Dead To My Family, Engaged To My Boss

Chapter 1: Dead Girls Don't Answer

I died five years ago.

At least, that's what my death certificate says.

So why was someone pounding on my apartment door at six o'clock in the morning... calling my real name?

"Ariana!" The voice echoed through the hallway. "Open the door! I know you're in there!"

The mug slipped from my hand and shattered against the kitchen floor.

The sharp crash echoed through the apartment, louder than it should have been. Hot coffee splashed across the tiles, creeping toward my bare feet, but I didn't move. Tiny white pieces of ceramic spun in different directions before settling into complete silence. My pulse pounded so hard that I could hear it over my own breathing. Five years of hiding, five years of answering to another name, and hearing Ariana again was enough to make my body forget how to function.

For a brief, terrifying second, I convinced myself I had imagined it. Maybe I hadn't slept enough. Maybe I was still trapped inside another nightmare. But then another heavy bang rattled the door, vibrating through the walls and into the soles of my feet. The sound wasn't imagined. Neither was the voice outside.

For five years, no one had called me Ariana Romano. Not my neighbors. Not my homeowner. Not my coworkers. To everyone around me, I was Aria Bennett—a quiet twenty-four-year-old marketing graduate who paid her rent on time, smiled politely, and kept to herself. A woman with no family, no history, and no secrets. It was a lie I had spent five years perfecting.

Another bang rattled the apartment door. "Ariana!" I backed away, every muscle locking in place. No. Whoever stood outside couldn't know. They couldn't. I had watched my own funeral. I had seen my mother cry over an empty coffin. I had watched my uncle lower his head and pretend to mourn the niece he tried to kill. That girl was gone. She had to be.

Even now, I could still see him standing beside the coffin.

His black suit had been perfectly pressed.

His expression had been carefully rehearsed.

Anyone watching would have seen a grieving uncle saying goodbye to his only niece.

I saw a murderer making sure his work looked convincing.

I remembered gripping the car door handle, ready to run across the cemetery and tell my mother the truth.

"Don't."

The man driving me away hadn't raised his voice.

He hadn't needed to.

"If you open that door, you'll make her bury you for real."

My hand slipped away from the handle.

I watched my own coffin disappear behind sheets of rain until the cemetery became nothing more than a blur in the distance.

That was the day Ariana Romano died.

Aria Bennett was born because she had no other choice.

Three more knocks echoed through the apartment, slower this time. Patient. Almost playful. "Come on," the voice called. "We both know dead girls don't answer doors." A chill crept down my spine. I reached for my phone with trembling fingers. No signal. I frowned. That wasn't possible. The Wi-Fi icon vanished, then my network bars disappeared too. Someone had jammed the signal.

The knocking stopped. Silence settled over the apartment. I waited. One second. Five. Ten. Nothing. Maybe they'd finally left. My phone buzzed. Unknown Number. A message appeared on the screen.

Don't open the door. He's not alone.

Before I could react, another text arrived.

Look through the window. Not the peephole.

Slowly, I crossed the living room and pulled the curtain aside just enough to see outside. A black SUV idled across the street with its engine running. Two men stood beside it, both dressed in black suits. One of them looked up, straight at my window. Then he smiled and raised his hand. He wasn't waving. He was counting.

One.

Two.

Three.

The apartment door burst inward with a violent kick. The lock snapped, and the wood cracked apart. I stumbled backward as another kick sent the broken door flying open. A man wearing a black cap stepped inside, his face partly hidden in the shadows. He looked around my apartment as if he owned the place before his eyes settled on me. His smile made my stomach twist.

"There you are," he said softly.

My pulse hammered against my ribs. Every exit was blocked. The front door was gone, and the fire escape outside my bedroom window overlooked a four-story drop. I was trapped. The man took another step toward me. "You've made this harder than it needed to be, Miss Romano."

"I'm not Ariana," I replied, forcing my voice to stay steady. "You have the wrong person."

He laughed under his breath. "I've heard that one before."

Two more men entered the apartment behind him. One locked the broken door while the other pulled a handgun from beneath his jacket. The room suddenly felt smaller. Quieter. My eyes darted toward the kitchen where a knife rested beside the sink, but it was too far away. The first man noticed where I was looking.

"I wouldn't," he warned.

"I wasn't planning to."

"Liar."

His grin widened. "We're not here to kill you... not yet."