Some souls never stay buried. In 1692, they burned Mercy alive. She let them. With her last breath she placed a curse on the man who named her. The man who wanted her, feared what that wanting meant, and chose fire over his own conscience. The curse was simple. Elegant. Eternal. He would find her in every life. He would love her in every one. And she would be there when he did. Three hundred years later, Mercy owns half of Salem. She rents her properties to tourists who think the witch trials are history. She knows better. She has always known better. When he books one of her rentals for an October getaway, him and his girlfriend in tow, a ring burning a hole in his pocket, Mercy doesn't feel triumph. She stopped feeling triumph somewhere around the fifth lifetime. She feels nothing at all. That's what three centuries of this does to a person. He doesn't know her. He never does, not at first. But the memories always come. Bleeding in at the edges, arriving in pieces, building toward the moment everything floods back and he understands exactly what she is and what is coming. The only question is whether she moves first. She always moves first. Until My Last Breath is a dark psychological romance spanning lifetimes. A story about rage, corruption, collateral damage, and what happens to a woman when the revenge that was supposed to set her free becomes the only thing keeping her alive. **Warning:** This story contains psychological manipulation, infidelity, violence, and morally complex characters with no guarantee of redemption. Read at your own risk.

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There are 8 billion people in the world. Most of them will never know your name. Some will know it for a moment-a barista writing it on a coffee cup, a lecturer reading it from a register, a stranger glancing at your social media profile before scrolling away. And then there are the rare ones. The impossible ones. The people who arrive by accident and stay forever. The story you're about to read began with a phone number that should have been dead. A disconnected SIM. An empty chat. One grey tick. Nothing more. No grand declarations. No love at first sight. No dramatic collision in the rain. Just a girl who had too many thoughts and nowhere to put them. And a message that was never supposed to be read. The funny thing about loneliness is that it teaches you strange habits. Some people keep diaries. Some talk to the stars. Some whisper their secrets into empty rooms. She texted a number that no longer belonged to anyone. Or so she thought. Because somewhere hundreds of miles away, on a cold night beneath a different sky, a phone lit up. A stranger looked down. And read the first message. Neither of them knew it then. Not when the first text was sent. Not when the second arrived. Not even when the single grey tick became two. But some stories don't begin when people meet. Some stories begin when one person speaks into the dark- and another answers. This is one of those stories.

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After a year she'd rather forget, Maddie leaves Philadelphia behind and moves to Milan, hoping distance will finally give her a fresh start. But starting over isn't as simple as changing countries. In Milan, she rebuilds her life piece by piece. New friendships, a new university, and a city that forces her to confront everything she tried to leave behind. Then there are the boys. One feels like possibility. The other feels like history she never fully let go of, her childhood crush, now dangerously close to becoming something more complicated. As old wounds resurface and new feelings blur the line between healing and falling apart, Maddie has to decide who she wants to be... before the past decides for her. A coming-of-age story about healing, identity, and the messy space between letting go and holding on.