Chapter 1: Dead Girls Don't Answer
1103 Words
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.
For five years, no one had called me Ariana Romano.
Not my neighbors.
Not my landlord.
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.
No secrets.
A lie I had spent five years perfecting.
Another bang rattled the apartment door.
"Ariana!"
I backed away, every muscle in my body locked.
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.
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.
My breath caught.
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.
Its engine was 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 exploded under a violent kick.
The first kick cracked the wood.
The second sent the deadbolt groaning.
By the third, I was already moving.
Running had kept me alive for five years.
Freezing would get me killed.
I grabbed my backpack from the chair and shoved my phone inside. My wallet, apartment keys, and the brown envelope containing my employment papers disappeared into the bag a second later.
Another crash shook the apartment.
"Ariana!" the man shouted. "You can open the door... or we'll do it for you."
I bolted toward the bedroom.
The fire escape.
It was old, rusty, and probably one bad step away from collapsing, but it was better than waiting for whoever was outside.
My fingers fumbled with the window latch.
"Come on..."
It refused to budge.
The front door cracked again.
Heavy footsteps poured into my living room.
"Spread out!"
"Check every room!"
They were inside.
I shoved the window harder.
It flew open.
Cold morning air slapped my face.
Without thinking, I climbed onto the narrow fire escape.
The metal groaned beneath my weight.
Behind me, my bedroom door burst open.
"There!"
A gun appeared through the doorway.
I threw myself down the staircase just as something slammed into the railing beside my head.
Metal sparked.
My ears rang.
Gunshots.
They were shooting.
A woman screamed somewhere below.
"She's escaping!"
I skipped the last four steps and landed awkwardly in the alley behind the building.
Pain shot through my ankle.
I ignored it.
"Stop!"
I ran.
Garbage bins, puddles, delivery trucks—I zigzagged through everything in my path.
A motorcycle nearly clipped me.
The rider cursed as I darted across the street.
My lungs burned.
Five years.
Five years of looking over my shoulder.
Five years of believing I'd finally disappeared.
I should've known better.
My phone vibrated inside my backpack.
I almost ignored it.
Almost.
Still running, I pulled it out.
Unknown Number.
«Don't take the main road. Turn left.»
"What?"
Another message appeared immediately.
«Trust me if you want to live.»
I should've deleted it.
Instead, I turned left.
A black SUV roared past the intersection I'd almost crossed.
If I'd kept running straight...
They would've hit me.
Brakes screamed behind me.
Car doors opened.
"There she is!"
"They're behind you," I whispered.
No.
Not "they."
My family.
I ducked into a crowded market.
Voices blended together.
Vendors shouted prices.
Children laughed.
The smell of roasted corn and fresh bread filled the air.
Perfect.
Crowds made surveillance harder.
I slowed my pace, pulled off my blazer, and stuffed it into my backpack.
A woman selling scarves looked up.
"You look pale, dear."
"I missed breakfast."
She chuckled.
"Happens to the best of us."
If only that were true.
My phone buzzed again.
«Blue cap. Three stalls ahead. Don't let him see your face.»
I looked up.
A man wearing a blue baseball cap stood near a fruit stand.
He wasn't shopping.
His eyes swept through the crowd.
Searching.
For me.
I turned away and picked up the nearest straw hat.
"How much?" I asked the vendor.
"Two thousand."
"I'll take it."
I shoved cash into her hand without waiting for change and pulled the hat low over my face.
The man in the blue cap walked right past me.
Close enough for me to smell his cologne.
He kept going.
Only after he disappeared into the next row did I finally breathe again.
Whoever was sending those messages...
...had just saved my life.
The market exit opened onto the financial district.
Glass buildings towered overhead.
People hurried toward offices, clutching coffee cups and laptops.
Normal.
Everything looked painfully normal.
I stopped across the street from Blackwood Holdings.
The silver logo gleamed in the morning sun.
I should leave.
Disappear again.
Find another city.
Another identity.
Another life.
But I was tired.
Tired of running.
Tired of waking up every morning wondering if someone would find me.
If I walked away now, nothing would change.
They would keep hunting me.
I tightened my grip on my backpack and crossed the street.
The revolving doors slid open.
Cool air washed over me as I stepped into the marble lobby.
For the first time that morning...
...I felt almost safe.
Then my phone buzzed one last time.
«Congratulations. You made it inside.
I frowned.
Another message arrived before I could react.
Your boss already knows who you really are.
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