The Moment I Died

My Lover, the Reaper – A mortal woman falls for Death himself — and learns love can be more terrifying than dying....

The night I died, the rain was relentless. It didn’t fall — it attacked, pelting the windshield in sheets so thick the world vanished behind them. I remember gripping the steering wheel tighter, my pulse racing faster than the wipers could move.

“Come on, not now,” I muttered, eyes darting to the gas gauge dipping toward empty. I was still an hour from the city. Still an hour from safety.

Lightning slashed the sky, illuminating the empty road ahead — and something standing in the middle of it.

A man.

No — not quite.

He didn’t flinch as my headlights hit him. Didn’t move when I slammed the brakes, tires screaming against the wet asphalt. For a moment, everything froze — time, sound, breath — until the car skidded sideways and the world went black.

When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in the car anymore.

The rain had stopped. The world around me was unnaturally still, wrapped in a gray fog that swallowed everything except the man standing a few feet away. He wore a long black coat that rippled without wind, and his eyes — gods, his eyes — were silver, reflecting light that didn’t exist.

“Am I…” My voice trembled. “Dead?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if studying a fragile thing. “Technically,” he said, his tone smooth, deep — beautiful and terrifying. “But not beyond saving. Not yet.”

I staggered to my feet, heart pounding. “Who are you?”

He stepped closer, the mist parting around him like it feared to touch him. “You may call me whatever mortals call me,” he said. “Angel. Demon. Reaper.”

The word sank like ice into my chest.

Death himself was standing before me.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “Why are you here?”

“For you.” His hand lifted slightly, fingers gloved in black. “Your soul burns brighter than most. It caught my attention.”

That should’ve scared me — and it did — but underneath the fear was something else. A pull, a strange magnetism that drew me closer even as instinct screamed to run.

“You can’t take me,” I said, voice shaking. “I’m not ready.”

His lips curved, almost in amusement. “No one ever is.”

The world shifted again — the fog swirling, pulling me backward toward the darkness. Panic clawed up my throat as I reached out to him. “Wait—!”

He caught my wrist. His touch was cold, but not lifeless — like winter itself had chosen to hold me.

“Remember this moment, mortal,” he said softly. “Because death never forgets the ones who defy him.”

Then the fog swallowed me whole.

When I woke again, I was alive. The car wrecked. The rain gone. But his voice still echoed in my mind — smooth, haunting, impossible to forget.

And somewhere deep inside me, I knew one thing for certain.

Death had let me go once.

He wouldn’t do it again.

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