Elara stared at the journal page until the words blurred. "Ares is dangerous. But he's not the one I fear most."
Her breath caught. Her fingers gripped the page as if it might vanish the moment she looked away.
She flipped the next page.
Blank.
And the next.
Nothing.
The entries ended there, like the thoughts had been cut off mid-scream. She ran her fingertips over the handwriting again, hoping for more—some clue, some date, even an initial. But it was as if the writer had written the warning and vanished into the shadows of her own fear.
If it truly was her journal, then what had she discovered that terrified her so deeply?
And what files?
She closed the journal and stared at the fireplace across the room. The flames crackled softly, casting golden flickers against the bookshelves. Ares had secrets—she knew that. But now she was sure she had her own secrets too.
Ones she had buried so deep not even her own mind dared to dig them up.
She needed answers. And if Ares wouldn't give them, she'd have to find them herself.
—
The next day, Elara waited until Ares left the estate. She watched from the third-floor window as his car disappeared through the gates, her pulse quickening with every second of his absence.
She wasn't sure how long she had, but she knew it wouldn't be enough.
She started in his study.
It was locked, of course. But the key was still on the chain of keys he had once carelessly left in the library drawer. She'd memorized its pattern.
Inside, the room was dark wood and black marble. Everything in its place. No dust, no mess. The space mirrored him—controlled, powerful, guarded.
She sat at his desk and turned on the computer.
Password protected.
She tried the obvious ones—Elara, 0101, Ares—but they didn't work. She nearly gave up until she remembered something he had once said: "Everything important to me is built on the day I lost everything."
She typed the date she had seen on the back of a photo he once dropped—February 13, 2016.
The screen unlocked.
Her breath caught.
She didn't even know what she was looking for. Just something—anything—that made her feel like she wasn't going insane.
She clicked through folders. Most were filled with boring financial documents, property titles, and reports. Until she saw one titled: Project Rebirth.
She opened it.
Dozens of video files, each labeled by date. Some were as recent as last week.
She clicked the first.
A grainy video loaded—security footage, maybe.
There was a girl. Barefoot. Covered in blood.
She ran across the screen, screaming. Behind her, shadows moved. Figures. One held something—a gun, or a blade, she couldn't tell. The girl fell. Cried. Crawled.
And then someone grabbed her.
Ares.
Younger. Harsher. He didn't cradle her. He dragged her.
The screen went black.
Elara slammed the laptop shut, stomach twisting.
Was that… her?
Was she the girl?
She rushed to the mirror across the room. Her face stared back at her—wide eyes, trembling lips. But no memories. No certainty.
If it was her, why didn't she remember?
And why was the file called Project Rebirth?
She turned, suddenly aware of how silent the house was.
And how easily silence could hide danger.
She closed the study door behind her and ran back to her room, locking the door.
—
That night, Ares returned.
She didn't ask him where he had gone.
And he didn't ask what she had done in his absence.
But the air between them was sharper. As if both knew the other was hiding a knife behind their back.
"Elara," he said, as they sat in the silent dining room. "If I told you there were things better left forgotten, would you believe me?"
"No," she said, staring into her untouched plate. "Because the truth has already started bleeding through."
He exhaled slowly. "Then you should know… Luca was your fiancé."
She looked up sharply.
"What?"
"Before you came here. Before the accident. Before everything. You were going to marry him."
Her chest tightened.
"And?"
"And he tried to kill you."
—
She sat in the library later that night, the journal open in her lap again. The handwriting swam before her eyes as she tried to reconcile the truths Ares had finally started to reveal.
Luca. A name that echoed like a haunting melody through the hollow corridors of her mind.
Was he the shadow in her nightmares?
Was he the one who left her half-dead in the rain?
She didn't remember him. Not his face. Not his voice. But the fear—that was something her bones remembered.
She had to find out more. She had to remember, no matter how painful it was.
Because only then would she understand why she was being watched.
And why someone wanted her dead.
Elara sat frozen.
A fiancé?
A man who tried to kill her?
The idea felt surreal. Like a dream made of shattered glass—sharp and unbelievable. But Ares wasn't the type to lie. Omit? Yes. Hide? Definitely. But not invent a story like that.
Still, she needed more than his word.
She returned to the desk drawer in her room. The journal lay there like a relic. This time, she turned to the back—ran her fingers along the edges. A tear in the lining caught her attention.
She slipped her finger in.
There, nestled between the pages, was a photograph.
It was old, slightly crumpled. But the moment she saw the faces, her stomach dropped.
She was in it—smiling. Standing beside a man with ash-blond hair and eyes that didn't smile with him. His arm was around her waist, possessive. Familiar.
Her breath hitched.
So this was Luca.
Her Luca.
The man who supposedly tried to end her life.
Her fingertips shook as she flipped the photo over. In small handwriting, she read:
"Forever starts now — L & E."
She dropped it like it burned her.
This man—this ghost—had once meant something to her. Had touched her. Kissed her. Promised her forever.
And now, all that remained was a blood-soaked memory and a warning written in her own hand.
Ares is dangerous. But he's not the one I fear most.
Her head spun.
If Luca had tried to kill her, why hadn't Ares told her sooner? Why keep her in the dark?
And worse—why did part of her still ache to remember the man with those hollow, storm-colored eyes?
—
Later that evening, a knock echoed on her door.
She tensed. "Yes?"
Ares didn't wait for her to invite him in.
He entered, eyes somber. "I know you found the file."
"I saw myself," she said quietly. "I think."
"You did."
"Why didn't you tell me everything from the beginning?"
He exhaled, closing the door behind him. "Because I was afraid once you remembered, you'd leave. And I… couldn't let that happen."
"That's not protection, Ares. That's control."
His jaw clenched. "You don't know what I've done for you. What I've risked."
"Then tell me."
He walked to the fireplace and leaned on the mantle, his posture rigid.
"Luca isn't just a man. He's part of something larger. A network of wealthy men who deal in power, secrets—and people. You were going to expose him. You had proof."
"What kind of proof?"
"Video files. Recorded conversations. Bank trails. You were gathering it for months."
"Why?"
"Because he killed your sister."
Elara's breath left her in a rush.
"I… I had a sister?"
"Yes. Her name was Maris. She died three years ago. Officially, it was ruled a suicide. But you never believed that. You knew she was seeing Luca. You suspected something was wrong. And when you got too close, he came for you too."
Elara dropped onto the edge of the bed, her whole body trembling.
"I don't remember her," she whispered.
"I know."
"Do you?"
He nodded slowly. "She reminded me of you. Fire and softness. You both had the same stubborn eyes."
"Why didn't you tell me about her before?"
"Because grief is cruel when it has no shape. I thought… if you remembered her too soon, it would break you."
"I'm already broken."
He walked over, knelt before her, and took her hands.
"No. You're still fighting. That's what makes you dangerous to them."
Them.
The word echoed through her mind like a distant threat.
"How many people are involved?"
"Too many," he said quietly. "And they know you're alive now."
Her gaze shot up. "How?"
"Because you went into the study. You accessed the file. That triggered an alert. It was a trap. I planted it to monitor if anyone got close."
"You set me up?"
"No. I was watching for them. I didn't expect it to be you."
Her heart pounded.
"So now they know where I am?"
"Yes," he said grimly. "And they'll come."
Elara stood, pacing. "We have to run—leave—something—"
"No." His voice was steel. "That's exactly what they want. To isolate you. To keep you on the run. But this time, we fight."
She turned to him. "How? We don't even know what they'll do."
He hesitated, then pulled something from his coat pocket—a small flash drive.
"You recorded everything?" she asked.
"No. You did. This… is your backup. The last piece you hid before you were attacked."
Her fingers brushed the flash drive like it was sacred.
"What's on it?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But you were willing to die to protect it."
A cold gust of dread swept through her, but also a flicker of resolve.
"I want to remember everything."
He stepped closer. "Are you sure?"
"I have to."
She looked down at the flash drive in her palm, then back up at him.
"Because whatever happens next… I want to be ready."
And in that moment, something shifted.
Not in the room. Not in the house.
But inside her.
Elara wasn't the same broken girl who woke up weeks ago in a strange mansion with no memory and nothing but questions.
She was a woman who had survived betrayal, fire, and blood.
And now she was ready to reclaim her truth—even if it killed her.