Chapter 5 — Nowhere Woman
541 Words
The town of Clear Hollow wasn’t on any major map.
A cluster of winding roads, antique shops, and sleepy diners nestled between the foggy mountains of West Virginia, it was the kind of place people passed through without stopping—unless they were running from something.
Or someone.
Juliette—now Marina Doyle—stepped off the porch of her rented cottage with a to-go coffee in hand and a cardigan wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Her body still ached, not from the cold, but from the memory of pain. Phantom bruises. Nightmares that left her gasping. Scars that medicine could not explain.
Eight years ago, she had arrived in this town barely alive.
And no memory of who she was.
At least, that’s what she told everyone.
It was easier that way.
The hospital had believed it. The kind nurse who sat with her through every bandage change believed it. Even the man who found her at the crash site—a loner who lived in the woods and disappeared the next day—believed it.
No ID.
No name.
Just Marina Doyle, born the moment the past burned away.
That was the plan.
Until it started to come back.
In dreams.
In flashes.
In the face of a man she couldn’t stop seeing, even now.
A man with steel eyes and a haunted kiss.
Flashback.
A hallway filled with music. Laughter. Glamour.
He stood across from her in a black suit, watching her like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. And when he touched her face—
“One kiss.”
Then: darkness.
A voice screaming.
A plane.
Crashing.
Juliette woke with a start on her own front porch, spilling coffee across her lap.
Her hands shook. Her heart thundered.
She hadn’t had a flashback in months. Why now?
Why him?
She gritted her teeth and stood. “You’re dead,” she muttered to herself. “I buried you the second that jet left the ground.”
She walked back inside and locked the door.
But she knew the truth.
You don’t dream of dead men unless a part of you still belongs to them.
Meanwhile… in Houston
Dominic stood in front of the Voss estate mirror, tying his cufflinks with more aggression than finesse. He had an event to attend—a charity gala he couldn’t skip, hosted by one of his oil partners—but his mind wasn’t on the guest list.
It was on her.
Every night since the crash, he’d listened to that voicemail. Every night it sounded more acted. More manufactured.
His private investigator, Levi, had finally delivered something tangible: an offshore account in the Caymans… drained four days ago by a woman using a forged passport. Dark hair. Scar across her collarbone. Looked nervous.
The camera footage wasn’t perfect, but he knew that face anywhere.
Juliette.
And now he had a new lead: Clear Hollow, West Virginia.
He’d be on a plane by morning.
He didn’t want justice anymore.
He didn’t want explanations.
He wanted answers. And maybe, just maybe—he wanted to look her in the eyes and ask why.
Why she lied.
Why she ran.
And why, after everything…
She still haunted him.
End of Chapter 5.
- Writer
