The supermarket encounter had left Maëlys with a strange feeling. A mix of pure annoyance and a twisted curiosity. Eliott wasn't just a handsome man; he was a dangerous enigma who seemed to pull the strings of her past, a past she desperately didn't want to know.
The following night, Maëlys's sleep was a battlefield. The fragments were back, more vivid, more terrifying. Flashes of blinding light, the screeching of twisted metal, a throbbing pain in her head, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. She woke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest, the sheets drenched in cold sweat. The room was dark, oppressive. Every shadow seemed to hide a lost memory, every silence echoed with the sounds of the accident.
Seized by panic, she got up abruptly, stumbling towards the window. The ocean, usually a source of calm, seemed tonight a menacing abyss. She needed air, to escape these walls that were closing in on her. Without thinking, she pulled on old jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed her keys, and ran out.
The night was cold, the salty wind whipping her face, but she didn't feel it. She ran aimlessly, trying to outrun the images that haunted her. She found herself on a small dirt road leading to an isolated stretch of beach, where the rocks were dark and jagged. The waves crashed with a dull violence, like fists pounding the shore.
She stopped abruptly, breathless, hands pressed against her temples. A groan escaped her. It was too much. Too much emptiness, too many echoes. Her legs buckled and she fell to her knees on the cold, damp sand, her face buried in her hands, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. She couldn't remember her life, but she felt the pain of what she had lost with searing clarity.
"Maëlys?"
The voice. Deep, resonant, cutting through the roar of the waves. Impossible. It had to be a hallucination. She lifted her head, eyes blurred with tears.
Eliott.
He stood there, a few meters away, his dark silhouette outlined against the starry sky. He didn't seem surprised to find her, as if it were natural for him to be there, in the middle of the night, on a deserted beach. His face was etched with an unexpected gravity, his stormy-grey eyes soft, almost compassionate.
He approached slowly, kneeling down himself, without touching her. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Maëlys trembled. The shame of her vulnerability washed over her. "Nothing," she whispered, trying to push herself up. "Leave me alone."
But Eliott didn't listen. With a fluid movement, he grasped her wrists, preventing her from standing. His fingers were warm, his grip firm, but not brutal. He forced her gaze to meet his. "You're terrified," he stated, without judgment. "Let me help you."
Before she could protest, he gently pulled her against him. It was a shock. His body was hard, warm, an unexpected anchor in the storm of her emotions. His arms closed around her, enveloping her in a powerful, protective embrace. Maëlys felt the tension drain from her limbs, the fight leaving her. She hadn't realized how much she needed to be held. She stiffened for a moment, her instincts urging her to push him away, to maintain her rules. But the weight of her solitude, the pain of her memories, overwhelmed her.
She let her head rest against his muscular shoulder, the smoky scent of his tank top strangely comforting. Eliott said nothing more. He just held her tighter, his large, tattooed hand gently stroking her hair. The silence was no longer oppressive, but a shelter. For the first time in months, Maëlys felt safe. A place where she could let go. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
How does this chapter feel for the "dark romance" and "spicy" elements you're aiming for? We've introduced a crucial physical and emotional closeness here.