Chapter 159 Chapter 159

Chapter 159 Chapter 159
Liana’s POV

The café smells like burnt espresso and rain. It’s the kind of place no one looks at twice it’s quiet and tucked behind a bus terminal, the air thick with diesel and old music. That’s probably why she chose it.
Elia sits in the corner booth, facing the door. Her hair is shorter now, dyed a pale ash that almost hides the darker roots. She wears a loose coat, collar up, as if she’s still hiding from the world even while sitting still.
I stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching her.
Fifteen years. I’d rehearsed this meeting in my mind so many times that the real thing feels wrong. When I finally walk over, her eyes lift and the world stops moving.
“Liana.” The way she says my name makes my chest tighten. Her voice is softer, lower, but it has the same rhythm like she’s reading from a half-forgotten memory.
“Elia.”
Her lips curve slightly. “You found me.”
“No,” I say. “Dominic did.”
The smile fades. “Of course he did.”
We sit in silence for a moment. The rain hammers against the windows, a slow relentless percussion.
I study her face, the symmetry too precise, the skin along her jaw faintly smoother than it should be.
Reconstructed, Dominic had said. The DNA doesn’t lie. But everything else about her might.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I say finally.
“Start with the night I disappeared,” she answers. “You’ve been looking for that truth all this time, haven’t you?”
I nod slowly.
She exhales, hands trembling around her cup. “Stanley found me that night. He… he saved me.”
The words hang there, absurd and heavy.
“Saved you?” I echo.
“Yes. Dominic had already left. I’d been followed—someone wanted me gone. Stanley showed up at the docks, found me bleeding. He said he could make it stop. Make them forget.”
Her gaze drifts, unfocused. “He took me to a clinic outside the city. Private. Illegal. They reconstructed what they could, erased the rest. My name, my history… everything.”
“And you let him?”
“I didn’t have a choice,” she says, voice cracking. “I was dying.”
She looks at me then, eyes wet. “You have to understand, Liana. He didn’t do it to hurt me. He did it to protect me.”
It almost sounds convincing but something in the story tugs at the edges, the inconsistency.
“You said he found you at the docks,” I say carefully. “But the footage I saw, he left the mansion at 1:42 a.m. The docks are forty minutes away.”
She freezes. “Maybe I’m remembering wrong. It’s been so long.”
“Then where were you shot?”
Her brow furrows. “I told you, near the shoulder.”
“No,” I whisper. “The police report said abdomen.”
“They must have miswritten it.”
“Elia, there was no police report,” I press. “Your death certificate was sealed before the investigation even began.”
She looks down at her hands, silent.
“Elia,” I say again, leaning forward, “whose story are you telling me?”
For a heartbeat, she looks almost angry. Then her tone changes. “You think I’m lying.”
“I think you’re confused,” I say gently. “I think someone’s been feeding you pieces of the truth.”
She laughs once, bitterly. “You sound like him.”
“Stanley?”
Her jaw tightens. “He said people would come. That they’d try to twist everything. That I should only trust what he told me.”
My stomach turns. “What did he tell you?”
“That Dominic wanted me dead.”
I flinch. “That’s not true.”
Her eyes flash. “He showed me the footage.”
“What footage?”
“The one from that night. Dominic arguing with me, pushing me toward the door. He said if Stanley hadn’t arrived when he did…”
“Stop.” I cut her off, shaking my head. “You don’t know what you saw. That footage was edited. I’ve seen the original.”
She goes still. “You have?”
“Yes. And it ends with him leaving the room. My father walks in after.”
Her lips part, confusion flickering across her face. “Your father?”
“Yes. Which means whatever Stanley told you, it’s not the truth.”
“I don’t remember your father being there,” she whispers.
“Maybe you weren’t supposed to.”
She shakes her head violently. “No. You don’t understand. I remember Stanley’s hand pulling me out. I remember the smell of salt water. I remember waking up in a white room.”
Her breathing quickens. “He told me I was lucky. That the world thought I was dead, and I needed to stay that way.”
“Elia, listen to me. You’ve been manipulated.”
Her fingers grip the edge of the table, knuckles white. “No. He saved me.”
I reach across the table, voice soft but firm. “Then why are you still hiding?”
That stops her. For the first time, she doesn’t have an answer. The silence stretches.
Finally, she looks up, tears brimming in her eyes. “Maybe I am lying. Maybe it’s easier that way.”
“Elia…”
She leans back, voice trembling. “When you lose yourself long enough, lies start feeling safer than memories. Stanley says I wouldn’t survive the truth.”
“He’s wrong.”
Her gaze flickers past me to the window, to the rain. “No,” she whispers. “He’s still watching.”
I turn sharply, but the street outside is empty. When I look back, she’s already standing, pulling her coat tight.
“Elia, please don’t go.”
She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have met you.”
“Then why did you?”
She hesitates at the door, not turning around. “Because part of me wanted to remember.”
I sit there long after, the untouched coffee cold between my hands. The rain hasn’t stopped, but it feels different now heavier, almost deliberate, like the city itself is trying to drown out her words.
She’s alive. Stanley saved her. But her memories are stitched together like a broken story someone’s rewritten too many times. And if he can rewrite her, he can rewrite anyone.
As I leave the café, I can’t help but glance once more into the reflection of the rain-streaked window.
For a moment, I swear I see Stanley standing across the street, watching. But when I turn, there’s nothing there. Only the echo of her voice.
He’s still watching.