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.

Samantha Pov

The quiet hum of machines had faded into the background, replaced by the muffled voices of nurses beyond the half-closed door. The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to me like a second skin. I need to freshen up. I hope Uncle Henry persuades the doctor to release me early. This place… it’s a reminder of the past. I need to get out of here.

I must’ve dozed off after Tom left. He’s kind—gentle in a way that makes me feel safe. I think he sees me as more than just a colleague. *Maybe he has feelings for me.*

*Should I stop him before it goes too far?*

As I tried to sit up, a wave of sharp pain surged through my body.

“Oh God, this pain is unreal,” I muttered. “They say I’m fine, but why does my body say otherwise?”

My throat was parched. I reached for the glass of water on the bedside table when I heard voices—low, familiar.

Through the thin wall and slight gap in the door, I heard them.

Uncle Henry’s thick British accent.

And then—**his** voice. The one I could recognize in my sleep.

**Liam.**

Even after all these years… even after his betrayal… my heart still accelerated at the sound of his voice.

I strained to listen.

> “I want to check on her.”

> “Why are you so concerned now?”

> “Who even are you?”

> “Someone who cares more than you ever did.”

Then silence.

A door clicked. Footsteps faded.

I walked back to bed, heart pounding, wounds reopened. I sank into the pillows.

*So it wasn’t a dream. Liam had come. He stood just beyond the door… and Uncle stopped him.*

I didn’t know whether to feel grateful that he came, or furious for everything he had done—for leaving me when I needed him most. He broke me from the inside out.

The accident left its scars. The betrayal left deeper ones.

He should’ve been the one to hold me, to console me, to put the balm of love back into my fractured soul. And yet… if not for all that pain, I may never have found my father’s side of the family. There’s some grace in that, at least.

A gentle knock interrupted my thoughts.

“Miss Blake?” A nurse peeked in. “We’ll begin your discharge prep now. Dr. Blake said you’ll continue recovery at home.”

Home. But where was that now? I thought.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Later that evening…

The city blurred through the tinted window of the car. I sat in the back seat, wrapped in a beige shawl, half my face hidden—as if the fabric could shield me from the truth.

Uncle Henry drove in silence, his jaw clenched. I didn’t blame him.

Neither of us spoke until the car pulled into the gated driveway of a beautiful brownstone nestled on a quiet New York street. *Home—for now.*

Uncle stepped out and opened the door for me.

“Are you sure this is safe?” I asked quietly, still seated.

He met my gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Safer than anywhere else. And if he comes again… I’ll be there.”

I knew exactly who he meant.

As he helped me out, a kind-faced woman with short blonde hair opened the door.

“Welcome home, sweetie. I’m Hannah Drew—your uncle’s childhood friend,” she said warmly. Her kindness wrapped around me like a blanket.

Uncle chuckled. “Hannah, are you going to let us in?”

“Oh! Of course,” she smiled. “Come in, come in.”

The interior was stunning. A grand chandelier glistened from the ceiling. The walls were adorned with rich paintings and intricate artefacts. A plush beige sectional sat at the far end, and a matching marble-top coffee and dining set completed the luxurious space. A carved spiral staircase curled up to the first floor. Heavy curtains covered a wall-to-wall window.

As I looked around in awe, Hannah tapped my shoulder.

“You’ll love the morning light through that window. But first—let’s get some food into you,” she said, guiding me to the dining table.

“Uncle,” I said as I sat, “could you arrange for someone to pick up my things from the hotel?”

“They’re already here,” he replied. “And once you’re fit to travel, I’ll arrange for our return journey. If we stay here too long, the past will keep haunting you. I won’t let that happen.”

I simply nodded.

We ate in silence until a staff member burst into the room.

“Madam, there are people outside—press. They want to come in.”

“Press?” Hannah frowned. “Why are they here?”

“We don’t know, ma’am.”

Hannah looked at Henry, then stood. “Alright. Let them in.”

She stepped out, Uncle Henry closely behind.