The silver dog tag felt like a brand in Maëlys's palm, its cold metal a stark contrast to the burning fury that now consumed her. The 'L', the date – it couldn't be a coincidence. It was a calculated affront, a sick twist of fate, or worse, a deliberate, cruel deception. Every tender touch, every reassuring murmur from Eliott, now replayed in her mind as a malicious lie. Her sanctuary of solitude had been invaded, not by a stranger, but by a ghost from a past she couldn't remember, disguised as salvation.
Her phone vibrated, a text message from him: Thinking of you, little bird. Hope you slept well after our… talk.
The casual intimacy of the message, sent moments after she'd discovered his hidden agenda, made bile rise in her throat. He was playing her. Playing on her amnesia, on her vulnerability. The thought of his hands on her, his lips on hers, twisted her stomach. It felt like a violation.
She didn't reply. Instead, she threw on clothes, her movements sharp and agitated. She had to confront him. Not with the raw, trembling fear of the previous night, but with the cold, precise anger that now fueled her. Her rules were shattered, yes, but now a new one emerged: no more lies.
She stormed out of the house, the dog tag clutched tight in her fist, its edges digging into her skin. The walk to the tattoo parlor felt too long, each step increasing the tremor in her hands, the pounding in her chest. The small town seemed to mock her, its quaintness hiding the insidious betrayal that had taken root.
The bell above the parlor door chimed with a mocking lightness as she burst in. Eliott was there, just as she'd left him in her mind – leaning back in his chair, sketching, an aura of deceptive calm around him. He looked up, his stormy eyes widening slightly in surprise at her abrupt entrance. A slow, knowing smile began to form on his lips, the same one that had once lured her in.
"Well, hello, little bird," he murmured, his voice a low, welcoming purr. "Couldn't stay away?"
The words, infused with a possessive arrogance, snapped something inside Maëlys. She strode towards him, stopping just short of his counter, slamming the dog tag onto the scarred wood between them. The sharp clatter echoed in the sudden silence of the shop.
Eliott's smile faltered. His eyes dropped to the dog tag, then slowly, ominously, lifted back to her face. The casual amusement vanished, replaced by a guarded, unreadable expression.
"What is this, Eliott?" Her voice was a low growl, barely controlled. "And what does this 'L' mean? And this date? The same damn date as my accident?" Her finger jabbed accusingly at the etched metal. "Don't you dare lie to me. Not again."
His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He didn't deny it. He didn't pretend not to know what she was talking about. His silence was an admission in itself. His gaze held hers, an intense, almost pained lock that tried to convey something she couldn't decipher. But she refused to look for sympathy. She only saw manipulation.
"It's not what you think," he finally said, his voice flat, devoid of its usual alluring timbre.
"Oh, really?" Maëlys scoffed, a harsh, brittle sound. "Because what I think is that you've been playing me. That you know exactly what happened to me, who I am, and you decided to use my vulnerability, my amnesia, to get close. To get me." Her voice cracked on the last word, the raw hurt finally piercing through her anger. "Was it a game, Eliott? Was last night a part of your twisted little plan?"
His eyes flashed, a brief flicker of something that looked like genuine hurt, but she dismissed it instantly. It was a trick, a manipulation. He pushed himself up from his chair, moving slowly around the counter until he stood before her, his height towering over her, his presence a dark, suffocating force.
"Maëlys, listen to me," he began, his voice low, urgent. He reached out, his hand moving towards her.
She flinched back as if he'd tried to strike her. "Don't touch me!" she snarled, her eyes blazing. "Just tell me! Tell me the truth, you bastard! Who is 'L'? Why do you have this? And what the hell happened to me that day?"
The air in the small shop crackled with tension. Eliott stood rigid, his hand frozen in mid-air. His face was a mask of control, but his stormy eyes betrayed a silent battle, a war of secrets. He wanted to speak, to explain, she could see it. But he remained maddeningly, terrifyingly silent, his lips pressed into a thin, grim line. And in that agonizing silence, Maëlys knew, with a chilling certainty, that the full, devastating truth was far worse than anything she could possibly imagine. His silence was a new betrayal, a broken oath that left her heart bleeding in the cold, sterile light of his tattoo parlor.