Page 23

I stir awake, the sunlight slicing through the heavy curtains in narrow golden stripes across the bed. The sheets feel foreign, softer than my own. I blink, disoriented for a moment, and then I feel it—his hand, warm and heavy, wrapped around mine.

I’m naked beneath the covers.

He sits beside me, shirtless, his head slightly bowed as he studies my hand resting in his palm. His fingers shift and slide the ring over my finger.

I stare at it, at the glint of metal circling my skin.

“Fioretta,” his voice is low, almost tender, “can we start over?”

My throat tightens as I look up at him. His eyes hold that familiar weight again, the one that both steadies and unnerves me.

“Can it not matter what our past was?” he asks softly, thumb brushing my knuckle. “Can we begin from this moment? No history. Just us. Here.”

I swallow. My voice barely breaks free. “It’s not fair,” I whisper. “You remember, but I don’t.”

I study his face. That hard exterior that always seems seconds away from crumbling. “But something tells me…” My words falter as my chest constricts. “Something tells me I’ve always yielded to you.”

He leans forward and kisses me. Not the hungry kind we’ve shared before.

This is slow. Firm. His lips mold to mine as though he’s memorizing the shape of me.

My body arches toward him, instinctive, familiar even if my mind isn’t.

His hands explore me like a man learning his own property again.

I gasp into his mouth when his hand slips lower.

His mouth trails down my neck, my chest, lower still. My back bows. My fingers twist into his hair. When I come, my breath shudders out of me and my body collapses into the mattress.

I lay still for a moment, flushed, my chest rising and falling in uneven waves. But then I pull away, slipping out from under him, needing space, needing air.

I pad toward the bathroom on wobbly legs, my skin still prickling from the aftershocks. The cool tile greets my bare feet. I turn the shower knobs and warm water pours out in a steady stream.

The glass door swings open behind me. I hear his steps on the tile, feel his presence before I see him.

He steps in, fully nude, sliding in behind me like he belongs there. The water washes over both of us, cascading along my back, his chest pressing lightly against it.

His hands gather soap, lathering it slowly, methodically. I close my eyes as his palms glide across my shoulders, my spine, my hips. There’s something grounding in the way he touches me—like he’s not just cleaning me, but claiming me.

He dips his head forward, mouth brushing my ear. His voice is soft, coaxing. “Come watch a movie with me.”

I blink under the spray, turning slightly to meet his gaze. “A movie?”

He smiles. “Your favorite. Or… it used to be.”

A flash of sadness tugs at me. That empty gap between who I was and who I am. But his eyes hold no pressure. Only a quiet hope.

“Alright,” I whisper.

He kisses my shoulder and reaches past me to turn off the water. The shower still steams around us as he wraps me in a towel. His hands don’t leave me as we step out together.

^^^^

By the time we’re ready, the sun has long dipped into evening.

The air carries that cool Melbourne breeze, soft against my skin as I slip into the black silk dress that drapes just below my knees.

It clings to me, smooth and light, with thin straps over my shoulders.

The jewelry he selects for me is minimal—a small diamond pendant, simple earrings, nothing too loud.

My hair is pulled back in a soft twist, with a few strands left loose to frame my face.

He watches me from the doorway of my room.

His eyes are careful, tracing every move as I adjust the hem.

His suit is dark, perfectly tailored, his cufflinks glinting under the soft glow of the chandelier.

He doesn’t speak as I reach for my clutch, but I feel the weight of his stare like a hand at the small of my back.

The drive is quiet. His hand rests lightly over mine where it sits in my lap, his thumb brushing in small, slow circles across my knuckles.

I steal glances at him through the corner of my eye.

The sharp jawline, the way his hands command the wheel with such casual authority, the faint crease between his brows as he concentrates on the road.

Why is he being so soft with me? My chest feels tight as I try to make sense of him. This man who both cages and cushions me. His tenderness tonight only sharpens the confusion inside me.

When we arrive, we pull up to an exclusive private cinema.

The valet opens my door and I step out, heels clicking against the smooth stone pathway.

Serevin is at my side instantly, hand on the small of my back as a staff member greets him with an elegant bow and ushers us through a velvet-draped entrance.

The hallway is dimly lit, with gilded wall sconces and plush carpeting that hushes our steps. We’re led into a private screening room—a luxury suite with just one wide, lush couch positioned in front of a massive screen. A silver tray of champagne and snacks awaits us, the room warm and softly lit.

I slide into the seat beside him, sinking into the deep velvet cushion. He hands me a glass of champagne, his fingers brushing mine as I take it.

“Comfortable?” he asks, voice smooth.

I nod, offering a small smile. “Almost dangerously so.”

The movie starts, its opening credits glowing softly across the room. The surround sound fills the space, wrapping around us. His arm slides behind me, resting lightly along the top of the couch. Not possessive. Just present.

We watch in silence for a while. Occasionally, he reaches for the bowl of popcorn on the table and gently offers it to me, holding the bowl out with a faint smile. His eyes stay on the screen, but his attention feels tethered to me.

I take a handful, popping a few kernels into my mouth, feeling oddly…

safe? I catch myself studying him in the flicker of the screen’s light.

The soft shadows cast over his face, his profile so sharp it could cut through glass.

His lips twitch faintly at certain scenes, like he knows the film inside and out.

Why is he being like this? My heart tightens.

I can’t remember much, but I don’t remember him feeling like this.

The man I’ve known since I woke up was cold.

Unreadable. Dangerous. But this man sitting beside me, offering me popcorn and sneaking glances, feels almost gentle.

Almost loving. And it makes my stomach coil because I don’t know what part of him is real.

An hour into the film, a scene flashes before me—a woman on screen stands in front of her vanity, speaking on the phone, her voice a whisper. The camera shifts as she reaches behind the mirror and pulls out a small gun hidden in a secret compartment.

My breath catches.

The vanity.

The one in my room.

It looks almost identical. The curve of the edges.

The ornate wood. The small lock at the side that I had dismissed until now.

My eyes widen as the realization slides into place.

The key. The tiny key I've kept hidden since I found it.

It was too small for anything significant—but a diary? A locked drawer?

I sit straighter, my mind racing as I pretend to focus on the film. He notices the shift and leans in slightly.

“You alright?” His voice is low, brushing against my ear.

I nod quickly. “Yes. Just… invested.”

He chuckles softly, seemingly pleased that I’m enjoying myself. But I’m not thinking about the film anymore. My thoughts are tangled up in the possibility that I might have left something for myself before I lost everything.

A clue. A message. Something that could finally tell me who I really am.

And as his fingers lightly skim along my shoulder, I keep my face calm while my mind spins.

^^^^

We leave the cinema just after midnight. The warm night air brushes my skin as we step outside, the city lights soft and distant. Serevin’s hand slides around my waist as the valet brings the car forward. I let him guide me inside like a gentleman, like a lover, like a husband.

The car hums softly as he drives, one hand steady on the wheel, the other reaching over to intertwine his fingers with mine. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. His face is calm, his lips softly curved. To anyone else, we look like the perfect couple.

As the car slows before the mansion gates, he leans toward me. His scent brushes my face—subtle, clean, familiar.

“I’ll head back to work for a bit,” he says, voice low, almost reluctant. “But I’ll return to you tonight.”

He leans in further, brushing a soft kiss to my forehead, lingering like he’s memorizing the moment. My lips pull into a soft smile, one I’ve perfected by now—sweet, innocent, warm.

“Of course,” I whisper. “Don’t work too hard.”

He smiles back and presses one last kiss on my hand before pulling away. The gates open, and the car glides up the driveway. When we stop, the staff open my door, and I step out, waving him goodbye as the car disappears back into the night.

The moment he’s gone, the smile drops off my face like a mask.

I head straight to my room, shutting the door softly behind me. My feet carry me toward the vanity table almost on their own. My chest tightens as I stare at it.

Now or never.

I kneel down on the cool floor, feeling along the smooth wood, fingers tracing every seam, every edge. My breath quickens as I search, pushing gently. And there—beneath the center drawer—I feel the slight give.

A hidden compartment.

With a soft click, it pops open.

Inside, tucked neatly as if waiting for me, rests a small leather-bound diary.

I stare at it for a moment, my pulse hammering. My fingers tremble as I pull it free, its weight heavier than I expect. The tiny lock gleams under the lamp. Without hesitation, I reach for the little key I’ve kept hidden and slide it into the lock. It turns with a soft click.