Me Alejó, Ahora Me Está Cazando

I was reborn on the day of my fifty-sixth public confession to my guardian, Charlotte Mayo. In my past life, my obsession had destroyed her, leading to a miserable marriage and her death while saving me. This time, I vowed to fix it.

To push her toward the man she truly loved, I called Howard Franklin to the scene. But the moment he arrived, a heavy stage light crashed to the floor between them. Howard immediately screamed that I had tried to kill him.

Charlotte, the woman I died for, believed him instantly.

Back at the house, he served me soup laced with peanuts, knowing I have a deathly allergy. As my throat seized up, he "accidentally" knocked the EpiPen from my grasp and convinced Charlotte I was having a violent episode.

She watched me suffocate, her face filled with disgust.

"Take him to the cold storage room in the basement," she ordered security. "Let him cool off."

The woman who once rushed me to the ER for this exact allergy now saw me as a monster.

As they dragged me away, I looked back one last time. Over Charlotte's shoulder, Howard was looking directly at me.

He was smiling.

I finally understood. My obsession wasn't the only poison in our lives. He was. And this time, I wouldn't be saving her from myself. I would be saving her from him.

Chapter 1

I am reborn on the day of my fifty-sixth public confession.

The air in the grand hall is thick with the scent of champagne and roses. Hundreds of eyes are on me, a mix of pity and amusement. They see a pathetic young man, Alex Melendez, obsessed with his guardian, Charlotte Mayo, a woman a decade older than him, a titan of the tech world.

The giant screen behind me flashes a slideshow of her face. It' s the same slideshow from my previous life. The same roses. The same suffocating hope.

My heart pounds against my ribs, not with lovesick anticipation, but with the cold, hard rhythm of sheer terror. My palms are slick with sweat. This is real. It' s all happening again.

Then the doors swing open.

Charlotte stands there.

She wears a tailored black suit that makes her look like a queen surveying a battlefield. Her hair is pulled back in a severe bun, and her eyes, the same eyes that once looked at me with warmth, are now chips of ice.

Her gaze sweeps over the ridiculous display, the "Marry Me, Charlotte" spelled out in a thousand red roses, and finally lands on me. The contempt in her eyes is a physical blow.

"Alex."

Her voice cuts through the murmurs of the crowd.

"What is this nonsense?"

I am her ward. She took me in when my parents, her friends, died in a plane crash when I was eight. Legally, she is my guardian. In my heart, she was my world.

She steps closer, her heels clicking an angry rhythm on the marble floor. "I' ve told you. This is inappropriate. I am your guardian. Not your... object of affection."

She grabs my wrist, her grip painfully tight. The expensive fabric of her suit sleeve brushes against my skin.

"End this. Now."

My throat is dry. All I can see is her face from my last memory, streaked with blood and tears, her body shielding mine from the falling wreckage of our car.

"Live, Alex," she had gasped, her last breath a warm puff against my cheek. "Just... live."

She died saving me. After a lifetime where my obsession destroyed everything. I sabotaged her relationship with Howard Franklin, the man she truly loved. I drove him to his death in a staged "accident". She married me out of a twisted sense of duty, a punishment for us both. Our marriage was a cold, silent hell. And in the end, her act of saving me was the only genuine love she had shown me in years, and it cost her everything.

Now, I have a second chance. Not for me. For her.

The memories flash through my mind in a split second, a lifetime of regret compressed into a single, agonizing moment.

I look at her, at the cold fury on her face, and for the first time, I don't see rejection. I see a cage. A cage I helped build.

I will not make the same mistake.

I take a deep breath, forcing the tremor out of my voice. I let my shoulders slump, crafting a look of defeated realization.

"You're right, Charlotte."

I turn to the stunned crowd. "I'm sorry, everyone. This was a mistake. A childish prank that went too far."

I pull a small, sad smile. "My guardian is right. I need to grow up."

Charlotte' s grip on my wrist loosens. She stares at me, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. This is not the reaction she expected. She expected tears, begging, a dramatic scene. She didn't expect surrender.

"What game are you playing now?" she murmurs, her voice low and dangerous.

I ignore her. Instead, I pull out my phone. My fingers shake as I scroll to a name I know by heart. Howard Franklin. In my past life, I deleted this number with vicious satisfaction. Now, it is my only tool for her salvation.

I press 'call'.

The phone rings once, twice. He picks up.

"Hello?"

"Howard," I say, my voice loud enough for Charlotte to hear. "It's Alex. I'm at the Grand Hyatt ballroom. Charlotte wants to see you. She' s been waiting."

A beat of silence on the other end. "What?"

"Just come," I say, and hang up.

I turn back to Charlotte. I force myself to meet her suspicious gaze.

"He was the one you wanted to be here with, wasn't he?" My voice is a hollow whisper. "I'm sorry. For everything."

Before she can process my words, Howard Franklin walks in. He is charismatic, handsome, everything I am not. He looks at the scene, confused, then his eyes find Charlotte's, and a slow smile spreads across his face.

He walks towards her, his eyes never leaving hers. He doesn't even glance at me.

"Charlotte," he says, his voice a low caress. "I got a strange call."

She is still looking at me, her mind clearly racing, trying to understand my angle. She is a CEO. She looks for the strategy, the manipulation in everything.

And that's when I see it. A flicker of movement from above. One of the heavy stage spotlights, directly over Howard and Charlotte, is wobbling.

In my last life, this didn't happen.

My blood runs cold. It' s Howard. He must have arranged this. A way to frame me from the very start.

"Look out!" I scream, shoving myself forward.

But I'm too late. Charlotte, ever protective of the man she loves, reacts on instinct. She grabs Howard's arm and yanks him back, pulling him out of the direct path of danger.

They stumble back together, a perfect picture of concern.

The heavy metal fixture crashes to the floor exactly where they had been standing. It doesn't hit me directly, but the force of the impact sends it skittering across the marble. It slams into my leg, and a shower of hot sparks and shattered glass erupts, peppering my face and arms.

A searing pain shoots up my leg. I collapse, the world tilting.

The crowd gasps.

Through the ringing in my ears, I hear Howard's voice, laced with manufactured panic and accusation.

"My God, Charlotte! He did this! He tried to kill me!"

I look up. Howard is pointing a trembling finger at me, his face a mask of terror. Charlotte is staring at him, then at me. Her expression hardens from suspicion into pure, unadulterated disgust.

She believes him.

"Get him out of here," she says, her voice like ice.

Two security guards haul me to my feet. The pain in my leg is white-hot, but it' s nothing compared to the cold abyss opening in my chest.

She doesn' t even look at my injuries. She is fussing over Howard, brushing a piece of dust from his perfect suit.

They drag me away. As they pull me through the door, I look back one last time.

I see her, the woman I died for, wrapping her arms around the man who will destroy her.

And I see Howard Franklin, over her shoulder, looking directly at me.

He is smiling.

I wake up in my own bed. The sterile white of a hospital is a memory from another life. This time, my punishment is more personal.

My arm is bandaged, but the work is clumsy, angry. My leg throbs with a deep, persistent ache. Charlotte wouldn' t waste a doctor on me for a "stunt" like that.

I reach for my phone. The screen is a beacon in the dim room. A news alert is the first thing I see.

"Tech Titans in Love? Charlotte Mayo and Howard Franklin-A Night of Drama and Romance."

Below the headline is a picture. Charlotte and Howard leaving the hotel. He has his arm around her, a protective gesture. She is leaning into him, her face turned up towards his. They look perfect together.

A wave of nausea hits me, so sharp it takes my breath away. This is what I wanted. This is the price.

My eyes drift to my desk. A thick envelope from a university on the West Coast sits there. The acceptance letter for their veterinary program. Last time, I threw it away without a second thought. My world was here, with her.

Now, it' s my only escape route.

A soft knock on the door makes me jump. It opens, and Howard Franklin steps inside. He's carrying a bowl of soup, a gentle, concerned smile on his face.

"Hey, kid," he says softly. "Charlotte is tied up in meetings, but she wanted me to make sure you ate something. She' s worried."

He sets the bowl on my bedside table. The steam rises, carrying a familiar, sickeningly sweet scent.

Peanuts.

I am deathly allergic to peanuts. One spoonful could close my throat.

Howard knows. Of course, he knows. In my past life, I saw the detailed file her assistant kept on me. Allergies, fears, medical history. Howard would have made it his business to know my weaknesses.

"I' m not hungry," I say, my voice raspy.

Howard' s smile tightens just a fraction. "Come on, Alex. Don't be difficult. Charlotte made this herself before she left this morning. She'll be so disappointed."

A lie. Charlotte hasn't cooked a meal in over a decade. But it's a lie designed to hurt.

Just then, the door opens again. It's Charlotte. She looks tired, stressed, but she forces a small smile when she sees Howard.

"I see you're playing nurse," she says to him, her voice softening.

Then she looks at me, and her face hardens. "What's wrong now? Alex, Howard is being kind to you. The least you can do is be gracious."

I look at her, a desperate, silent plea in my eyes. You know. You have to remember. She' s the one who rushed me to the emergency room when I was ten after I ate a cookie at a school party. She held my hand the whole time, whispering that she' d never let anything happen to me.

But the woman standing in front of me isn' t the same person. Love has made her blind. Or perhaps, my obsession broke that part of her long ago.

There's no recognition in her eyes. Only impatience.

This is the test. And I have to fail it. For her sake.

With a hand that feels disconnected from my body, I pick up the spoon. I scoop up the creamy liquid.

I bring it to my lips and swallow.

The reaction is violent and immediate. My throat seizes. It feels like it' s packed with hot gravel. I can't draw a breath. Wheezing sounds escape my lips as I drop the bowl, clawing at my neck.

My EpiPen. It' s in my desk drawer. I stumble towards it, vision blurring.

I manage to pull the drawer open, my fingers fumbling for the auto-injector.

"Look, he's going for something!" Howard shouts, a panicked tremor in his voice.

He "stumbles" forward, knocking into me. My hand spasms. The EpiPen flies from my grasp, skittering across the hardwood floor and under the bed.

I fall to my knees, gasping for air. I look up at Charlotte, my hand outstretched, a silent plea for help.

She sees a monster.

She sees me, a "violent, unstable" boy, reaching for the man she loves.

"Alex, stop it! You're insane!" she shrieks, her face a mask of horror and fury.

She grabs her phone, not to call 911, but to hit the speed dial for security.

"He's having another episode. Take him to the cold storage room in the basement. Let him cool off."

The cold storage room. It was a joke punishment when I was a kid, after I broke a vase. I was terrified of the dark, and she' d lock me in for a minute before opening the door and laughing, pulling me into a hug.

Now, it's a tomb.

Two guards grab my arms. I can't fight back. My lungs are on fire. Black spots dance in my vision.

As they drag me from the room, I hear Howard's soothing voice.

"It's okay, Charlotte. He didn't mean it. He's just not well."

The last thing I see before they slam the heavy, insulated door is Charlotte, allowing Howard to pull her into a comforting embrace, her back turned on me completely.

The click of the lock echoes in the freezing darkness. Then, there is only the sound of my own ragged, failing breath.

A sliver of light and a blast of warm air save me. One of the newer maids, sent to fetch something, found me hours later, blue-lipped and unconscious on the floor.

I spend the next two days in a feverish haze in my room. No doctor comes. No one checks on me except for the maid who brings my meals, her eyes full of pity.

On the third day, the world comes back into focus with a cruel clarity. I hear unfamiliar sounds from the hallway-laughter, movers. Howard Franklin is moving in.

He doesn't just move in. He takes my room.

"The light is so much better in here," I overhear him telling Charlotte in the hallway. "And the view of the gardens is spectacular. You don't mind, do you, darling?"

"Of course not," she replies, her voice indulgent. "Alex can take the guest room in the west wing. He hardly uses this space anyway."

My room. The room she designed for me after my parents died. The one with the ceiling painted like a night sky, because I was afraid to sleep in the dark.

I don't protest. I don't say a word. I just watch as movers carry my life out in boxes.

The only thing that matters is the warm, living weight curled up at my feet. Buster. A scruffy little terrier mix I found abandoned in a park last year. He' s my shadow, my confidant, the only creature in this house who looks at me without an agenda.

I pack my few belongings into a single suitcase. My new room is smaller, colder, overlooking the garage. Buster seems to sense the change, whining softly and nudging my hand with his wet nose.

Howard begins his reign of the house. He complains that Buster sheds. He "accidentally" trips over him. He tells Charlotte the dog is a "filthy mutt" that doesn't belong in a house like this. Each complaint drives another wedge between me and her.

One afternoon, I am on the phone, making a difficult call. It' s to a no-kill shelter an hour away. I' m arranging to take Buster there, to keep him safe until I can leave for the West Coast.

"I can bring him in tomorrow," I say, my voice thick.

Suddenly, a sharp yelp cuts through the air. It' s Buster. It' s coming from the balcony of my old room.

My blood freezes.

I drop the phone and run. I burst out onto the main landing just in time to see it.

Howard is standing on the balcony, holding Buster by the scruff of his neck, dangling him over the stone patio three stories below.

He sees me, and a slow, cruel smile spreads across his face.

"This little rat is a real nuisance, Alex," he says, his voice casual, as if he's talking about the weather.

"Howard, no!" I scream, lunging for the stairs. "Please!"

He just watches me, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

"He's just like you," he says softly. "A stray that should have never been brought into a place like this."

And then, he lets go.

Time slows down. I see Buster' s small, confused body tumble through the air. I see the flash of his white fur against the grey sky.

The sound when he hits the stone is a sickening, final thud.

My own scream is raw, torn from the deepest part of my soul. I stare at the small, broken form on the patio. Unmoving.

"He was also an orphan, you know," Howard says from the balcony, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "Just like you. Your parents died so tragically, didn't they? A shame they left their mess for Charlotte to clean up."

Something inside me snaps.

The grief, the pain, the injustice of two lifetimes-it all ignites into a single point of white-hot rage.

I don't remember running up the stairs. I only remember the crunch of bone under my fist. I'm on top of him, my hands on his throat, the world gone red.

I am going to kill him.

"Alex! What are you doing?!"

Charlotte's scream pulls me back.

She's standing in the doorway, her face pale with shock. She sees me, a wild animal, on top of Howard, who is bleeding from a broken nose and gasping for air.

She doesn't see the monster who just murdered my dog.

She sees the monster she's always believed me to be.