When the Rain Stopped Falling

I died in New York on a cold November night, a piece of guardrail through my chest.

Choking on blood, I dialed my ex-fiancé Damien's number.

In the background, jazz played at the Waldorf Astoria. People cheered for Aria—the girl my parents raised in my place.

"Thea, are you SERIOUS right now?" Damien's voice dripped with disgust. "Faking your own death to ruin Aria's engagement? Jesus, Thea. Even for you, that's low."

My mother Diana grabbed the phone. Her voice was ice. "If you don't show up tonight, don't ever come back to the Sinclair house. Better yet—don't bother."

Then she hung up.

They didn't know this time I was really dying.

Thea's POV

Rain mixed with gasoline and blood spread across the cliffside of Route 1.

I was trapped in the twisted wreckage of my Porsche Cayenne, unable to move. A jagged piece of broken guardrail had pierced through my left ribcage, skewering straight through my chest cavity.

Christ, it hurt like hell.

I coughed up blood, each breath accompanied by the wet, hissing sound of punctured lungs. The windshield had shattered into a spiderweb of cracks. Freezing rain slapped against my face. Everything was tinted red.

Before my vision blurred completely, I fumbled through the pool of blood with my fractured right hand until my fingers closed around my phone.

The screen lit up. My wallpaper showed me and my ex-fiancé Damien in Central Park. Back then, his eyes had held only me—before Aria got to him.

I pressed the speed dial.

Ring... ring... ring...

The wait felt eternal. My life was draining away, second by second.

"Thea, what the hell? I'm in the middle of my speech." Damien's voice was sharp with irritation when he finally picked up.

In the background, a cello sang—the exclusive orchestra at the Waldorf Astoria's penthouse ballroom. Crystal champagne flutes clinked. Fake laughter rippled through the crowd.

"Damien... help me..." I forced the words out, my voice barely a rasp. "Route 1... car accident... I'm dying... please..."

"Oh, are you SERIOUS right now?" Pure disgust in his voice. "When are you gonna stop pulling this crap? Tonight is Aria's engagement party! Her Stanford acceptance celebration! You didn't get in, she did—so now you're faking a goddamn car accident? Are you KIDDING me?"

"I'm not... she STOLE it from me..." I tried to explain, but the pain sent darkness creeping across my vision. I couldn't finish the sentence.

"Jesus Christ, just STOP. You're out of your mind!"

Commotion erupted on the other end of the line. Then Diana's voice came through. My mother.

"Thea." She said my name like I was something distasteful she'd stepped in. "You're such a disappointment."

Flat. Like I was an inconvenience.

"Aria covered for you. She protected you. And THIS is how you repay her? Making up some accident story? God, Thea." She exhaled. "Some things just don't change. No matter how hard we tried with you."

"Mom... there's so much blood... I'm really dying..."

I was crying now. Tears mixed with blood, streaming down my face. I didn't want to die. I was only twenty-two. My life had barely started.

"Then go ahead." Diana's voice didn't even waver. "And don't you DARE come back here after this. You're done, Thea. We're done."

In the background, Aria's sugar-sweet voice drifted through: "Thea, stop. You're making a scene. Just—come, alright? There's cake here for you."

Damien's voice followed, low and gentle—for HER: "Don't waste your breath on her, babe. She's a snake who can't stand seeing you happy."

Click. Beep. Beep. Beep.

They'd hung up.

The screen flickered a few times, then went dark.

Only the rain remained, and the distant wail of sirens that would arrive too late.

I stared up at the pitch-black sky, and suddenly, everything felt absurd.

I was the Sinclair family's biological daughter who'd gone missing fifteen years ago. Seven years ago, when they'd finally found me—covered in bruises from my foster home—I thought I finally had a family.

I was wrong.

This family already had a perfect replacement—Aria. Graceful, sweet, knew exactly how to work a room. And me? Rough around the edges. Sensitive. Defensive.

No matter how hard I'd studied etiquette, no matter how desperately I'd worked for straight A's, in their eyes I was always the jealous one. The vicious one. The problem.

Even Damien—who'd been engaged to me since we were children—had gradually fallen for Aria's tears, until all he had left for me was contempt.

This afternoon, I'd found the secret buried in Aria's drawer. My Stanford acceptance letter, torn to shreds. She'd stolen my thesis, my credentials, my SPOT—and claimed it all as her own.

I'd grabbed the evidence and rushed out to confront Damien and my mother.

Then a truck ran me off a cliff.

Now, none of it mattered anymore.

My breathing grew weaker. My vision faded to gray.

"I should've—" The words dissolved into blood. God, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I ever believed any of you.

Then—a final spasm.

My heart stopped.

But I didn't sink into darkness.

Instead, my body felt weightless, drifting upward like a feather. I looked down and saw the mangled Porsche, and inside it, a blood-soaked girl with wide, vacant eyes.

My corpse.

I was dead.

Strangely, the pain was gone. So was the rage, and the grief. A strange calm settled over me. Just... quiet.

I lifted my gaze toward downtown Manhattan. The Waldorf Astoria gleamed through the night, all gold and glitter.

"Well then," I murmured. "Let's see how long the party lasts without me to blame."

Something cold curled inside me as I drifted toward the ballroom.