The Voice of Me from My Previous Life

The company organized a hot spring retreat, held in a secluded mountain village inn on the outskirts of the suburb. Wooden corridors wrapped around the steaming pools, the scent of cedar mingled with sulfur, slightly stifling as it drifted into my nostrils. I was carrying my change of clothes toward the dressing room when, just as I reached the door, I heard Felix Shawn's voice from inside. That voice held a softness I had never heard before—not the casual tone he used when speaking to me, nor the composed professionalism he showed at work. "Honey, this bathrobe's fabric is soft; it fits you perfectly." My fingertips suddenly clenched the hem of the garment, the cotton fabric creasing like my heart caving in. The dressing room door was ajar, and through the gap I saw Felix Shawn with his back to me, handing an off-white yukata to the person opposite. That person turned around—it was Mary Scott, my best friend of eight years, with whom I shared everything. When Mary took the yukata, her fingertips brushed Felix's hand inadvertently; neither of them pulled away, but instead exchanged a knowing smile. That smile was too glaring; I instinctively took a half step back, my back knocking against the corridor pillar with a faint sound. They didn't hear; Felix was still whispering something, and Mary Scott occasionally nodded, her eyes curving into soft crescents. I froze in place, my blood seeming to congeal instantly, even my breath chilled. At that moment, a voice both familiar and strange suddenly echoed in my mind. It was me from a past life, now dead—the voice light as air, yet filled with unwavering certainty. "Wendy Lincoln, don't rush in. They have been together for a long time." "Felix Shawn will die of a sudden heart attack in three months. Pretend you know nothing, and you'll be able to claim compensation from his estate." Fragments of memories from a past life suddenly surged: after I caught them in their affair and caused a scene, Felix Shawn stripped me of everything, Mary Scott took my place, and I died unexpectedly in poverty and illness. On my deathbed, I watched the news coverage of Felix Shawn and Mary Scott's wedding on TV, my heart heavy with bitterness. "Endure it for now, get the money, and it won't have been for nothing." The voice in my mind sounded again, tinged with a trace of pity. I took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in my throat, and composed myself. When I pushed the door open, a perfectly measured smile played on my lips, as if I hadn't seen a thing. I lifted the clothes in my hand and glanced at the off-white yukata. "Mary Scott, this yukata is really beautiful. Where did you get it?" Mary Scott's eyes flickered for a moment, then quickly returned to normal. "The front desk gave it as an extra, said it was a limited edition. I was lucky." Felix Shawn also turned around, his expression calm, even reaching out to smooth the strands of hair on my forehead. "It's windy outside. Change quickly and head to the hot spring. Don't catch a cold." His fingertips were cold; when they brushed my skin, I flinched instinctively. But I didn't pull away—just smiled and nodded, "Alright, you go ahead. I'll come right after." Watching them walk side by side out of the locker room, Felix's hand naturally rested on Mary Scott's waist, the gesture so practiced it seemed he had done it a thousand times. My heart felt like it was being hammered repeatedly with a blunt instrument, aching so deeply I could barely breathe, yet I bit my lip hard to keep the tears from falling.