faeni

Following a horrific car accident, Adeline Moore awakens from a months-long coma with no memory of her life, her identity, or the family who insists they love her. As she struggles to make sense of the fragments around her, she's met with an unsettling reality—her fiancé, Luke, is cold and distant, and her younger sister, Hazel, seems far too close to him.

As flashes of memory return—snippets of arguments, uneasy emotions, and inexplicable grief—Adeline begins to uncover the truth: Luke and Hazel were having an affair even before the crash. Shattered by the betrayal, she’s dealt a second blow when her family rallies around Hazel, dismissing Adeline’s pain and blaming her for not being “the same” since waking up.

Isolated and unsure of who she used to be, Adeline makes a bold decision—she doesn’t want her old life back. She wants truth. She wants freedom. She wants to start over. With quiet resolve and growing clarity, she begins to rebuild her life—this time, on her own terms, and far from those who broke her.

The Second Life of Adeline Moore

The smell was the first thing that returned to him.

Moist concrete. Blood. Smoldering plastic.The acrid, metallic bite of terror.

It hadn't been a large room—just walls, rusted bars, and a dim bulb that buzzed overhead like it was mocking their unraveling minds.

Elias had been bleeding from the temple. A gash that refused to clot.His hands were tied. His vision blurred.Every nerve in his body screamed for space—for sterile safety.

Barely conscious, slouched against the wall. Wrists bound like his.But her eyes—those had remained sharp, even when her lips trembled.

"Don't touch me," he'd snarled, the instant she'd started to crawl closer.

She hadn't stopped.She'd laughed—dry, bitter.

"Trust me. I'm not dying just to hold your hand."

He remembered thinking she was infuriating. And brave. And infuriating.

Later, the pain in his side became unbearable. Breathing felt like knives.He'd collapsed against the cold, filth-coated floor. Grit clung to his skin like a second disease. The shaking began—not from cold, but from the unbearable need to scrub himself clean.

"Hey," she'd whispered. Her voice had softened, but not weakened. "You're panicking."

She had moved closer again. Her hand near his arm, but not touching.Never touching. It was the smallest mercy.

"I don't do well with…" he'd started, then closed his mouth.

She'd finished for him. "Contamination. Proximity. People."

He hadn't corrected her.Because it was all true.

And then she said something that etched itself beneath his skin.

"It's okay. I won't ask you to touch me. Just breathe where I can hear you."

So he did.Quietly. Reluctantly. With clenched teeth.

But he breathed.And she sat beside him. Not rescuing. Not fixing. Just existing with him.

For hours—maybe days—they spoke little. Words were fragile things.Silence was easier to survive.

But there was one moment he couldn't forget.

She was burning with fever, trembling, her head drooping forward.

"Lean on me," he'd whispered, before he could stop himself.

Her eyes met his, cautious. "Won't that… bother you?"

"It already does," he replied flatly. "Might as well make it worth it."

She'd leaned her head against his shoulder. Lightly. Tentatively.As if she'd been waiting for permission.

And when she passed out like that, Elias hadn't moved.Couldn't move.

He stared at the ceiling, every cell screaming.And still—he didn't push her away.

The Past