Arrabella Symmonds could feel the pressure building again. She sat in the glass-walled office of a towering skyscraper, the glittering city of New York sprawled beneath her. To most people, this view represented success, power, and achievement. To Arrabella, it was just another day. The view had long lost its sparkle, just like the career she had once loved.

Her phone buzzed with another reminder. She ignored it. The time for scheduled breaks had passed years ago. Her hands moved automatically, fingers flying over her keyboard as she drafted another contract, another deal, another lifeline for her client. Corporate mergers weren't personal, she reminded herself. They were simply transactional. And she was the best at making them happen.

But lately, the cost of being the best was weighing heavier. Arrabella massaged her temples, the familiar throb of a headache setting in as she glanced at the clock. It was past 8 p.m. She had been in the office for nearly thirteen hours, with only coffee and a salad keeping her functional.

"Functional," she scoffed to herself. Was that what she was now?

Her assistant, Tina, knocked gently on the door before stepping inside. "Ms. Symmonds, I've rescheduled the client call for tomorrow at 9 a.m., but they're requesting the revised proposal tonight."

Arrabella gave a curt nod. "I'll have it to you in an hour." Her voice was steady, though her body was screaming for rest.

Tina hovered at the door, her concern evident. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay and help? It's already so late—"

"I'm fine, Tina," Arrabella cut her off with a tight smile, a signal that the conversation was over. Tina nodded and quickly left, the door closing with a soft click. Alone again, Arrabella leaned back in her chair and exhaled slowly.

This had been her life for the past decade—work, work, and more work. There was a time she had loved the challenge, thrived on the high-stakes deals and the adrenaline rush of closing contracts that no one else could. She had earned the title of "Iron Lawyer" in the industry, a nickname that both amused and exhausted her. But lately, even the adrenaline wasn't enough to keep her going. The long hours, the sleepless nights, and the constant pressure were taking their toll.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it wasn't a reminder, but a text from her sister, Lily.

"Dinner this weekend? We haven't caught up in months. Miss you."

Arrabella stared at the screen for a long moment. Months? Had it really been that long? She typed a quick reply.

"Can't this weekend. Big case. Maybe next week?"

She pressed send and immediately felt a pang of guilt. Lily had been trying to reach out for weeks, but work always came first. It had to. That was the deal she had made with herself long ago—sacrifice now, reap the rewards later. But as she stared at the city lights, she wondered what those rewards really were.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she forced herself to focus on the work in front of her. The contract had to be revised, the client had to be appeased, and her reputation had to remain untouchable. Arrabella worked like a machine, her hands moving, her mind ticking through the legal jargon, crossing every "t" and dotting every "i."

But no matter how much she pushed herself, she couldn't silence the growing voice in the back of her head—the one asking, Is this worth it?

By the time Arrabella finished the contract, it was past 11 p.m. The office was silent, the once bustling floors now eerily quiet. She gathered her things, slipping her tablet and files into her bag before heading to the elevator. The ride down was slow, the lights flickering slightly as the car descended to the ground floor. She felt a strange sense of déjà vu, as if she had been doing this forever—riding the same elevator, staring at the same polished walls, heading home to the same empty apartment.

When she stepped outside, the air was crisp and cool. Autumn had settled over the city, and the streets were far less crowded than during the day. Arrabella pulled her coat tighter around her and hailed a cab, too tired to walk the few blocks to her apartment.

The ride home was quiet, the sounds of the city muffled by the car's interior. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to relax, just for a few minutes. Her mind wandered to the kitchen in her apartment. Cooking—that was her only real escape. It was the one thing that allowed her to feel in control, yet free, all at once. The precision of chopping vegetables, the delicate balance of seasoning—it all required focus, but it was the kind of focus that soothed her.

Tonight, though, she didn't have the energy. Maybe tomorrow, she thought as the cab pulled up to her building. She thanked the driver and stepped out, glancing up at the familiar structure of her high-rise.

Once inside, she dropped her bag by the door and kicked off her heels. Her apartment was sleek, modern, and completely devoid of life. She had decorated it with the intention of creating a sanctuary, but now it felt more like a hotel room—temporary, impersonal. The only sign of warmth was the kitchen, where a set of gleaming copper pots hung above the island.

Arrabella poured herself a glass of water and sat at the counter, staring at the pots. She had always wanted to open a small restaurant someday, a place where people could come to enjoy simple, delicious food. But that dream had been set aside long ago, sacrificed to the altar of her career.

As she sipped her water, her phone buzzed again. Another email. Another reminder. Another thing to do.

Her chest tightened, but she ignored it, pushing the sensation away as she had done so many times before. There was no time to rest, no time to worry. She had more work to do tomorrow. That's what mattered.

She glanced at the time—12:15 a.m.

"Tomorrow," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible in the empty room.

The next day started like any other. Arrabella woke up at 6 a.m., her alarm pulling her from a restless sleep. She rolled out of bed, her body protesting the movement with stiff, aching muscles. She ignored the pain, as always, and went through the motions—shower, coffee, emails. Her schedule was packed, but that was nothing new. Meetings, conference calls, revisions. A typical day in the life of Arrabella Symmonds, top corporate lawyer.

By noon, the headache had returned. She rubbed her temples, trying to will it away, but it only intensified. She popped a painkiller and kept working. There was no time to stop, no time to slow down. Slowing down meant falling behind, and falling behind was not an option.

By 3 p.m., the chest tightness had returned. This time, it was harder to ignore. Her breathing felt shallow, and the pressure in her chest was growing. She leaned back in her chair, taking deep breaths, but the discomfort wouldn't fade. Her hands were trembling slightly, and a wave of dizziness washed over her.

Not now, she thought. I can't deal with this now.

But her body had other plans.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through her chest, intense and overwhelming. Arrabella gasped, clutching at her chest as she doubled over in her chair. The pain radiated down her left arm, and she knew, deep down, what was happening.

Heart attack.

The realization hit her like a freight train. She fumbled for her phone, her vision blurring as she tried to dial for help. But her hands were too weak, her body betraying her as the pain consumed her. The phone slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor.

As the world around her darkened, Arrabella's thoughts spiraled.

Is this it? she wondered. Is this how it ends?

Her breathing became shallow, her vision fading to black. The last thing she saw was the skyline outside her window, the city that had been her whole life.

And then, there was nothing.

But death was not the end.

Arrabella floated in a strange, weightless void, her consciousness adrift. She couldn't feel her body—no pain, no sensation. Just emptiness. But slowly, something began to change. A warmth, a pull, something calling her back.

Light. Blinding, bright light.

And then—air. Cold, sharp air that filled her lungs with a gasp.

Arrabella's eyes flew open, and she found herself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. The air smelled different, the world around her felt different. She tried to move, but her body felt foreign, strange. She blinked, disoriented, her mind struggling to comprehend what had happened.

She wasn't in her office. She wasn't in her apartment.

She wasn't even Arrabella Symmonds anymore.