Chapter 39 Chapter 39
Chapter 39
"I’m embarrassed. How do I face Mr. Castellan tomorrow? I shouted so loud," Celine said, her voice low as she slumped on the couch.
Ariana sat beside her, pulling her legs under the blanket. “I know how you felt. Your past accident probably triggered the fear. I’m sure of it.”
Celine sighed. “Yes, Ariana. I regretted shouting that loud. It’s like I wasn’t myself. My heart almost stopped.”
“Your body remembers what your mind cannot,” Ariana said softly.
Celine nodded, her eyes on the ceiling. “Mr. Castellan didn’t even help out. He just stood there like it was nothing. But…” she paused, her lips pressing together. “He’s a bit caring. I found out I’m allergic to walnut cake today. Maybe I hated that in my past life.”
Ariana raised a brow. “He made you know that?”
“Yes,” Celine said, her cheeks heating up a little. “I reacted badly. He was there. I think he was the one who realized it first. Gosh, today’s been really embarrassing.”
Ariana laughed. “At least you didn’t faint.”
“Barely,” Celine said, shaking her head. “It was a mess. The elevator, the scream, the allergy… I just hope he forgets it all.”
Ariana smiled. “Knowing how cold that man is, I’m sure he already moved on from it.”
“Yeah,” Celine said, forcing a small laugh.
“He probably did.”As night crawled in, their voices grew softer. They talked about everything and nothing until both of them began to drift off to sleep.
Celine laid on her side, thinking about how strange the day had turned out. The moment the elevator stopped, she had felt like her world froze.
She couldn’t remember much, but for a second, something flashed through her mind — a blur of falling, people calling her name, and pain. It vanished before she could hold onto it.
She finally drifted to sleep.
4:00 a.m.
The clock’s red digits glowed in the dark — 4:00 a.m.
Ethan sat on the edge of the bed, his hand gripping his hair, breathing hard. His shirt was half unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up carelessly. He had been tossing on the bed for hours, but sleep refused to come.
“Your scream…” he whispered to the quiet room, his voice rough. “It sounds familiar.”
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. The sound from the elevator — Celine’s scream — kept replaying in his head like a broken record.
“Sounds like hers,” he muttered, his breath catching again. His fingers tightened on the bedsheet.
Isabelle.
The name slipped out like a wound reopening.
He shut his eyes. “I’m sorry, Isabelle,” he said, pressing his palm to his forehead. “I’m really sorry.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, trying to steady his breath, but it came out sharp and uneven. He hated this. He hated the feeling of being dragged back into something he couldn’t explain or control.
He had tried to block it out, to live like that scream didn’t exist — but every time he heard something close to it, it haunted him.
He rubbed his face, frustrated. “I wouldn’t recover from this,” he whispered. “I just know I won’t.”
The room was quiet, except for the faint hum of the city outside.
He looked at his phone again — 4:03 a.m.
He hadn’t even closed his eyes properly all night.
He threw the phone aside and stood up, pacing the room. His reflection on the window looked tense — dark circles under his eyes, his jaw tight.
He hated remembering that scream because once it echoed in his mind, it stayed there for days.
He could hear it in the shower, during meetings, even when he tried to sleep.
It clung to him.
But what bothered him now was something else — why did Celine’s scream sound so much like Isabelle’s?
His chest burned with confusion. It didn't make sense. It couldn’t make sense.
He grabbed the back of his neck and sighed deeply. “What the hell is wrong with me?” he muttered under his breath.
He didn’t want to care. He didn’t want to think about her. Either of them.
Celine was just his employee. Isabelle was… gone. And he didn’t talk about that. Not with anyone.
Still, the memory of that sound crawled through him like it had a life of its own.
He reached for the pills on his nightstand, shaking the small bottle until two fell into his palm. He stared at them for a second before tossing them into his mouth and swallowing dry.
The bitter taste hit his tongue, but he didn’t care. He wanted the noise in his head to stop.
He sat back on the bed, resting his head against the wall. His hand trembled slightly, and that made him angry.
He wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not weak. Not shaken.
He had built his whole life on being untouchable — calm, composed, always in control. Yet a single scream had undone all of that.
His jaw tightened as he closed his eyes again.
“She’s not Isabelle,” he whispered to himself, forcing his thoughts to obey. “She’s not.”
H
e hated himself for this — for feeling anything at all.
He turned on his side, staring at nothing. “Forget it, Ethan,” he murmured. “Just forget it.”
But as silence filled the room again, all he could hear was that screamAnd no matter how many pills he took, it wouldn’t leave.