The Imposter Bride (Natalia and Magnus)
Chapter 403

As Natalie's phone died, she let out a sigh of frustration. You know, it was one of those days when, as they say, "when it rains, it pours." And pour it did, outside the vast expanse of her deserted office, she was now the sole inhabitant.

A shiver ran down her spine as Natalie recalled the series of brutal murders that had been the talk of the town - and the constant feature on every TV channel. It was as if the very air of Hawaii had been tainted with an unsettling presence.

It started without warning. Young women's lives were cruelly snatched away and were found in the most gruesome states in the forgotten corners of the city. The killer was brutal and elusive, and the police were left grasping at straws for any substantial lead.

The pattern was chilling. Each victim shared the same dark hair and blue eyes. Warnings blared on every screen, urging the local women to exercise caution, to avoid walking alone, and to be vigilant. Natalie's mind raced with fear. Her imagination painted the empty office as a potential hunting ground for the crazed killer. She couldn't stay here, not a minute longer. She needed to be with Magnus, her husband, her sanctuary. His presence was the only thing that could calm the storm inside her.

With hurried steps, she made her way to the elevator and descended to the lobby. But as if in sync with her fears, the building plunged into darkness. The lights were snuffed out by the raging storm outside.

Startled, Natalie reached for her phone, only to remember its lifeless state. Lightning tore through the sky, with each flash a violent stroke against the heavens.

Swallowing her fear, she edged toward the exit, but a crash of thunder nearly split her eardrums. She froze, and her gaze was fixed on a dark silhouette standing ominously in the doorway.

A scream escaped her lips, but before terror could consume her, the shadow flickered with light, revealing the face she longed to see. Wrapped in Magnus' warm embrace, she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"It's just me, honey," Magnus' voice was a soothing balm to her frayed nerves.

Natalie clung to him as he explained he'd come after her phone went straight to voicemail, and they ventured out into the storm, which hadn't let up.

Their apartment was a charming three-story duplex with a quaint little garden out back. It was acquired by Hector and seemed less inviting under the storm's wrath. But inside, with the door shut against the tempest, Natalie felt the familiar sense of home.

Magnus had prepared a surprise dinner to celebrate their seventh year together. A table lay hidden under a red silk cloth, with dishes that reflected his improving culinary skills. "To the most beautiful, kind, and perfect wife," he toasted, pulling out her chair like the gentleman he was.

They dined, vowing to make it a night of revelry, "to not go to bed unless intoxicated," as Magnus poured the wine. They cheered, and a cocoon of warmth enveloped them, a stark contrast to the deluge outside.

Unseen, a gaunt figure stood in the rain, looking up at their apartment with a lost gaze that held a sinister edge. His identity was unknown to him, just as his origins were a mystery. This city, for some reason, offered him a momentary peace amidst his restless journey.

But tonight, as Natalie and Magnus celebrated within the soft glow of their home, the figure outside was a harbinger of the storm, both literal and metaphorical, that lingered on the horizon. Even though he had no clue why, his gut was screaming at him that everything here—the streets, the buildings, even the very air-was once as familiar to him as the back of his hand.

The city whispered to him that he belonged here, maybe not in the streetlights and the noise, but in the quiet corners and the memories that seemed to be on the tip of his tongue.

And there seemed to be someone who tugged at his heartstrings. Every time he stood at this intersection, no, to be precise, every time he found himself in front of this three-story Victorian townhouse, his heart felt inexplicably tender.

A tenderness he'd nearly forgotten.

The man braving the downpour was none other than Hector. A year ago, he took a bullet, fell into the sea, and was swept away by the waves. His memory was wiped clean...

Now, he stood soaked to the bone, a ghost of a past life, trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces. The rain hammered down, but it couldn't wash away the nagging sense of déjà vu that clung to him like the chill of a forgotten winter's embrace.