Reborn at a cost

Liana's POV

The office suffocated me. Don't get me wrong, the AC is working perfectly fine. But every glance, every movement, everything felt like I was being monitored. Graham’s thin smile, Lucy’s too-bright eyes, Brian’s hovering… it pressed against my chest uncomfortably, I couldn’t breathe inside those walls anymore. It was all too much

The office hum still echoed in my ears even after I stepped outside, rain misting my face like cold fingers reminding me the world hadn't changed, just I had.

After a day of mostly observing everybody at Blaise Corps, I needed out.

The streets of Shoreditch were slick with recent rain, the air sharp with exhaust and fried food. Street musicians played chords too high for human ears, and laughter drifted out from bars that smelled of alcohol and food.

Neon signs shone on the pavement, reflecting in puddles that shattered under my boots. The chill seeped through my coat, but it felt alive, better than the sterile chill of the office or the concrete death I'd escaped.

I didn’t have a plan, and I didn’t want one. I just needed the city to swallow me up for a little while. Let me vanish.

I found a dim bar tucked behind a brick alley, lights low, music throbbed beneath whispered conversations. It was soothing in an odd way and chaotic in another. I slid onto the end stool, nursing a gin and tonic, scanning the room without really looking.

The bar top was sticky under my elbows, scarred from years of spilled drinks. Bass vibrated through the wood, matching the unsteady beat in my chest. A girl laughed at something on her phone at a booth at the far end, a couple probably on a date.

A girl laughed at something on her phone at a booth at the far end, a couple probably on a date.

Then I noticed him.

Tall. Dark hair. Broad shoulders. He was in a dress shirt. Leaning against the bar, his eyes scanning the room, and somehow, they landed on me. My stomach did that thing I hate. It flipped, betraying me entirely.

He stood out. He seemed too composed amid the chaos, like the room bent around him. The low amber light caught the sharp line of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, turning his hazel eyes dark and intent.

He smiled. Just a fraction. Not a grin, not a leer. But it held curiosity and charm at the same time. I looked away, pretending not to notice, gulping my drink to drown the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

Minutes later, our eyes met again. He was closer now. Looking at me with open curiosity.

He ordered a drink, then moved to the stool beside me, just enough to intrude without asking.

His presence arrived before he did—clean cedar cologne cutting through the bar's haze of gin and damp wool. The stool creaked as he settled, close enough that heat radiated from his arm to mine.

“Mind if I join you?” His voice was deep, smooth. He had an accent. Was it Scouse? Or Irish? It was the kind that makes you forget how to think.

I raised an eyebrow. “It depends. Why are you here?”

He chuckled, low, almost dangerous. “I'm not sure. I was bored, I guess,” he continued. “But mostly… I’m curious about the woman hiding in the corner.”

His gaze didn't waver. It was steady and warm, like he saw past the sarcasm straight to the storm underneath. My pulse kicked up, traitorously loud over the music.

I wanted to scoff and shut him down. But the truth is, I liked being noticed. Even by someone I shouldn’t.

“I'm not hiding in the corner.”

“Sure, you're not.” He smiled.

“I'm Raphael,” he said, extending his hand.

“Liana.” My voice was flat, but inside, I was a mess.

He stared at me, holding my gaze.

“Is there something on my face?” I asked, lifting a hand to wipe it off.

“No.” His voice was soft. “I actually wanted to say beauty. But I didn’t want it to be cliché or awkward.”

His fingers brushed mine as we shook, brief, electric, calluses rough against my skin. The contact lingered a second too long, sending heat curling low in my belly.

I giggled, breaking into a proper smile.

“So, I guessit worked?” He murmured with a smile of his own.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself.”

There was something in his gaze that made the hair on my arms stand.

We talked. About nothing and everything. Music, travel, corporate mundanity, London secrets. He didn’t pry, didn’t pressure. But the way he listened to me like I was the only one in the room, it made my heart flutter.

Every lean-in brought his breath warm against my ear over the noise, mint faint on it. His laugh rumbled low, vibrating through the narrow space between us. My defenses cracked with each drink, gin loosening the knot of revenge in my chest.

One drink turned into two, then four. We lost count. My defenses dropped.

I laughed at jokes I didn’t even like.

“You’re… different,” he said smoothly, moving closer.

“Careful. Don’t be deceived,” I replied softly.

He laughed low. “Well, you can deceive me.”

I grinned. What did that even mean?

I leaned closer when he leaned in. And then… one reckless decision.

“Want to get out of here?”

I nodded. My skin flushed.

We left the bar together, heading to a nearby hotel.

The rain had picked up, cold drops sliding down my neck as we hurried, his hand warm and sure around mine.

The walk was casual, effortless. We held hands. My mind screamed: Stop. You can’t. You mustn’t. But my body didn’t listen.

By the time we reached the hotel building, he led me straight to the elevator. Does he stay here? Is he visiting? A part of me was excited while another part was sad.

The moment his lips met mine, the rational part of me evaporated. I didn’t pull away.

His kiss tasted of gin and restraint finally snapping firm, hungry, one hand cupping my jaw like I might vanish. Heat flooded me, drowning the prison ghosts for the first time since waking.

A fire I hadn’t realized I’d been starving for ignited.

I thought about my plans, about how I wanted to live this life.

But it didn’t matter. Not now. Not when this sexy Adonis’ hands roamed my body, leaving heat in their wake.

It was reckless and dangerous. It was perfect.

When morning came, sunlight pierced through half-closed blinds. I woke in an unfamiliar bed, tangled sheets, faint scent of expensive cologne, and a splitting headache.

The room smelled of him, cedar lingering on the pillows, mixed with the sharp tang of last night's gin. My body ached pleasantly in places I'd forgotten could feel anything but tension.

I reached for my phone. I froze. I have to go if I want to get to work on time.

I dressed quickly, leaving a note I knew he probably wouldn’t see: Thanks. I thought of writing something else, but I would probably never see him again.

Outside, London moved on. The rain had stopped.

Pigeons pecked at crumbs in the square. Runners and yoga practitioners moved in the park.

I walked away from the hotel, resisting the temptation to look back, reconsider, to stay.

My steps felt heavier, the city louder. Something important gnawed at the edge of my mind, what had I planned to do today? but the detail slipped away like smoke.

Back in my apartment, I sank onto the edge of my bed, staring at the ceiling. Fingers flexed, I picked up my phone. Stopped. I wanted to do something yesterday… but I couldn’t remember what.

I sat up, trying to pull back the details that had vanished. I couldn’t.

It was probably stress. I'd think about it later.

The day at Blaise Corps had been normal on the surface. It was quiet and normal, it was controlled.

And the night, last night reminded me how easily control could slip through my fingers. I had to be careful not to fall for guys with contagious smiles.

I had a month. One month to untangle the lies, uncover the traitor, and stay alive.

And I thought about the man I left at the hotel. As much as I hated it… I wanted him.

But I couldn’t. Not yet.

Not if I wanted to survive.

Because every choice I make in this second chance must be precise.

I can’t be framed and killed again. I cannot afford distractions. Especially when it's tall and sexy.