Chapter 1
The dream always ended the same way.
A knife.
A pair of eyes she could never forget.
And a voice so gentle that it felt completely wrong.
“I love you.”
Then darkness.
Araya jolted awake.
The city lights of Bangkok shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her penthouse. Below her, millions of people were beginning their day.
Above them all sat the woman every entertainment company wanted.
Actress.
Director.
Singer.
Producer.
At twenty-one, Araya had accomplished what most celebrities spent a lifetime chasing.
Magazine covers.
Award shows.
Sold-out concerts.
Blockbuster dramas.
Millions of fans.
Millions of haters.
And yet none of it could stop the nightmare.
She sat on the edge of the bed, pressing a hand against her throat.
No wound.
No blood.
Nothing.
Only the lingering sensation of cold steel.
The same dream.
Again.
And again.
And again.
For six months.
The strange thing wasn’t the death.
It was the man.
Every detail of him remained vivid after waking.
The shape of his eyes.
The curve of his smile.
The sadness hidden beneath his expression.
Whenever he looked at her, it never felt like a murderer staring at a victim.
It felt like a lover saying goodbye.
That was what terrified her.
A sharp knock sounded from the front door.
Then another.
Then someone started kicking it.
Araya sighed.
Only two people in the world were stupid enough to kick the front door of a celebrity’s penthouse.
Her best friends.
She opened the door.
Both men walked inside carrying breakfast and enough energy to annoy an entire country.
“You look terrible.”
“Good morning to you too.”
“You had the dream again.”
Araya froze.
One of them smirked.
“Bingo.”
She threw a pillow at him.
It missed.
Unfortunately.
The three of them settled around the kitchen island.
For a few moments only the sounds of eating filled the room.
Then Araya finally spoke.
“It happened again.”
The joking atmosphere disappeared instantly.
“The same man?”
She nodded.
“The same knife?”
Another nod.
“The same—”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Neither of them laughed.
Because they knew.
They had been watching her slowly lose sleep for months.
One dream would have been nothing.
Six months of the same dream was something else entirely.
One friend suddenly snapped his fingers.
“I know where we’re going.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Fortune teller.”
Araya groaned.
Three hours later she was sitting in front of a fortune teller.
Life was unfair.
The old woman sat beneath strings of hanging bells and fading photographs.
Her eyes looked ancient.
Not old.
Ancient.
The kind of eyes that seemed to have witnessed things nobody else had.
The room remained silent for a long time.
Then the woman smiled.
“The man in your dream.”
Araya’s entire body froze.
Neither of her friends spoke.
The old woman continued drinking tea.
“The one who kills you.”
A chill spread through the room.
Araya slowly leaned forward.
“Who is he?”
The woman laughed softly.
The answer that followed changed everything.
“Your lover.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
One friend nearly choked.
The other looked ready to call an ambulance.
Araya stared at the woman.
“Excuse me?”
“He will love you until the very end.”
The old woman’s smile remained unchanged.
“What kind of lover kills someone?”
The woman’s eyes met hers.
“The future is rarely that simple.”
Araya hated mysterious people.
She especially hated mysterious old women.
“Will he kill me or not?”
“There will be misunderstandings.”
“What does that mean?”
“Let them happen.”
Araya blinked.
“What?”
“Let them happen.”
The old woman rose from her chair.
The conversation was apparently over.
As the three left the shop, her voice followed them.
“When the wind forgets its direction...”
They turned.
The woman stood motionless beneath the bells.
“...you will find yours.”
And then she disappeared into the shadows of the shop.
For the next few days, Araya tried to forget the encounter.
Work helped.
Interviews helped.
Filming helped.
Fame helped.
But fate, unfortunately, did not care what Araya wanted.
