Olivia POV
Two hours later.
I found myself back there again.
The same place.
A vast, dark room with no walls I could touch and no ceiling I could see. The darkness wasn't threatening, but it was heavy, like the air itself pressed against my skin. I felt as though I was sitting, though I couldn't see my body or feel the ground beneath me.
And she was there.
The woman with the purple eyes.
She stood not too far away, close enough that I could see the faint curve of her smile, far enough that I couldn't reach her even if I could move—which I couldn't.
Not even a finger.
Not my head.
Not my eyes.
"What the hell…" I tried to say.
Nothing came out.
My lips wouldn't move. My throat felt locked, as if my body had forgotten how to respond to my thoughts. Panic crept up slowly, crawling along my spine.
Why can't I move?
What is happening to me?
The woman simply looked at me.
Her purple eyes glowed faintly in the darkness—not brightly, not like light, but like something alive behind them. I had seen those eyes before.
This wasn't the first time.
So why was I shaking?
My chest felt tight, my breath shallow, though I wasn't sure if I was even breathing here. My heart—or whatever stood in its place—raced without sound.
She smiled again.
Her lips moved.
She said something.
I didn't understand the words.
They weren't in any language I recognized, yet they felt close, almost familiar, like something whispered to me long ago and buried deep inside my bones.
Suddenly, tears slid down her cheeks.
For a moment, that confused me more than anything else.
Why was she crying?
The purple in her eyes seemed deeper now, richer, as if it had weight. I stared, unable to look away, my mind screaming while my body remained useless.
Then she raised her hand.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
My breath caught.
"No," I tried to say.
I watched in horror as her fingers pressed against her own eye.
The purple one.
She didn't hesitate.
She pulled.
Blood spilled immediately, thick and dark, trailing down her cheek as the eye came free from its socket. The sound wasn't loud, but it echoed in my head. My stomach twisted violently, nausea rising in waves.
It was horrific.
And yet—
I couldn't look away.
It was disgusting, terrifying, unbearable… and at the same time, part of me wanted to know what would happen next.
The woman held the eye in her palm.
Her face didn't twist in pain.
She didn't scream.
She simply looked at me, her remaining purple eye steady, calm.
Then she began to walk toward me.
Each step felt heavy, though I couldn't hear them. She crossed the distance slowly, as if she had all the time in the world. My fear peaked, spreading into something sharp and uncontrollable.
I tried to pull back.
I tried to scream.
I tried to close my eyes.
Nothing worked.
She stopped right in front of me.
Her fingers lifted.
They hovered inches from my face.
From my eyes.
The purple eye in her hand seemed to pulse faintly.
And then—
I jolted upright.
My body snapped forward as air rushed violently into my lungs. My chest burned as I gasped, coughing once, twice, my heart pounding so hard it hurt.
I was back.
White walls.
Bright lights.
The familiar sterile smell of disinfectant filled my nose.
A VIP hospital ward.
Different from before.
The furniture had changed. The sheets were new. The room felt cleaner, colder. Machines hummed quietly beside me, their steady beeps grounding me in reality.
Before I could fully process it, something else hit me.
Voices.
"Find her. No matter what."
"She has red hair—"
"Grandma, you have to go, this is important. It's your medical checkup."
"What are we having? Boy or girl?"
They came from everywhere.
From the walls.
From the ceiling.
From far away and painfully close.
I flinched, clutching the blanket as the sounds overlapped, stacked on top of each other until I couldn't tell where one ended and another began. It was like standing in the middle of the entire hospital at once.
Too much.
Way too much.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my head throbbing. My thoughts scattered, racing faster than I could control. The voices didn't stop immediately, but slowly—one by one—they faded.
Until there was silence again.
Heavy silence.
I opened my eyes.
That was when I saw her.
My mom.
She sat beside my bed, leaning slightly forward, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed with red, worry etched deeply into her expression.
For a second, I just stared.
I couldn't get tired of looking at her.
I never could.
Because in my past life, she died.
The only woman who had ever truly loved me.
I didn't know how she died. I only knew that one day she was gone, and the world became unbearably cold after that.
My throat tightened.
This time, I promised myself, nothing would happen to her.
Nothing.
She noticed I was awake and leaned closer immediately. "Olivia? Are you okay? Do you feel dizzy? Are you in pain?"
I shook my head quickly, before my emotions could spill over.
"I'm fine," I said, my voice a little hoarse. "Really. I'm fine."
She didn't look convinced.
I reached out and hugged her.
Buried my face against her shoulder.
She smelled just like I remembered.
Lilies.
Warmth spread through my chest, easing something tight and aching inside me. I held her for a moment longer than necessary, afraid that if I let go, she might disappear.
"I'm okay," I repeated softly. "I promise."
She hugged me back, carefully, like I was fragile.
After a while, she pulled back slightly and smiled. "Are you hungry?"
I nodded.
She stood and brought over the dinner she had prepared earlier. She placed the tray on the table in front of my bed, adjusting it carefully so I could reach everything easily.
It was porridge.
With sweet beans mixed in.
I stared at it for a moment before picking up the spoon. The first bite was warm. Sweet and bitter at the same time.
Comforting.
As I ate, she watched me quietly, relief slowly replacing the worry in her eyes.
After a few moments, she spoke again, hesitantly.
"Your father is outside," she said softly. "Why not ask him to come in?"
I paused mid-bite.
She continued, "Aren't you… curious about him?"
I looked up at her.
Then I looked toward the window.
Toward the world outside.
"I don't like him," I said honestly. "He's the one who turned my life upside down."
I didn't say more.
I didn't need to.
"But," I added after a moment, forcing a small smile, "I don't really care about the Sinclair family anymore."
That was a lie.
Or maybe not.
What I cared about—what burned quietly inside me—was revenge.
Nathan.
And my so-called best friend from my past life.
Lost in thought, I didn't notice when the door opened.
Henry Sinclair walked in.
He looked at my mother first.
Then at me.
I met his gaze calmly and smiled.
"Hello, Father."
He tried to smile back.
He failed.
I continued eating.
The porridge filled my stomach, warming me from the inside. I might look like a fifteen-year-old girl, but my soul was far older than that.
And this time—
I would not live blindly again.