THE HUSBAND IN MY DEATH CERTIFICATE

THE HUSBAND IN MY DEATH CERTIFICATE On the morning of my wedding, someone delivered my death certificate. At first, I thought it was a joke. The envelope lay on the dressing table beside my bouquet of white roses, its cream-colored surface marked with my full name in elegant black lettering. MARA ELLERY. I smiled at it through the mirror. "Julian has a strange sense of humor," I muttered. My best friend, Nina, glanced up from her phone. "What does he want now?" "Apparently, he's decided to kill me before the wedding." She laughed. "Tell him to wait until after the honeymoon. At least let the poor man enjoy his marriage first." I laughed with her, picked up the envelope, and slid a finger beneath the seal. Then I read the first line. My smile disappeared. CERTIFICATE OF DEATH. For several seconds, I simply stared at the words. The document beneath them looked official enough to belong in a government archive. It carried a registration number, an embossed seal, and a date of death recorded seven years earlier. My full name appeared beneath the heading. So did my date of birth. Even my place of birth was correct. I checked the date of death again. Seven years ago. "No," I whispered. Nina stood behind me. "Mara?" I turned the paper over, searching for a message, a signature that might reveal the prank, anything that would explain why somebody had printed a document declaring me dead. Instead, I found the physician's name. Dr. Samuel Reed. I had never heard of him. My fingers tightened around the paper. "Call the police," Nina said, her voice suddenly serious. "Wait." Something else had caught my attention. At the bottom of the certificate was a section identifying the deceased woman's spouse. The name typed there made my stomach drop. ELIAS VOSS. Even I knew who Elias Voss was. He was the billionaire founder of Voss Meridian, a man whose face appeared on business magazines and financial news broadcasts. He owned hotels, investment firms, and properties in cities I had only seen in photographs. Seven years ago, his wife had reportedly died under mysterious circumstances. Since then, he had withdrawn from public life, refused interviews about his personal affairs, and become the subject of countless rumors. I had never met him. I was absolutely certain of that. "Do you know this man?" Nina asked. "Only from the news." "Then why is his name on your death certificate?" "I don't know." My phone vibrated against the dressing table. A message from Julian appeared on the screen. Leaving the hotel now. Twenty minutes, my beautiful bride. I stared at his message, then at the certificate. For the first time that morning, I wondered whether I truly knew the man I was about to marry. Julian Cross had been the easiest decision of my life. He was charming, ambitious, and attentive. He remembered the little things I liked and never forgot an important date. We had been together for two years. He had never given me a reason to doubt him. At least, not one I could prove. I photographed the certificate and sent it to him. Did you send this? His reply arrived almost immediately. Send what? I attached another photograph. This time, he didn't respond. One minute passed. Then two. I called him. The phone rang until voicemail answered. "Julian, call me. Now." Nina paced behind me, whispering possibilities I couldn't concentrate on. I read the certificate again, looking for a mistake. Perhaps somebody had confused me with another woman. Perhaps the registration number belonged to a different record. But the name, birth date, and place of birth were mine. And someone had gone to considerable trouble to make the document look authentic. A knock sounded at the door. We both turned. "Miss Ellery?" a man's voice called from the other side. "A delivery for you." Nina moved toward the door, but I caught her wrist. "Ask who sent it." She did. There was a pause. "Mr. Voss," the man replied. The room seemed to tilt. Nina looked at me. I shook my head. "No. Don't open it." But the envelope was already in my hand, and whatever waited outside had come looking for me. I walked to the door myself. A courier stood in the corridor holding a small black box. He checked a delivery slip before offering it to me. "Please sign here." "Who gave this to you?" "I was instructed to deliver it directly to you." "By Elias Voss?" "Yes, ma'am." I signed with a trembling hand and shut the door. Inside the box lay a photograph. It showed a woman in a white wedding dress standing beside a man in a black suit. His arm circled her waist, and his face was turned toward hers. The woman was me. Not someone who resembled me. Not a distant relative. Me. I recognized the small scar near my left eyebrow. I recognized the silver bracelet I had worn throughout university. I even recognized the nervous way I held my bouquet, gripping the stems too tightly. But I had never worn that dress. I had never stood in that room. And I had certainly never married the man beside me. I flipped the photograph over. Seven years earlier. Beneath the date, someone had written a sentence in dark ink. If she returns, do not let her remember. A second knock interrupted the silence. This one was louder. Nina reached for my hand. "Mara, we're leaving. Right now." I couldn't move. The doorknob turned. The door opened before either of us could reach it. A tall man in a black suit stepped inside, followed by an older gentleman who remained in the hallway. The first man looked directly at me. His face was pale, his dark eyes fixed on mine with an expression so raw that I instinctively stepped backward. He looked like someone who had seen a ghost. For one impossible moment, neither of us spoke. Then his gaze dropped to the photograph in my hand. His jaw tightened. "You received it," he said. I lifted my chin. "Who are you?" Pain flickered across his face. "Elias Voss." The name sounded different coming from his own mouth. Less like a headline and more like a warning. I held up the death certificate. "Why is your name on this document?" He looked at the paper. Then he looked at me. "Because you were my wife." A strange silence settled over the room. I almost laughed. The alternative was to believe that my entire life had been built on a lie, and I wasn't prepared to do that. "I've never met you." "I know." "Then explain this." His eyes moved to the photograph again. "I can't explain everything here." "You're going to explain something. Right now." He took a slow breath. For the first time, I noticed the silver wedding band on his left hand. It was worn and scratched, as though he had never taken it off. "I watched them bury you, Mara." My heart hammered against my ribs. "That's impossible." "I wish it were." "Who was buried?" He opened his mouth, but no answer came. Instead, he reached into his jacket and placed another document on the dressing table. A marriage certificate. My name was printed beside his. The signatures were dated seven years earlier. And beneath them was my own handwriting. I knew it instantly. I had written those letters thousands of times. I had no memory of writing them on that document. Elias watched me struggle to understand. Then he said the words that made the room feel suddenly airless. "Your wedding to Julian cannot happen today." I stared at him. "Why?" His expression hardened, and for a moment, the grieving man disappeared behind the cold authority the world knew so well. "Because someone has just discovered that you're alive." He turned toward the door. "And whoever changed your death certificate will know where to find you by tonight." My phone vibrated. A message from Julian appeared on the screen. Five words. Don't trust Elias. Remember Celeste. I looked up. For the first time since he entered the room, Elias seemed genuinely afraid. "Where did you hear that name?" he demanded. Before I could answer, the lights went out. And in the darkness, someone whispered directly into my ear. "Welcome back, Mrs. Voss."