Elira sat at her desk, fingers dancing across the keyboard, though her eyes weren't on the screen. They were on the glass wall of the CEO's office, faintly reflecting her image—and his.
Alexander stood inside, back straight, arms crossed as he read something. He was a man wrapped in silence, the kind that demanded attention without trying. But to her, every breath he took resonated like a memory.
Twelve years ago—or two decades, depending on how one counted it—he was hers. Her husband. Her first and last love.
She remembered his laugh, though the man before her hadn't laughed in years.
She remembered the way he held her hand when she was too weak to eat.
She remembered the last thing she saw before her heart stopped: his tears.
And now… here they were.
Him, 40.
Her, reborn at 22.
Working under the same roof as strangers.
Elira closed her eyes for a moment.
This time, she would do it right. No matter how long it took. Even if he never believed her, she would stay beside him. Because love, real love, doesn't die. It waits.
---
Across the floor, Alexander's hand paused over a photo frame on his desk. It was an old picture—faded slightly—of his late wife holding their twins in the hospital.
Solana.
He hadn't spoken her name aloud in over a decade. Couldn't. Not without the pain punching through his ribs like a cold fist.
But now… this girl. Elira. She was peeling back his armor without even trying.
He didn't want to admit it, but there was something undeniably familiar about her. The way she moved. The curve of her smile. The scent of jasmine that followed her like a ghost.
He hated it.
Or maybe… he feared it.
---
That afternoon, the conference room buzzed with quiet energy as department heads gathered for the luxury campaign presentation. It was rare for Alexander to attend creative pitch meetings personally, but this one, he said, he would oversee.
Jacob set up the projector while Yssa whispered excitedly to Elira.
"You're going to do great," Yssa said, squeezing her arm. "This is the moment. The CEO handpicked you—hello, that's big!"
Elira smiled nervously. "Thanks."
In truth, she wasn't nervous about the pitch. She was nervous about facing him, in front of everyone.
The room quieted as Alexander entered, his presence like a wave of pressure.
"Elira Caelum," he said, sitting at the head of the table. "You may begin."
---
Elira stepped forward, her voice steady as she introduced the concept: a campaign evoking "timeless devotion," pairing luxury products with stories of enduring love.
Slide after slide lit up behind her—images of timepieces engraved with initials, perfume bottles passed through generations, dresses sewn from forgotten wedding veils.
She told a story with each piece, blending fashion with memory, beauty with emotion.
"The theme," she concluded, "isn't about the price. It's about the legacy left behind. Love doesn't fade. It becomes tradition."
The room was silent.
Then came soft murmurs.
One of the senior directors leaned forward. "Where did you learn to tie narrative like this into visual marketing?"
Elira answered truthfully. "From watching people love deeply… and lose deeply."
Alexander's eyes didn't leave her.
She met his gaze and held it.
---
After the meeting, the team gathered outside, buzzing with praise.
"You nailed it," Yssa said, practically bouncing. "Everyone's saying that pitch was award-worthy."
Elira nodded, distracted. She felt the pull—she always felt it when he was near.
Then, she heard his voice.
"Miss Caelum. A word?"
Her heart leapt as she turned to see him by the hallway, his tone unreadable.
They walked in silence until they reached the rooftop terrace—his favorite place to think.
"You were impressive," Alexander said after a pause. "It's rare to move this team. But you did."
Elira stood still. "Thank you, sir."
He turned to her slowly, searching her face again.
"Who taught you those design motifs? The weaving of memory and scent, the legacy concept. That's not beginner thinking."
"I've always seen love that way," she replied softly. "Even before I knew how to draw it."
Another pause. Wind whispered between them.
"Elira," he said carefully, "why did you stop insisting you were… her?"
She blinked.
"I realized you weren't ready to believe it. So instead of making you look at the past, I decided to help build your future."
That answer… it rattled him.
He was expecting desperation. Not peace.
He turned away, jaw tightening. "I don't know who you are, Elira. But you're either brilliant… or dangerous."
"I'm neither," she said. "I'm just someone who remembers."
---
That night, Alexander sat at his piano. He rarely played anymore, but today… his fingers found their way to a melody.
It was an old song.
A lullaby.
He froze as he played the first few notes.
It was Solana's favorite lullaby. One she used to hum while pregnant, long before they knew she was sick.
He hadn't played it since her funeral.
And yet, the notes flowed like someone else had coaxed them forward.
Was he losing his mind?
---
Meanwhile, in her apartment, Elira pulled an old sketchbook from her bag. She had drawn him a thousand times since her rebirth. Asleep, awake, grieving, angry, smiling.
Tonight, she drew him again.
But this time, she drew them.
Together. Laughing. Holding hands under cherry blossoms.
A future she dreamed of, even if he never saw it.
A future where she didn't have to die young.
A future where he didn't have to bury her.
A future where love had time.
---
The following day at work was different.
People nodded at her. Smiled. Complimented her. Even Jacob handed her a coffee with a rare, approving grunt.
Then came the unexpected.
Aiden De León walked into the creative department.
Heads turned. Alexander's son was handsome, sharp, and famously blunt.
He walked straight to Elira's desk.
"You're Elira Caelum," he said.
She stood slowly. "Yes."
"I'm Aiden. You met my father."
"Yes, I work under him now."
"I know." His gaze was curious, almost cold. "I also know he doesn't personally endorse anyone. Not unless they leave a mark."
Elira remained calm. "Why are you here?"
"I want to know what you want from him."
She met his gaze directly. "Nothing."
Aiden studied her. "You know, you remind me of someone I've only seen in pictures."
Her throat tightened.
"Funny," he added. "My mother would be around your age now… if she'd lived."
Elira said nothing.
Aiden smiled faintly. "You're not normal. I can feel it. But you don't feel dangerous either. Just... familiar."
He left before she could respond.
But her legs trembled beneath her desk.
---
Later that night, Elira took a walk near the park. The wind was cool, and children's laughter echoed across the grass.
She passed a flower shop and paused.
Inside were white lilies. Solana's favorite.
She bought a small bouquet and walked quietly to the De León family mausoleum. It was the first time since she had been reborn that she stood in front of her own grave.
Solana De León
Beloved Wife and Mother
Taken Too Soon
199X – 200X
She knelt, gently placing the lilies. "I'm here," she whispered. "I kept my promise."
Behind her, a quiet sound.
Footsteps.
She turned.
Alexander stood a few feet away, staring at the headstone.
"You're not the only one who visits," he said softly.
Her heart thudded. "I didn't expect anyone to be here this late."
"I couldn't sleep."
A long silence fell between them.
Then, unexpectedly, he said, "When Solana was in the hospital, she told me if she ever left… she would find a way back. Somehow."
Elira felt tears prick her eyes.
"She said she'd come back in a form that could love me longer. In a life where she wouldn't have to say goodbye."
He looked at her.
"Do you think that's possible?"
Elira nodded slowly. "I don't just think. I know."
Alexander's eyes searched hers again—haunted, desperate, confused.
"I'm scared," he admitted, barely audible.
"I'm not," she said, stepping closer. "Not anymore."
He didn't step back.
Not this time.
And that was enough.
End of Chapter 3