Resurrecting the Dead
1073 Words
* "She’s supposed to be dead." *
Though no more than a whisper, the words were piercing enough to draw attention. The glasses stopped moving. Talks faded into uncomfortable quiet. Once a hive of laughing and clinking champagne glasses, the huge ballroom stopped moving.
Steady, I moved forward with steps, I moved for stiletto heels to clack against the marble floor. Managed. Their shocked, inquisitive, and terrified gazes weighed heavily on me.
Excellent. Give them a look. Let them ponder.
I had returned.
Damien Lancaster, who was standing at the far end of the room, was still. With his fingers gripped around his whiskey glass, his broad shoulders stiffened beneath his immaculate black tux. As though reflecting the cracks that ran across his meticulously constructed universe, the ice inside shattered. His dark blue eyes, filled with something unreadable, met mine.
I grinned. Slow. Icy. Empty.
It was nearly comical. I was taken out of a courtroom in handcuffs, betrayed, and thrown out like trash the last time he saw me. In front of his eyes, I was revived as a ghost dressed in high-end silk.
"Serena Hayes," a voice said.
No. No more.
My lips curled as I moved my head slightly. "I go by Miss Sinclair now."
The crowd echoed with gasps. The name was a statement rather than merely a disguise. Sinclair was untouchable, wealthy, and powerful. From the ashes of my past, I created the empire.
Damien shifted. One step forward. His face was still mysterious, but there was no mistaking the tempest behind his eyes. "Serena."
I continued to smile. "Damien."
Like a live wire, tension shattered between us. As though attempting to convince himself that I was genuine, his eyes moved over me, soaking up every detail. It had been five years. The girl who used to wait for him with wide, trusting eyes was no longer me.
The girl had passed away.
And this?
This was only the start.
---
Observing how the jewels glinted in the light, I repositioned the diamond bracelet on my wrist. They shone like me, icy and piercing.
"Are you sure about this?" Adrian Calloway's voice came next to mine. It was as smooth as before but had a hint of laughter.
With the city lights flashing across our faces, I looked him in the eye in the limo's reflection. "I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t."
He poured himself a drink from the minibar and laughed. I nearly feel sorry for Lancaster. Nearly. Observing me through the rim of his glass, he took a sip. "You’re going to make him suffer, aren’t you?"
I didn't respond. Did not have to.
The driver signaled our presence as the vehicle decelerated. I slid out by myself, ignoring Adrian's offer of assistance when he stepped out first. As soon as my heels hit the concrete, the cameras flashed. Questions were shouted by journalists.
I continued. Failed to recognize them. For them, I wasn't present.
I was there for him.
---
Damien bounced back quickly. He did. His veneer of chilly indifference fell back into place, but I knew better. I watched the way his jaw clenched, the way his grasp on the whiskey glass tightened like he wanted to smash it.
"You shouldn’t be here." His voice was low and menacing.
I c****d my head. "Why? Fearful of ghosts?
He stepped forward again, bringing us closer. Too near. I could smell his scent, something dark and familiar, cedar, whiskey. I forced my pulse to settle after it deceived me by skipping a beat.
"I buried you." There was something almost regretful in his harsh voice. "You were gone."
I chuckled. "Oh, Damien. Living in a society where you believe your word is law must be draining.
There was a flash in his eyes. A rift in his flawless poise.
Excellent. Allow him to shatter.
"You think you can walk in here like nothing happened?" He lowered his voice to a near whisper. "Like I won’t find out why?"
I leaned in just enough so that he was the only one who could hear. "You made one mistake, Damien." My lips twisted into a sneer. "You should have made sure I never came back."
At his side, his fingers twitched. For a moment, just a moment, I feared he would touch me. Like he used to, he would grip me and draw me in. But that was a long time ago.
Vanessa showed up before he could finish speaking. His spouse.
My stepsister.
Her honey-blonde hair was well-styled, and her emerald-green dress glistened in the lights. Despite her beauty, she had a firm, possessive hold on Damien's arm.
It shouted mine. Avoid it.
Unfortunately for her, I couldn't bring him back.
My purpose was to destroy them both.
"Serena?" Vanessa's eyes were filled with panic, yet her voice was kind. "What a… surprise."
I grinned. "Vanessa. You look good. Betrayal seems to fit you well.
She gripped Damien's sleeve tighter. His body was rigid next to her, but he remained silent.
With a gentle "Excuse me," I moved past them. "I have people to meet."
Damien's stare was searing into my back. Give him a look. Let him ponder.
Tonight was just the beginning.
I wasn't finished yet.
I hardly saw the gala moving around me. My mission was complete—I had rattled Damien Lancaster. However, a recognizable voice broke through the darkness as I walked out onto the balcony to catch my breath.
"You think this is a game?"
I didn't look around. "Damien, everything is a game. Some of us are simply better at it.
I spun around when a hard hand grabbed my wrist.
My breath caught.
Damien was close for the first time in years. Too near. His hold was tight but not harsh, and his blue eyes pierced mine. When he stared at me, there was something raw and menacing.
"You’re back," he murmured in a scratchy, low voice. "But you’re lying."
I raised an eyebrow. "About what?"
He felt the quick pulse beneath my skin as his fingertips touched my pulse point.
"You say you hate me," he whispered toward me. "But your heart tells a different story."
My heart was pounding for all the wrong reasons as I ripped free. "You don't know me anymore, Damien."
He grinned. Dark. Risky. "Then let’s fix that."
And now I realized—
This was simply the beginning of the war.
- Writer
