Liam’s POV

The mansion, once glittering with light and laughter, now stood in silence. Rain tapped softly against the windows, the only sound breaking the stillness. Darkness had swallowed the celebration, and the joy of the evening had faded. Only one room remained lit ,my private bar.

The clink of glasses echoed as Kabir and I sat on barstools, having drinks. The bar was stocked with every liquor imaginable, but no liquor was strong enough to drown the ache in my chest.

“Where were you? I didn’t see you the whole evening,” I asked him, my voice low.

“I came late,” he replied, pouring more golden liquid into his glass. “Don’t ask why. You already know.”

I sighed. “You never liked Rose. You always wanted Sanjana to be my wife.” with those words

I downed my drink in a single gulp. The burn in my throat was sharp—but not sharper than the void that Sanjana left behind.

“She’s the only one who’s ever occupied my heart. But Mom wants to see me settled. This empire needs an heir. This marriage—it is just a marriage of convenience.”

Kabir stared into his glass. “I still don’t believe she’s dead. Her dead body was not found. There’s still a chance that she is alive .”

“Five years, Kabir,” I said, walking over to the window. “It’s been five whole years since that accident. Nothing. No sign of her. She’s gone.”

The rain outside was relentless, drumming against the glass. I hated rain. It reminded me of the night I lost her. Sanjana had taken the light from my life, and the rain had taken her.

“Did you even try to search for her?” He asked quietly. “Or did you just believe what they told you?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn't.

“Let’s bury the past where it belongs.” I finally said. It was necessary if I wish to move on.

“It’s getting late. You can use the guest room next to mine. Your stuff from last time is still there.”

Kabir stood silently beside me as I turned to leave. I closed the door behind me and dragged my lifeless body to the only place where I still felt close to her—my room. My sanctuary of memories.

The Following Morning

I woke up with the usual headache. A side effect of drinking to much . With lots of effort I got up and took two painkillers for my headache .

After finishing my morning ritual I sat down with the morning paper and a cup of black Coffee

A headline caught my eye:

“Press Van Involved in Highway Accident — Names Withheld”

My chest tightened. I had a gut feeling. I just knew it was them. Her.

“What happened?” Kabir asked, descending the stairs. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I handed him the paper wordlessly.

After reading it, he frowned. “It was stormy yesterday. Accidents happen. Why does this concern you?”

" Come with me. I will explain ." With a swift pace, I moved to the garage, followed by Kabir.

“There’s a reporter named Samantha,” I began, hesitating. “She was part of the team covering the event.”

He raised an eyebrow. “There are plenty of Samanthas, Liam. Why this one?”

“I don’t know. Since yesterday, she’s haunting my senses. The way she laughed, tucked her hair behind her ears, her voice—everything reminds me of Sanjana.”

Kabir was quiet now.

“It’s strange, I know,” I continued. “But I felt something. Like she’s Sanjana with a different face.”

By the time I stopped speaking, we had reached the hospital’s parking lot.

Kabir tugged at my sleeve. “So… do you still think Sanjana is dead?”

I didn’t reply. I stepped out of the car. He followed.

Kabir’s thoughts (Unspoken)

I may not know this Samantha girl well, but there’s one thing I can never tell You my dear friend that Sanjana is alive. I was forced to hide it from him. I’m sorry, my friend.

“Can’t you walk a little faster?” I hissed. “A snail’s better than you.”

We reached her room. Her colleagues stood outside. I greeted them, and one of the male reporters—Tom, I think—guided us inside.

She lay on the hospital bed, fragile and pale, wires connected to her thin wrists. My heart clenched.

“Good morning, Samantha. How are you feeling?” I asked gently.

Her eyes fluttered open. They were empty, hollow.

“Good morning, Mr. Turner,” she replied flatly. “What brings you here?”

“I heard about the accident… just wanted to check on you.”

A faint, lifeless smile tugged at her lips. “Why, Mr. Turner? Why inquire about my well-being? I’m just a press reporter. You’ve checked that I’m alive. Now, if you’ll excuse me… I need rest.” Her voice was cold. There was something in her tone—sarcasm? Anger?

I turned, confused. Before leaving, I asked Tom how the others were. Then I left.

Samantha’s POV

Now you care?

Where were you when I lay on a cold hospital table, my face torn apart and my identity taken from me?

That night—when you proposed to me—was supposed to be the most beautiful night of my life. But it became a curse.

You disappeared when I needed you most.

Now you come here with your polished shoes and empty concern?

If. only you knew… who I really am?

Samantha’s POV**

As Liam left the room, I closed my eyes, but sleep was far away. His voice still echoed in my mind. He hadn’t changed a bit—still concerned about the well-being of others. Yet, I found myself getting riled up by his concern. Who was he worried about?

Was it Sanjana, with whom he used to sing, dance, and record her voice for his music album? Or was it Samantha, the journalist covering his event? I felt like a ghost, trapped between who I used to be and who I had been forced to become. My mind, uninvited, pulled me back into the cold, sterile corridors of that London hospital.

Flashback Begins

The smell of antiseptic was everywhere—on my gown, my body, my soul. Wires snaked across my bandaged, aching frame, tethering me to machines whose rhythmic beeping signaled a fragile survival. My body lay still, but it felt as though my soul had died.

After countless surgeries and endless bandage changes, the day finally came when I could see my reflection. When I did, I was stunned. A muffled scream escaped my throat as I pressed a trembling hand over my mouth. This couldn’t be happening.

Hearing the noise, Uncle Henry rushed in. “Is everything all right?” he asked the nurse, who silently pointed toward me. Understanding immediately, he pulled up a chair, sat beside me, and gestured for the nurse to leave.

“Please close the door on your way out,” he added. She nodded and obeyed.

“Sanjana, dear,” he began gently, “I know this is a big shock. Believe me, I had no choice. Your face was severely disfigured. Shards of glass had torn through your skin. I removed most of them, but they left terrible scars. I tried my best to restore your face, but I had to reconstruct it. I’m so sorry.” His head bowed, and he placed a comforting hand over mine.

But was it his fault? No. This was destiny.

“Uncle, please don’t feel bad,” I said, voice hoarse. “I was just… shocked to see a new face in place of my own. Until now, I thought that after the surgery, I could find Liam and we could reconcile. But now... how will he recognize me? I haven’t just lost my face—I’ve lost my identity.” Tears flowed down my cheeks like a broken dam. My heart shattered as reality hit me. Liam had left me because of my disfigurement. Wiping my tears with my sleeve, I made a decision: with my old face gone, so was my past. Sanjana was dead to everyone.

“Sanjana, whatever happens, happens for a reason. Maybe this is what destiny wants for you. Don’t get me wrong—but if the world believes Sanjana is dead, then let her be. Let Sanjana die. Today, Sanjana ends, and Samantha begins. From now on, you are Samantha Blake —my elder brother’s daughter. Is that okay with you?” Uncle gently caressed my palm and wiped my tears with his handkerchief.

“Uncle… I think you’re right. That’s what destiny wants. To the world, Sanjana died on the day of the accident. Today, Samantha is born. And as for Liam… he died with Sanjana. I’ll erase him from my life.” It felt as though thousands of knives slashed my tongue as I spoke those words.

Uncle paused, then looked at me carefully. “I need to ask you something.”

His eyes searched mine, seeking permission. I placed my palm over his, giving him a nod.

“Did you both take your relationship to the next level?” he asked.

Heat crept up my neck, and I looked away, mortified that he was asking such a personal question.

“Answer me. It’s important.”

His voice rose slightly, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. His hands gripped the bedrail, his posture rigid. The intensity in his eyes shook me.

“Yes,” I whispered, barely audible.

“That explains it,” he said, leaving me confused. I looked at him, puzzled.

“You were pregnant at the time of the accident.”

Instinctively, my hand flew to my stomach, caressing it gently. A surge of emotion overwhelmed me.

But his next words drained the color from my face.

“Due to the impact of the accident, you miscarried. When you were brought here, you were weak, anemic. Your bleeding wouldn’t stop. That’s when we discovered the pregnancy.”

For a moment, I was frozen. Then I let out a cry that pierced the room. Tears poured down my face as I began slapping myself.

“I’m so sorry, my child,” Uncle said, pulling me into a firm embrace. “I couldn’t protect you my child. Your father stole my identity… and now he has taken you from me too. I will never forgive him.”

I sobbed into his crisp white shirt. He didn’t care. He held me tighter, as though shielding me from a world that had already taken too much.

But that wasn’t enough.

A gut-wrenching scream rose from deep within me, shaking the walls .

Third-person person pov

Present Time

The gut-wrenching scream tore through the eerie silence of the night. The nurse on night duty burst into the room, startled by the sound. Samantha was thrashing in her bed, her legs tangled in the sheets, fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her face was flushed red, soaked with tears as she screamed in agony, her voice raw and trembling.

“Miss Blake! Miss Blake—please, calm down! What’s wrong?” The nurse’s voice rose in urgency. “You’re safe. Please try to breathe.” Hearing someone else’s voice calmed her a bit . Samantha’s screams began to fade, though her chest still heaved with uneven breaths. Her body remained rigid.

Before the nurse could do anything , the door slammed open.

“What happened? I heard her shouting?” Tom appeared, his steps hurried but unstable. His head was bandaged, a deep cut across his forehead now dried with blood. His face bore small bruises, and his left arm rested in a sling. He limped slightly as he rushed to her bedside.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed!” The nurse scolded, shielding Samantha protectively.

“Mr. Carter, you’ve been injured too. Please return to your room. Let us do our work.”

“Is she… is she okay?” He spoke in low voice as if it took lot's of courage to speak.

“She’s having a trauma attack ,” The nurse said firmly, while preparing a syringe.

“Please, leave Mr. Carter. We’ve got it under control.” Tom left silently when he son her gently injecting a sedative into Samantha’s IV. Within minutes, her tense body began to relax. The trembling subsided, her eyelids drooped, slowly and finally—she drifted into a deep, drug-induced sleep.

Hours passed.

Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains when Samantha stirred again. Her lashes fluttered, and she opened her eyes slowly, blinking at the ceiling. Distant murmurs filled the room.

“Hello, Richard,” came a familiar voice—calm, deep, and unmistakably British. “How is Samantha doing?”

“She’s stable now,” Replied another voice, slightly softer but confident. “The accident must have triggered memories from the past. Her vitals are good, but mentally she’s fragile. It’s all there—under the surface.”

The voices belonged to two men standing at the far end of the room. Though they spoke in hushed tones, Samantha caught every word. She turned her head weakly and found herself looking into the concerned face of someone she hadn’t seen in a while.

“Uncle Henry…” she whispered, her voice dry , cracking and barely audible.

Henry turned to her instantly, a warm, relieved smile lighting up his face. “Ah, there she is.”

Tall, fit, and impeccably dressed in a navy jacket, Henry Blake carried the quiet authority of a man who had spent his life rebuilding others—both physically and emotionally. His salt-and-pepper hair and ocean-deep blue eyes made him seem timeless. A leading plastic surgeon in London, he was known for his precision in the operating theatre and his protectiveness outside of it.

He approached her slowly, crouching by her bed. “You gave us all quite a scare, sweetheart.”

Samantha’s eyes welled up. “I… I saw it again. All of it. The blood. The pain. My face…” Her voice broke.

Henry took her hand gently. “I know.”

The other man—Dr. Richard Mallory—walked forward with a kind smile. He had been Henry’s colleague and trusted friend for years, and had taken over Samantha’s care the moment she was brought in.

“Good to see you awake, Samantha,” he said kindly. “You’re safe now. Physically, you’re perfectly fine—just some bruises and minor head trauma. But it’s important you rest. We’re here for you.”

Samantha nodded faintly, her throat tight. The sedatives had dulled the panic, but the memories still hovered just beyond the edge of her mind.

Henry looked at Richard. “Thank you for everything.”

“I’ll give you two some time,” Richard said and quietly stepped out.

For a moment, silence settled between them. Henry studied her carefully, his expression shadowed with concern.

“I took the first flight from London,” he said softly. “I couldn’t risk anything happening again. Not to you.”

Samantha looked away, ashamed. “I tried to be strong. But… it came rushing back. I thought I had buried it, but—”

“You survived more than anyone ever should,” Henry said, tightening his grip on her hand. “You rebuilt your life from the ashes. You’ve been brave, Sam.”

She closed her eyes, letting his words wrap around her like a blanket.

There was a knock at the door. A nurse peeked in. “There’s someone here to see her. He says he’s a friend. Mr. Tom Carter?”

Samantha hesitated, but nodded. “Let him in.”

Henry gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll step out for a bit.”

Tom entered cautiously, still limping. His eyes were shadowed with guilt and concern.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “I just… I needed to make sure you were okay.”

Samantha gave him a tired smile. “Thanks. You saved my life.”

“I panicked,” he admitted. “Didn’t know what to do. But I’m glad you’re alright.”

She reached out and gently touched his hand. “Me too.”

As he sat beside her, she leaned back into the pillow, her eyes half-closed again.

But her mind—her mind was not quiet.

Because no matter how many times she rebuilt herself, the cracks remained.

In the light of the corridor a familiar silhouette caught Henry ‘s attention . Eyes dark and unreadable expression on his face.