The late-day sunlight drifted over Los Angeles, tinting the windows of Forrester Creations with a warm, fragile calm—an illusion of peace that never lasts. Electra stepped out of a long meeting, her smile thin, her nerves worn raw. Weeks had passed since she and Will returned from Japan, where Luna’s truths—and her tragic end—had been buried beneath the quiet shores of Kyoto.

Life had finally begun to feel livable again. Will was no longer looking over his shoulder every hour. Lyra had started to laugh again, her small voice bringing light into rooms that had forgotten joy. Electra dared to believe the storm had passed.

She was wrong.

It started with a single phone call that no one picked up. Dee, working late during a photo shoot at the Forrester studio, stood alone under flickering lights. His phone vibrated—a hidden number—and he ignored it. But the message that followed stopped him cold: “Did you miss me, Dee?”

No signature. No details. But the words hit him like a ghost.

Remy.

Dee hadn’t seen that name in two years, not since the nightmare he tried so hard to erase. Their relationship had started as passion but burned into something darker—obsession, manipulation, and betrayal. Remy had watched him, tracked him, stolen files from Forrester. When Electra revealed who Remy really was, everything exploded. A restraining order was issued. Remy vanished like smoke.

But monsters don’t die. They wait.

Dee tried to convince himself it was a prank—until more messages came, each one digging deeper into memories he wanted buried. Then came the one that shattered him: “She looks lovely at the café on Third Street.”
Electra’s café.

Dee went straight to her apartment, shaken to the core. When he told her the truth, fear shadowed her eyes.
“Do you think he’s coming after me?”
“I think he already has,” Dee whispered.

From then on, their days blurred into quiet terror. Electra noticed a car parked outside too many times. Footsteps behind her at night. A faint, unfamiliar scent lingering in her hall. Will tried to soothe her, but having survived Luna’s loss, his own nerves were paper thin. The police said there was nothing they could do without proof.

That proof came soon.

Dee’s office at Forrester was ransacked—not for valuables, but for his schedules, designs, and photos. Security footage dissolved into static. And on his desk, Remy left a single calling card: a red string from the bracelet he once wore like a vow.

The past was back. And it wanted blood.

Dee realized Remy wasn’t sabotaging him to win him back. Someone else was pulling the strings, using Remy as a weapon to unravel Dee’s career, his family, his sanity. A break-in. Leaked designs. False scandals. Even Bill Spencer threatened to cut ties.

Then Dee found what changed everything: distorted security footage revealing Remy—and a second man, calm and suited, clearly his handler. The conspiracy was bigger than obsession. It was strategy.

The documents on a flash drive Remy later left behind connected this mysterious handler—Marcus Dayne—to a private intelligence firm and corporate factions wanting Forrester Creations destabilized. Remy had been a pawn.

And Phase 2 was already underway.

Will received a surveillance photo of himself carrying Lyra. The caption read, “Next.” Dee hid the truth from Electra, trying to shield her, but the secrecy cracked their relationship. When she confronted him, hurt and furious, he realized he was becoming the very thing he’d escaped: controlling, secretive, suffocating.

Eventually, everything collapsed.

Marcus returned to Forrester under a new identity. Anonymous emails tried to turn Will against Dee. And then Electra vanished—her shattered phone left behind, the safe house door open to the night.

Remy appeared in the driveway, a gun in hand, offering a cruel bargain: Electra’s life in exchange for the drive Marcus wanted.

Dee agreed.

The final showdown came in an abandoned warehouse at dawn. Remy demanded the drive. Dee destroyed it in a fiery explosion that consumed the building—and seemingly himself along with it.

Electra woke in a hospital weeks later. Dee’s body was never found—only debris, scattered metal, and a single red thread caught in the ruins.

Forrester Creations moved on. Marcus vanished. The scandal disappeared into silence.

But Electra swore that on quiet nights by the ocean, she could hear a familiar voice whispering through the wind—soft, broken, protective.

Dee was gone.

But not dead.

Some ghosts return not out of sorrow…

…but because their story isn’t finished.