The sunlight filtering through white curtains, and hearing my dad laughing in the kitchen.
Then suddenly...flames.
The walls pulse orange. Smoke coils through the air as if it has a purpose. My legs freeze on the carpet as fire licks the ceiling.
"Dad," I scream. But no one comes.
I turn, run, and keep turning, and somehow the hallway never ends. I see my dad's face, lifeless, pale, and still in his chair, like he hasn't noticed the fire swallowing the room around him.
"Ethan." I cry out now, desperation clawing at my throat.
I see him, standing at the end of the corridor. He is trying to reach out.
"Anaya, come on. Run." Ethan shouts.
I take a step forward, and then someone grabs me from behind. Cold, invisible hands yanking me backward into the dark. My feet are scraping against the floor. My screams pierce my chest.
The darkness is drowning me, and the last thing I remember is Ethan's face fading into the distance with a smirk and his devilish smile.
Then...gasp.
I shoot up in bed while screaming. It feels like something has stabbed me straight through my chest. My sheets are tangled around my legs, soaked in sweat. My tank top is clinging to my damp skin, and my hair is plastered to my face.
I am clutching the blanket like it is the only thing holding me to earth. My heart is pounding. My throat is dry and my chest is tightening.
Where the hell am I?
I look around with wide eyes for a second. The bed is too big. The air doesn't smell like anything...no fire, no Brooks mansion. No, Ethan. No, Dad.
It takes a few long seconds before I remember...Lucien's mansion.
I am in his room. I shake my head. No, my room.
The one he gave me. The one with creepy furniture and a chandelier.
I exhale shakily and drop my forehead into my hands. My palms are damp. My lungs are burning. I feel like I have run ten miles barefoot through broken glass.
I haven't had a nightmare in years.
Not since Ethan got me into therapy. Not since I spent two years on meds, journaling every damn nightmare until they faded into nothing.
But now it is back. Why the hell now?
I lean back against the headboard, still shaking.
The door burst open with a sharp bang against the wall.
I jolt; my heart is already thundering from the nightmare. Lucien is standing in my doorway, chest rising with a controlled urgency. His shirt sleeves are rolled to his elbows, and his eyes are scanning the room before landing on me.
"What the hell..." I ask in my raspy voice.
Lucien doesn't flinch. "I heard you scream."
I blink at him, squinting. There is no way he heard me. This mansion is the size of a city block.
Lucien's jaw flexes, then relaxes. "I was in this wing."
I don't push for more. I don't have the strength. Instead, I lean back on the headboard. I close my eyes. "Nightmare." I whisper. "Just a nightmare."
Lucien crosses the room slowly and sits down at the edge of my bed, careful not to get too close. "Is it the first time?"
I shake my head. Lucien asks. "When was the first time you had one?"
I blink, surprised by the question. "You mean ever?"
He nods. "Yeah."
I take a deep breath. "After my dad died. It was sudden. One day he was yelling at me and my stepbrother, Ethan, at the TV about the market; the next..." My voice trails off. I can't complete my sentence.
Lucien doesn't interrupt.
"They started a week after the funeral of my dad," I add. "Every night. Same kind of dream. Fire. Losing people. I am drowning in darkness."
He nods. "How did you get rid of them?"
I shrug. "Pills."
Lucian tilts his head. "They help?"
I exhale a bit longer. "The meds numbed me. But the doctor advised me to get my brain busy. So I worked."
He lifts his brow. "Worked?"
"I throw myself into my dad's business. From logistics to cold warehouses. Contracts to audits. Anything to keep my damn head off what I lost."
Lucien squares his shoulders. "And?"
"Well, I didn't stop there. I built my own thing, too. Brand consulting firm."
He put one hand over his knee. "You built a whole empire to outrun your nightmares?"
I smile faintly. "Pretty much. Fear is a hell of a motivator. You know."
He drops his voice. "Sounds pretty brave and daring. I like it."
I look at him and ask. "Really? You like me?"
Lucien smirks faintly. "You are smart and sharp. I like that."
I blink, my lashes growing heavy. "Careful. That almost sounds like a compliment."
Lucien leans forward. "It was. Don't get used to it."
I lean back on my headboard and close my eyes.
He says. "You are safe. Try to sleep."
I huff and lie. "Sleep is not coming back tonight." Maybe because I want him to stay with me.
He nods. "Yeah," thoughtfully. "I know how it goes."
I can't resist asking. "So what do you do after a nightmare?"
Lucien shifts and sits beside me. Lean back on my headboard. "I break something expensive. Sit in the dark. Count the things I can still control. The things that I can burn."
I look at him in surprise. "That is oddly specific."
He shrugs softly. "You learn to make a list when everything feels like it's slipping."
I exhale. "I blink hard."
He turns his head towards me. "Blink hard?"
"Yeah." I point up at the ceiling. "I stare and blink real hard until the tears go back where they come from."
He looks at me for a long second. "That sounds exhausting."
"It is." I nod. "But crying means I am not over it. And I have to be over it. Right?"
Lucien's voice is less like the man who orders around and more like someone who remembers being broken, too. He leans in and almost whispers. "You don't have to earn your pain, Anaya. You have already lived through it."
I blink again, slowly this time, not hard or quick. I stare at him, not saying anything, letting his words settle into me. How does he know?
He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. "You are allowed to have bad nights. You don't have to prove anything to anyone. Not even to yourself."
My head lolls slightly to the side. A shaky laugh escapes my lips. "Lucien, you don't sound like a real Lucien Moretti."
He keeps his finger on my lips. "Shush. Don't tell anyone."
My breathing slows, and my body begins to relax. It was tense minutes ago. I feel my head brushing lightly against his arm; I don't pull away. Instead, I pull the blanket closer.
I ask him. "You staying?" in my slurry voice.
"For a while," he says. "Go ahead. I'll keep the shadows back."
I don't answer him. Because I am already halfway asleep. I feel my damp lashes not wanting to go up. I am in sync with the rise and fall of his shoulder, and I drift off. Mid-thoughts. Mid-heartbeat and mid-nightmare recovery.