And at last, the receptionist decided to grace us with her presence…A voice inside me burst with a single word: Stupid.Then I took a step away from her—but the girl—Liora—suddenly lifted her head and looked straight at me, with a steadiness I hadn't expected.
She said softly, her fragile voice both timid and defiant at once:
"No… I'm not stupid."
I stopped mid-step.I froze in place.
Did she hear what I thought?No… I hadn't said anything.
And yet she answered my thoughts as if she'd heard them aloud.
A strange unease crept over me—Was it her reaction that startled me?Or the fact that she had answered an insult I never voiced?Or was it the sudden, impossible feeling that I wasn't really here—that my return, this body, this world—wasn't real at all?
Had I truly come back, as I wished?And if I had… then who was I before?
I gathered myself quickly, inhaling confidence as if it were air.Ah, what a delightful feeling—to be the bank director.To hold this place in my grasp, to control every small and fragile thing,as if the fates of these parasites lay between my fingers.
I loved that feeling—it felt entirely new,as if I had never lived it before.
So why not act upon it?Why linger behind words when actions obey so much faster?
I turned toward the miserable girl before me—toward Liora—and motioned for her to come closer.
She was fragile, lost, her hands nervously clasped together,her face carrying a kind of innocence that disgusted me.
She approached hesitantly, wide eyes gleaming with a strange fear…a fear I knew well.
For a brief moment, I couldn't tell why her features seemed so familiar,as though I had seen them reflected in some dream-born mirror.
The meeting room filled with employees—three notable faces among the crowd:one hiding behind his papers,one staring at me with fake fear,and one smiling with pathetic flattery.
The air was thick with their emotions—anger, envy, tension.I could smell it, like incense burning in the corners of the room—a slow burn that warmed my pride.
But she…Liora—she remained silent.Still standing.
I hadn't given her permission to sit—revenge, perhaps, for a reason I didn't know,or maybe simply because this new version of me enjoyed crueltyfor the power it offered.
How refreshing.
I began the meeting,and my words rained down on them like bullets.I criticized them sharply, unfairly,enjoying the collapse of their spirits before their eyes fell to the floor.
And my only justification was simple:
I am the boss.Therefore, I am right.
Then suddenly—I heard her sigh.
That faint exhale pierced the noise like a soft knife in my chest.A whisper of rebellion.
I turned toward her instantly,like a cannon locking onto its final target.
I slammed my hand against the table—cups trembled, the echo burst like a muffled scream.I shouted:
"How dare you!"
Liora gasped, covered her mouth,and her wide eyes shimmered as if they saw something unseen.
Then she whispered, trembling,
"Why did you hit her? Why did you kill her? You shouldn't have done that…"
I faltered.
My hand rose instinctively—but there was no one to justify myself to.
I looked around—everyone was silent, staring at me in shock.
Then Nora, one of the employees, leapt up and wrapped an arm around Liora's shoulders, trying to comfort her.
She turned to me, pleading:
"Please, Director, forgive her… she's been struggling with hallucinations."
I nodded coldly,as if the word hallucinations had hypnotized me—but inside, I wasn't calm at all.
As Nora tried to lead her out,I broke that trance and shouted:
"Who allowed you to leave?!"
Liora froze, staggering slightly,crying so hard that something glimmered between her hands—a faint, flickering light.
I looked closer—and saw a butterfly.
But not an ordinary one.
Its wings shimmered with a pearly, translucent glow,melting into the air as if it were the symbol of something long forgotten.
I froze.My eyes shifted between the butterfly and her gaze—eyes deeper than fear itself, as if they remembered me.
I asked sharply:
"What is your friend holding in her hands?"
Nora answered, frightened:
"She… she believes there's something flying around her—a butterfly, that's all."
I whispered, low but audible:
"She believes?"
Then I gestured toward them,a motion unclear even to myself—a wave of dismissal, or perhaps surrender.
As they crossed the doorway,a long sigh escaped me—a breath that drained the last of my anxiety, tension, and hidden grief.
But the air that slipped in after them carried a scent I knew too well—a scent my heart could never mistake, no matter the lifetime:Adam.
My fiancé… my old soul's twin.
He entered the room with calm, steady steps,as always—yet something in his presence unbalanced me,like perfume seeping into an open wound.
And then, it happened—the thing I wasn't ready for:
His eyes met hers—Liora's.
It lasted only a moment—a brief instant, heavy as a lifetime.
I saw the spark—a spark I recognized.
As if they had met before—in a time not yet written.
Something inside me froze.
Jealousy wasn't the right word.What I felt was closer to a sacred danger—as if the universe itself had conspired to remind us of who we once were.
Then Adam turned to me,smiling faintly,kissed my cheek with killing coldness, and said:
"Another victim? You really are a murderer."
I asked sharply—surprising even myself:
"Did her tears hurt you?Would you like to cry in her place?"
His face shifted for a moment;then he took my hand gently, unsettlingly tender, and said in a voice too honest to bear:
"You know the only tears that move me…are yours.The ones I haven't had the honor to see again—since our very first meeting."
He paused,smiled bitterly,and added:
"Do you remember it?"
I stayed silent,for the answer raged inside me, not on my tongue.
Because I remembered.
I remembered everything—things that perhaps weren't even mine to remember.The meeting,the death,the elegant bullet.
But this time, when I looked into his eyes,I didn't see myself there.I saw another shadow.
Maybe its name was… Liora.