Chapter 3: Things That Shouldn't Be
Remembered
The way Damien looked at her made Aria forget how to breathe.
He stood beneath the terrace archway, shadows draped over him like armor. No footsteps, no sound—just there, as if the air itself had whispered him into existence.
"You saw it, didn't you?" he asked again, voice quiet but sharp.
Aria's heart pounded. "Saw what?"
His eyes flicked to the ring resting on the railing between them. "Don't play dumb. You saw the past."
She crossed her arms, though her fingers still trembled. "Are you saying that vision was real?"
Damien stepped forward slowly, like he was approaching a scared animal. Or a bomb.
"Not a vision," he said. "A memory."
Aria laughed once—sharp and bitter. "That's impossible. I've never seen that place before in my life."
"You haven't," he agreed. "But you did. Once."
Something inside her twisted.
"Stop talking in riddles," she snapped. "I don't know what that was, but I'm not crazy. I don't believe in… in magic or reincarnation or whatever you're implying."
Damien studied her, face unreadable. "You will."
Silence stretched between them. The city lights blinked below, innocent and unaware. Aria turned away, gripping the stone railing until her knuckles turned white.
"You should've told me," she said quietly.
"I couldn't," Damien replied. "You wouldn't have believed me."
"You're right. I don't."
She felt more than saw him move beside her. Close. Too close. The kind of close that made the air between them feel charged.
"I didn't bring you into this by accident, Aria," he said.
That name. The way he said it made it sound older than it was. Like he'd said it before. A thousand times. In another life.
"Then why?" she whispered. "Why me?"
Damien didn't answer right away. When he did, it was a question instead.
"Do you remember the first time we met?"
"At the charity gala. You were wearing a mask," she said slowly.
"No," he said. "I mean before that."
Aria blinked. "There was no before that."
His eyes met hers, silver and stormy.
"There was."
She didn't know what to say to that. Because for a split second—just one—she almost believed him.
There had been a moment at the gala. A flicker. A sensation that she couldn't place. Recognition without memory. She had dismissed it. Buried it.
Now it was clawing its way back.
"Whatever's going on here," she whispered, "I didn't sign up for this. I agreed to a marriage contract. That's all."
"You think this is about a contract?" Damien asked, voice cold now. "Aria, you wearing that ring already set things in motion. Things you can't walk away from."
Her mouth went dry. "Then take it back."
"I can't," he said.
"Why not?"
"Because it chose you."
The ring.
The cursed, burning, black stone that pulsed like a heart.
It chose her?
Aria took a step back. "This is insane."
Damien's jaw clenched, his voice sharp. "You think I want this? Do you think I want you to remember what we were?"
She flinched. "What we were?"
He was silent again. Too long.
Finally, he looked at her. Really looked at her. His voice dropped.
"I loved you, once. And you destroyed me."
The words hit her like a slap.
She wanted to deny it. To tell him he was wrong. But something inside her ached at the sound of them. A pain she didn't recognize. Or maybe didn't want to.
"I don't remember any of that," she said hoarsely.
"But your soul does," Damien murmured.
Suddenly, he looked exhausted. Not just tired, but ancient. Like he'd lived through too many wars, too many betrayals. Like he hadn't let anyone close in centuries.
She didn't understand it.
But she felt it.
"You're not just a CEO, are you?" she asked.
"No," he admitted. "I'm something much older."
"And me?"
"You were a queen once. Powerful. Proud. The one person who could match me in magic and in madness. But something happened. You betrayed me."
"How?"
His gaze turned sharp again. "You killed me."
Aria gasped.
"I don't believe you," she said. But even as she said it, her hand went to her chest—right where that strange coldness had been when she slipped the ring on.
"You don't have to believe me," Damien said. "But the memories will return. Slowly. Painfully."
She shook her head, heart racing. "I don't want them."
"But they want you."
Another gust of wind blew through the terrace. The ring pulsed again.
Aria stared at it like it might leap up and burn her all over again.
"What happens now?" she asked, barely above a whisper.
Damien walked to her, gently took her hand, and placed the ring back on her finger.
This time, it didn't pulse.
It burned.
But not painfully.
Almost… sadly.
"Now," Damien said, "we survive."
They didn't speak for a long time after that. The party inside roared on, oblivious to the truths unraveling outside.
When they finally reentered the ballroom, Aria didn't let go of his arm.
And Damien didn't ask her to.