The first thing Elena felt when she opened her eyes was the weight.
Luca was still there. He had fallen into an exhausted sleep, his head resting against her lap. In the pale, pre-dawn light, the sharp lines of his face had softened into the shadows of a man who had spent the night mourning a life built on lies.
Elena looked down at him, her heart twisting with guilt. I can't stay. I'm a reminder of everything he lost. I don't want to ruin his life even further.
With agonizing slowness, she began to move. She held her breath, sliding a pillow beneath his head as she untangled herself from the sheets. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but Luca didn't stir.
She reached the bedroom door and eased it open. It didn't make a sound.
The mansion was waking up. As she crossed the grand staircase, the air felt cold and clinical. In the distance, a maid polished silver in the dining room. Their eyes met for a second. Elena froze, expecting a shout.
But the servant simply looked away. There was no respect in that gaze, only cold indifference. To the staff, she was the woman who had trapped their master. They didn't care enough to wonder why she was wandering the halls barefoot at dawn.
Elena hurried past, her shadow stretching thin against the marble, until she reached the side door.
Then she hit the perimeter.
The street lights outside the gate flickered to life as she reached the main road. To anyone else, they were just lights. To Elena, they were predatory — the same blinding, white-hot glare that had ended one life and stolen another.
She reached the edge of the asphalt. She just needed to cross. She just needed to disappear into the dark on the other side.
SCREECH.
Elena froze in the middle of the road, the artificial orange glow bathing her like a spotlight.
"SARAH!"
Before she could move, a shadow collided with her. Luca's weight slammed into her, dragging her back toward the sidewalk just as a car sped past, horn blaring.
They fell onto the concrete together. Luca scrambled up, pulling her with him, his hands gripping her shoulders.
"Are you insane?" he said, his face a mask of terror. He was shaking more than she was. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"
Elena's mouth opened. Her chest heaved. She wanted to tell him she wasn't the woman who tricked his grandmother. She wanted to tell him the lights were hurting her.
But her throat remained a tomb.
"Answer me." His voice cracked as he shook her, desperate for anything but silence. "Say something."
Elena's eyes flooded with tears. She shook her head, her hands coming up to grasp at his wrists, fingers dancing in the air — a desperate, silent no — but Luca didn't understand the shape of it.
He stared at her, his breathing uneven. This was Sarah's face. But the sound she was making — a tiny, broken huff of air that went nowhere — wasn't a sound Sarah had ever made in her life.
"Sarah?" His grip loosened. "Why aren't you fighting back? Why won't you—"
He reached up, his thumb brushing her lower lip. Her mouth moved, her throat strained, but only air whistled through.
Something cold settled behind his eyes. Not the confusion of a man questioning her identity — the confusion of a man questioning what had been done to the woman he thought he knew.
"What happened to you?" he whispered. "Where did you go, in that crash?"
He pulled her into his chest instead of back toward the house, wrapping his arms around her as if she might shatter. He didn't understand her. But for the first time, he seemed to understand that he didn't understand her — that the woman shaking against him wasn't behaving like anyone he'd ever punished.
Elena leaned into him, her forehead resting against his racing heart. She couldn't tell him anything. She couldn't tell him she wasn't Sarah at all.
The walk back to the mansion was a retrieval, not a walk. Luca's hand was a shackle around her wrist. He didn't speak. He dragged her through the gates, forcing her to stumble behind him on bruised, bare feet.
As they crossed into the foyer, his voice broke the silence of the house.
"Everyone. In the hall. Now."
The staff filed in, heads bowed. Then came the family — the aunt in silk even at this hour, watching with narrowed eyes; his mother, her face like stone; his grandfather, leaning on his cane, pained; a cousin leaning against a pillar with a faint smirk. His father was away on business.
Luca stood in the center of the room, still holding Elena's wrist.
"She walked out of this estate before dawn," he said, his voice low. "She was nearly hit by a car in the street outside these gates."
The room went still.
"That happens once." His eyes moved slowly across the staff. "I was told she was being watched. I was told this house was secure. It is not going to happen again. If anyone's attention slips while she's in your care, you will answer to me personally."
A chorus of "Yes, sir" rippled through the staff, their voices tight. Elena felt the heat of their collective resentment. They didn't see a woman who'd nearly died. They saw a reason they might lose their jobs.
Without another word, Luca turned her toward the stairs. He opened the bedroom door, guided her inside, and shut it behind them. The lock turned.
"Sit," he said, pointing to the edge of the bed.
Elena sank onto the mattress, her chest still heaving. Luca crossed to her and knelt, reaching for her ankles. She flinched, but he only turned her feet over, checking her soles for glass, then her knees, her elbows, her arms — searching for a scratch, a mark, anything from the near miss on the road.
He found nothing.
The relief in his eyes lasted only a moment before something heavier settled over his face. He sat back on his heels, elbows on his knees, and pressed a hand over his mouth for a long moment before he spoke.
"Do you have any idea what almost happened?" His voice was quiet now, which was somehow worse than shouting. "If I'd been a few seconds slower."
Elena's hands rose, trembling, signing what she couldn't say. I just wanted to leave. I don't belong here.
Luca watched her hands without understanding them, his jaw tight. "I don't know who you are anymore," he said, so quietly she almost missed it. "But until I find out — you're not leaving this room. You're not leaving this estate."
He stood, and for a moment he looked like he might say something else. He didn't.
At the door, he paused with his hand on the handle. "Try to run again," he said, "and I won't be the only one you have to be afraid of."
The door shut. The lock clicked.
Elena sat alone in the dark, the orange glow of the street lights still flickering through the curtains — a reminder that even the light was her enemy now.