5 THE GIRL WHO KNEW HIS NAME
1695 Words
“Did you really believe I was dead?”
The words remained in Lucian's mind.
He stared at the woman standing in the doorway.
His mother.
Elena Vale.
Alive.
After seven years.
Every rational thought told him this couldn't be real.
But his heart already knew.
“Mother?”
Elena took another step into the room.
The emergency lights flickered above her.
For a moment, Lucian could see the woman he remembered.
Then the shadows swallowed part of her face again.
He wanted to ask a thousand questions.
Instead, only one came out.
“Why?”
Elena looked at him.
“Because staying away was the only way to keep you alive.”
Lucian's expression hardened.
“Alive?”
He laughed bitterly.
“You disappeared for seven years.”
“I know.”
“You let me believe you were dead.”
“I know.”
“You let me bury you.”
Elena's eyes filled with sadness.
“I know.”
Lucian looked away.
His jaw tightened.
“Then don't tell me you did it for me.”
Elena remained silent.
Victor stepped forward.
“Lucian—”
“No.”
Lucian turned toward his father.
“Not another lie.”
Victor stopped.
Lucian pointed toward Elena.
“If she was alive, why didn't you tell me?”
Victor had no answer.
Elena finally spoke.
“Because your father wasn't the one who made that decision.”
Lucian frowned.
“Then who did?”
Elena looked toward the window.
“The people who were hunting me.”
“Who are they?”
“I don't know all of them.”
“But you know some.”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Names.”
“Lucian—”
“Names!”
His voice shook the room.
Elena stared at her son.
Then quietly said,
“The people who started the fire weren't trying to kill me.”
Lucian froze.
“What?”
“They wanted something.”
“What?”
Elena's eyes shifted toward Victor.
“A document.”
Victor immediately looked away.
Lucian noticed.
“What document?”
Neither answered.
He stepped closer.
“What document?”
Elena shook her head.
“You aren't ready.”
Lucian's expression darkened.
“I'm twenty-seven years old.”
“You're still my son.”
“And you're still hiding things from me.”
Silence.
Elena looked at him sadly.
“Some truths don't set people free, Lucian.”
She paused.
“Sometimes they destroy them.”
---
Across the city
Anastasia sat alone in a quiet room.
No silver dress.
No glittering mask.
No playful smile.
The woman from the party was gone.
In front of her lay several photographs.
Lucian.
His father.
The old Vale mansion.
And one photograph she had kept hidden from everyone.
A photograph of herself.
Seven years younger.
Standing beside a young boy.
Lucian.
She stared at it for a long time.
Her fingers slowly traced the edge.
“You don't remember me.”
Her voice was barely audible.
A knock came from the door.
Anastasia immediately turned the photograph face down.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
A middle-aged man entered.
Her father.
Alexander Moretti.
He was dressed in a dark suit, his expression serious.
“You went to the Vale party.”
Anastasia didn't answer.
“I asked you a question.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked at him.
“I wanted to see him.”
Alexander's face hardened.
“Lucian?”
“Yes.”
“You were told to stay away from that family.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you disobey me?”
Anastasia stood.
“Because I'm tired of everyone telling me what I can and cannot know.”
Alexander's expression changed.
“You don't understand what you're asking.”
“Then explain it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the truth will not change what happened.”
Anastasia laughed.
“You're wrong.”
She picked up the old photograph.
“It changes everything.”
Alexander stared at it.
His face suddenly went pale.
“Where did you get that?”
“You gave it to me.”
“I told you to destroy it.”
“You told me to forget.”
Alexander walked toward her.
“Anastasia.”
She stepped backward.
“No.”
Her voice trembled.
“You've spent seven years telling me that I was too young to understand.”
She held up the photograph.
“But I remember him.”
Alexander went silent.
Anastasia's eyes became watery.
“I remember Lucian.”
---
Seven years earlier
Rain poured over the city.
A younger Anastasia stood beneath the roof of the Vale mansion.
She was only a teenager.
Her clothes were soaked.
Her hands were trembling.
Beside her stood a younger Lucian.
He was holding an umbrella over both of them.
“You shouldn't be here,” he told her.
“I know.”
“Your father will be angry.”
“I don't care.”
Lucian smiled.
“You always say that.”
Anastasia looked at him.
“Because I don't.”
He laughed softly.
Then she asked,
“Are you leaving tomorrow?”
Lucian's smile faded.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere far away.”
“Why?”
He looked toward the mansion.
“My father says it's safer.”
Anastasia frowned.
“Safer from what?”
Lucian didn't answer.
She stepped closer.
“Lucian.”
He looked at her.
She smiled.
“You'll come back, right?”
He nodded.
“I promise.”
Anastasia held out her little finger.
“Promise properly.”
Lucian laughed.
Then hooked his finger around hers.
“I promise.”
Neither of them knew that it would be the last peaceful night they would ever have together.
Hours later—
The fire began.
---
Present
Anastasia closed her eyes.
The memory disappeared.
Alexander watched her carefully.
“You were a child.”
“I remember enough.”
“You remember what you saw.”
She opened her eyes.
“Yes.”
Alexander's voice lowered.
“Then you should understand why Lucian must never remember everything.”
Anastasia stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because if he remembers the entire night...”
He paused.
“...he'll come looking for the person responsible.”
“And who is that?”
Alexander didn't answer.
Anastasia stepped closer.
“Dad.”
Nothing.
“Who started the fire?”
Still nothing.
Then Alexander whispered,
“It wasn't one person.”
Anastasia froze.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the Vale family wasn't the only family involved.”
She stared at him.
“There were others.”
“How many?”
Alexander looked toward the window.
“Enough to destroy anyone who discovers the truth.”
---
The next morning
Lucian woke before sunrise.
He hadn't slept.
His mother's return had changed everything.
He sat at his desk, staring at the photograph he had taken from his father's study.
Elena beside the lake.
Three days ago.
Someone had been watching her.
Someone had also been watching him.
And then there was Anastasia.
Why had she appeared at the exact same time?
His phone vibrated.
A message.
Meet me. Alone.
No name.
No number.
Just an address.
Lucian stared at the screen.
He almost ignored it.
Then another message appeared.
If you want to know what happened seven years ago, come.
Lucian stood immediately.
---
Two hours later
Anastasia sat inside a café at the other side of the city.
She wasn't alone.
The masked woman from the party sat across from her.
Anastasia placed the photograph on the table.
“You knew him.”
The woman didn't respond.
“You knew Lucian seven years ago.”
Silence.
Anastasia leaned forward.
“Who are you?”
The woman slowly removed her mask.
Anastasia's eyes widened.
She knew her.
Everyone in the elite circle knew her.
The woman smiled faintly.
“Now you understand why I told you to stay away.”
Anastasia couldn't speak.
The woman picked up the photograph.
“You and Lucian were never supposed to meet again.”
“Why?”
“Because the moment he remembers you...”
She placed the photograph back on the table.
“...the past will come back with him.”
Anastasia stared at her.
“What happened that night?”
The woman stood.
“You're asking the wrong question.”
“Then what's the right one?”
The woman looked directly into her eyes.
“Ask yourself why Lucian forgot you.”
Anastasia's heart stopped.
“What?”
But the woman was already walking away.
Anastasia stood.
“Wait!”
The woman stopped at the door.
Without turning around, she said,
“You weren't erased from his memory by accident.”
Then she disappeared.
Anastasia remained frozen.
Her mind raced.
Lucian had forgotten her.
But why?
Who had made him forget?
And what exactly had happened between them seven years ago?
---
Meanwhile...
Lucian arrived at the address from the mysterious message.
An abandoned railway station.
No people.
No cars.
Nothing.
He stepped inside.
“Hello?”
His voice echoed.
A man's voice answered from the darkness.
“You came.”
Lucian stopped.
A figure stepped forward.
He was older.
Scarred.
And holding the same crescent-and-star pendant Lucian had seen the previous night.
Lucian stared at him.
“Who are you?”
The man smiled.
“You really don't remember me?”
Lucian's eyes narrowed.
“No.”
The man's smile disappeared.
“Then they did a better job than I thought.”
Lucian stepped forward.
“What are you talking about?”
The man reached into his coat.
Pulled out an old photograph.
He handed it to Lucian.
Lucian looked down.
His hands went cold.
The photograph showed three teenagers standing outside the Vale mansion.
One was him.
One was Anastasia.
And the third...
was the man standing in front of him.
On the back of the photograph were four words:
WE SURVIVED THAT NIGHT.
Lucian slowly looked up.
The man whispered,
“Your mother wasn't the only person who survived.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
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