face in crowded elevators or busy restaurants. She hated how much space he occupied in her thoughts. It made no sense. One rainy Thursday evening, Victoria finally left the office after another fourteen-hour workday. The city shimmered beneath the storm. Traffic crawled along the streets while people hurried beneath umbrellas. Her driver eased the car toward a traffic light. Then everything stopped. Voices. Shouting. Victoria glanced through the rain-streaked window. Half a dozen men had surrounded someone in a narrow side street. They shoved him against a brick wall. One of them swung a fist. Another kicked him after he collapsed. People walked past. No one intervened. "Stop the car," Victoria said. Her driver hesitated. "Ma'am..." "I said stop." The car pulled over. Before anyone could argue, Victoria stepped into the rain. Her heels splashed through puddles as she crossed the street. "Enough!" Her voice cut through the chaos. The attackers turned. "What?" "I've already called the police," she lied calmly. "Leave." For a brief moment, nobody moved. Then distant sirens echoed somewhere across the city. The men exchanged uneasy glances. "Forget him." One by one, they disappeared into the darkness. Victoria hurried toward the injured stranger. He was sitting against the wall, breathing heavily. Blood stained the corner of his mouth. His jacket was torn. Slowly, he lifted his head. Their eyes met. The world seemed to freeze. Grey eyes. Dark hair. The same face. The same man. Her dream. Victoria took an involuntary step backward. Impossible. Absolutely impossible. He stared at her with the same stunned expression. "You..." he whispered. It wasn't recognition. It was disbelief. "As if..." he murmured. "As if I've seen you before." A chill raced down Victoria's spine. She hadn't told anyone about the dreams. Not even her closest friend. Yet somehow... He looked just as shocked as she felt. "Can you stand?" she asked quietly. After a moment, he nodded. She helped him to his feet. He winced. "I'll take you to a hospital." "No hospitals." "You need treatment." "I've had worse." She raised an eyebrow. "You say that like it's normal." He offered the faintest smile. "It shouldn't be." She studied him carefully. Despite the bruises, he carried himself with quiet confidence. Not arrogance. Strength. As though hardship had become an old companion. "What is your name?" "Ethan." "Ethan...?" He hesitated. "I don't remember." Victoria frowned. "What do you mean?" "I woke up three months ago with no memory." She searched his face for any sign he was lying. There wasn't one. "I know my first name because it was stitched inside an old backpack I was carrying." "And your last name?" "I don't have one." The rain continued falling around them. By the time they reached her estate later that evening, neither of them noticed the old groundskeeper watching silently from the shadows. The elderly man removed his glasses, staring at Ethan with growing disbelief. His hands began to tremble. "No..." he whispered to himself. "It can't be." Because twenty-five years earlier... He had watched that same man die. The old groundskeeper, Mr. Collins, stumbled backward, his weathered face draining of color. "No..." he whispered again, rubbing his eyes as though his aging vision had betrayed him. "That's impossible." He had buried that memory decades ago. Twenty-five years earlier, during the Harrington family's annual retreat at the estate, a terrible accident had claimed the life of a young man who looked exactly like the stranger standing before him now. Not similar. Not almost. Exactly. The same eyes. The same face. Even the small scar above his right eyebrow. Mr. Collins gripped the porch railing to steady himself. Either he was losing his mind... Or the impossible had just walked through the front gate. Inside the mansion, Victoria led Ethan into the grand foyer. The house was breathtaking. Marble floors reflected the warm glow of crystal chandeliers while a sweeping staircase curved elegantly toward the second floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked acres of perfectly kept gardens that disappeared into the darkness beyond. Ethan paused. "I've never seen a place like this." Victoria set her handbag on a nearby table. "It's bigger than necessary." He smiled faintly. "I think that's the understatement of the century." For the first time that evening, Victoria found herself smiling back. It surprised her. She rarely smiled around strangers. A housekeeper approached with concern written across her face. "Miss Harrington, are you alright? We were beginning to worry." "I'm fine, Grace." Grace's eyes shifted to Ethan's bruised face. "Oh my goodness..." "He'll be staying here temporarily," Victoria said calmly. "Please prepare one of the guest rooms." Grace blinked. "I'm sorry... staying here?" "Yes." There was a brief silence. The staff knew Victoria better than anyone. She never invited strangers into her home. Ever. Yet no one questioned her decision. "If that's your wish," Grace replied before disappearing upstairs. Ethan looked uncomfortable. "You don't have to do this." "I know." "I could stay somewhere else." "You don't have anywhere else." He looked down. "No." She sighed softly. "I have more empty rooms than I know what to do with. You'll stay until you've recovered." "Thank you." The words were simple. But something about the way he said them made them feel heavier than gratitude alone. Almost as though he'd spent a long time surviving without kindness. An hour later, after the estate's doctor cleaned and bandaged Ethan's injuries, Victoria returned to her office on the second floor. Stacks of contracts still waited on her desk. Normally, work helped clear her mind. Tonight, she couldn't read a single sentence. Instead, she replayed every moment from the street. His face. His voice. The shock in his eyes when he'd looked at her. "As if I've seen you before." She opened her laptop and typed one question into the search bar. Can two strangers have the same recurring dream? Hundreds of articles appeared. Psychology. Coincidence. Shared subconscious. Nothing felt convincing. She closed the laptop with a frustrated sigh. A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts. "Come in." Mr. Collins stepped inside. He looked unusually pale. "Miss Harrington..." "What is it?" His eyes drifted toward the guest wing. "The man you brought home..." "Yes?" "Where did you find him?" Victoria frowned. "Being attacked downtown." Mr. Collins swallowed. "Did he tell you his name?" "Ethan." The old man's breathing became noticeably uneven. "And... does he remember anything about his past?" "No." Silence settled between them. Finally, Victoria stood. "Mr. Collins, you're worrying me." He hesitated, as though wrestling with himself. "There are some things about this estate..." he began quietly. "...things your grandfather ordered everyone to forget." Before Victoria could ask another question, the grandfather clock in the hallway struck midnight. One... Two... Three... At the same moment, Ethan jerked awake in the guest room. His heart pounded violently. The room was dark. Yet he could have sworn someone had whispered his name. Not from outside. Not from the hallway. From inside his mind. He sat upright, breathing hard. Then he noticed something strange. On the bedside table lay an old silver pocket watch. He hadn't seen it before. Slowly, he picked it up. Inside the cover was a faded inscription. To my son... Find Victoria before it's too late. Ethan stared at the words. His hands began to shake. He had no memory of ever owning the watch. No memory of having a father. And yet... Somehow... His name was engraved on the back.