home, she had been sitting calmly on the couch, as though nothing was wrong.
Then there was the strange countdown calendar with only seven pages, which disappeared the same day Celia stopped contacting
him.
And the most damning clue of all was when he had accidentally knocked her down that day, her skin had been unnaturally cold,
and he couldn’t find her pulse.
Every sign seemed to point to one answer: the latter was true.
Driven by desperation, Lucas threw himself into investigating, searching for anything that could confirm his theory.
But to his frustration, he discovered that everyone else’s memories of Celia during those seven days seemed to have been erased,
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as if by some invisible force.
In a final, desperate move, he intercepted Yvonne at the airport just moments before her flight.
“Tell me what you remember about Celia.”
Yvonne hesitated, then shrugged. “Celia? Aside from meeting her that first time and the day we found her body, I barely
remember anything.”
Then, as if trying to redirect his focus, she added, “Lucas, I really do love you. Can’t you give me one more chance?”
Her words fell on deaf ears.
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Lucas‘ heart sank further as her reply confirmed his worst fears–Celia’s existence in those seven days had been wiped away as if
it had never happened.
Lucas approached every guest who had attended Yvonne’s birthday party. Considering the incident at the pool, it seemed logical
that they would remember Celia—she had been directly involved, after all.
But as he questioned them, their responses made his frustration mount.
“Celia?” they would say, puzzled. “Your niece, right? Haven’t heard about her in a while. Birthday party? No, I didn’t see her
there.”
Even the staff member who had processed Celia’s paperwork for canceling her records claimed to have met her but that was
twenty–two days ago.
No one remembered her presence during those seven days.
Every effort he made to find answers led to a dead end. Walking back toward the villa, Lucas felt the weight of defeat settle over
him. When he stepped inside, the familiar surroundings of his home seemed surreal, as if mocking him.
Why was everyone’s memory different from his?
Why was he the only one who remembered those extra seven days with Celia?
Reaching for his phone, a sudden thought struck him like lightning: Celia’s phone.
He still had it.
A glimmer of hope flickered in his chest, and for the first time in days, he felt like the fog surrounding him had begun to lift.
Her phone might have the answers.
He bolted upstairs, heading straight for the study, where he had left the phone in a drawer. Pulling it out, the screen lit up,
displaying a photo of Celia smiling brightly. The image felt like a relic from another lifetime.
The lock screen passcode hadn’t changed; she had left it as his birthday. With trembling fingers, Lucas unlocked the phone and
immediately scrolled through her call logs and messages.
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What he found stunned him. Her entire call history was filled with his number.
The most recent call was from nine days ago—the day she had asked him to have dinner with her, the night he had broken his
promise.
Regret twisted in his chest. If only he had kept his word. If only he hadn’t prioritized work over her. That night, he had
unknowingly seen her for the last time.
But something else caught his eye. There were two connected calls, one from sixteen days ago–the day she had supposedly died
–and another from nine days ago.
The unsettling part? Lucas was sure he hadn’t taken those calls.
And there was only one person who could have used his phone during those times: Yvonne.
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