Lucien stood alone in his private gym, drenched in sweat. The punching bag swung back from his last hit, but his mind was far from focused.
Her eyes.
The look Ava had given him when she tried to walk away, it was seared into his mind like a brand.Fear.Sadness.Love?
He couldn't explain it. He'd spent the night tossing in bed, haunted by her face. Her voice echoed in his head in fragments he couldn't place, like déjà vu from a life he didn't remember living.
He leaned against the wall, wiping his face with a towel. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him like a stranger.
"I'm losing my mind," he muttered.
But the problem wasn't that he didn't know her.
The problem was—he felt like he did.
Meanwhile, Ava moved silently through the corridors, doing her duties under Celeste's sharp watch.
She could feel it: the walls were closing in. Every day, it got harder to hide the truth. Lucien's unpredictable behavior, the way his eyes lingered on her, the tension that snapped whenever they were alone, it wasn't sustainable.
And then there was the worst part:
Her son had drawn another picture.
She tucked it away before anyone could see it, a messy crayon sketch of Lucien, Ava, and the little boy holding their hands. A broken heart drawn above.
He didn't understand why his "uncle" couldn't say he was his father.
That night, Lucien stood on the balcony of his study, staring into the dark garden.
He hadn't seen Ava since breakfast.
But his mind wouldn't let her go.
"Don't look at me like that."Her voice from before echoed in his skull."I'm just a maid to you."
And yet… those words felt wrong.
He picked up the book he'd left on the side table. A page was dog-eared. He didn't remember doing that.
Inside it, slipped between the pages, was a photo fragment. A torn piece, no larger than a coin.
It showed half a smile. A woman's mouth. Her jawline. Her lips.
And suddenly, his chest ached.
Lucien dreamed again.
In the dream, he stood in the rain, holding a woman who was crying in his arms.
"I love you," she whispered.
When he woke up, his pillow was wet.
And his hands were clenched.