Her Repression His Obsession

The first thing Aria remembered about that night was the rain. It had been falling so hard that it swallowed every other sound. Or perhaps that was what she wanted to believe. She was eight years old, sitting barefoot on the cold wooden floor of her bedroom, clutching a small stuffed rabbit against her chest while thunder shook the windows. “Mommy?” No answer. Aria lifted her head. “Mommy?” Still nothing. She hated the silence. Silence in their house had never meant peace. It meant something was wrong. Her little feet touched the floor as she slowly stood. The hallway outside her room was dark, except for a faint yellow light spilling from downstairs. Then she heard it. A woman crying. Her mother's voice. Aria froze. “Please…” The word was so broken that Aria almost didn't recognize it. She stepped into the hallway. “Mommy?” A loud crash came from downstairs. Aria flinched. Then came a man's voice. Low. Angry. “Where is it?” “I don't know what you're talking about.” Another crash. Her mother's scream followed. Aria covered her mouth with both hands. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. But her feet carried her toward the stairs. One step. Then another. She reached the bottom and peeked around the corner. What she saw would follow her for the rest of her life. Her mother was on the floor. There was blood on her white nightdress. A tall man stood over her. Aria couldn't see his face. Only his black coat. Only the silver ring on his finger. Only the terrifying calmness in his voice. “Tell me where she is.” Her mother looked toward the staircase. Their eyes met. For one terrible second, neither of them moved. Then her mother's expression changed. Fear became desperation. “ARIA, RUN!” The man turned. Aria screamed. She ran. She didn't know where she was going. She only knew she had to get away. Behind her, footsteps thundered across the floor. “ARIA!” She reached the front door. Her fingers trembled around the handle. Locked. She pulled harder. Nothing. The footsteps came closer. Then— A deafening sound. Everything went black. --- Eight years later. Aria woke up choking on air. She sat upright in bed, her hands pressed against her chest as her heart slammed against her ribs. The room was dark. Again. The same nightmare. The same rain. The same voice. But never the ending. She stared at the ceiling, trying to remember. Who was the man? Where was her mother? And why could she never remember what happened after the gunshot? A tear slipped silently down her cheek. Aria wiped it away immediately. She had made herself a promise years ago. She would never cry over a memory she couldn't even remember. So she swallowed the pain. As she always did. She didn't know that somewhere across the city, a man was staring at an old photograph of an eight-year-old girl. A girl with frightened eyes. A girl he had spent eight years trying to find. Damian Cross slowly traced his thumb over the photograph. “She survived,” he whispered. His expression hardened. “And now…” His eyes darkened. “…she's mine to protect.” He had no idea that the moment he found her would destroy everything they both believed about the past. By morning, Aria had convinced herself that the nightmare meant nothing. She had become good at that. Good at pretending. Good at waking up with tears on her pillow and telling herself it was only a dream. Good at carrying pain so quietly that no one ever noticed she was hurting. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection. Nineteen years old. Dark circles beneath her eyes. Messy black hair falling over one shoulder. A face that looked far too tired for someone her age. She splashed cold water over her face. “You're fine,” she whispered. The girl in the mirror didn't look convinced. Aria looked away. She didn't like mirrors. They reminded her too much of the past. After getting dressed, she grabbed her bag and left the house. The morning air was cold. The streets were already crowded, but Aria barely noticed the people around her. Her thoughts were still trapped in the nightmare. Where is she? Tell me where she is. ARIA, RUN! She stopped walking. Her breath caught. For a moment, she could hear the voice again. Not in her memory. Beside her. “Aria.” She turned sharply. No one. Just strangers passing by. Her heart raced. She closed her eyes and took a slow breath. “Get yourself together.” She continued walking. She didn't notice the black car parked across the street. She didn't notice the man sitting inside it. But he noticed her. Damian Cross had been watching her for three days. Three days. And already, he knew things about her that most people didn't. She hated crowded places. She always carried a book in her bag. She drank her coffee without sugar. She looked over her shoulder whenever she heard footsteps behind her. And whenever she thought no one was watching, she touched the small silver necklace around her neck. The necklace had belonged to her mother. Damian's eyes narrowed. He knew that necklace. He had seen it before. Eight years ago. On the night everything changed. “Sir.” His driver glanced at him through the mirror. Damian didn't answer. “Should we follow her?” A long silence. Then Damian spoke. “No.” The driver looked surprised. Damian's eyes remained fixed on Aria. “Not yet.” --- Aria reached the university just before her first lecture. She was halfway across the courtyard when someone grabbed her arm. “Aria!” She turned. Her best friend, Mia, smiled brightly. “You've been ignoring my messages.” “I was asleep.” “It's nine in the morning.” “I know.” Mia stared at her. “You look terrible.” “Thank you.” “I meant emotionally.” “That makes it better.” Mia laughed. Aria tried to smile. For a few minutes, everything felt normal. Until Aria noticed the black car. It was parked outside the university gates. The same one. Her smile disappeared. Mia followed her gaze. “What?” “Nothing.” “You're staring at that car.” “I said it's nothing.” But it wasn't. Because the window slowly rolled down. And Aria saw him. A man dressed completely in black. Dark hair. Sharp features. Cold eyes. He wasn't looking at Mia. He was looking directly at her. Aria's stomach tightened. She had never seen him before. Yet something about him felt strangely familiar. Not safe. Not familiar in the comforting sense. Familiar like a nightmare she couldn't remember. The man's eyes remained on hers for several seconds. Then he looked away. The window rolled back up. The car drove off. “Who was that?” Mia asked. “I don't know.” But Aria knew one thing. She had seen those eyes before. In her dreams. --- That evening, Aria returned home later than usual. The house was quiet. Too quiet. She entered her room and dropped her bag beside the bed. Something immediately felt wrong. Her window was open. She was certain she had closed it that morning. Aria slowly approached it. The curtains moved gently in the evening breeze. Then she noticed something on her desk. A black rose. Her blood ran cold. Beside it was a small envelope. Her name was written across it. ARIA. Her hands trembled as she opened it. Inside was a single photograph. An old photograph. Her mother. Standing beside a man whose face had been torn away. Aria stared at it. Her breathing became uneven. On the back of the photograph, someone had written four words. YOU WERE NEVER FORGOTTEN. Her fingers tightened around the photograph. Then her phone rang. Unknown number. She stared at the screen. Once. Twice. Finally, she answered. “Hello?” Silence. “Who is this?” A man's voice finally came through. Deep. Calm. Terrifyingly familiar. “You shouldn't have opened the envelope.” Aria froze. “Who are you?” Another silence. Then— “You don't remember me.” Her heart stopped. “What?” “I expected that.” Aria's voice shook. “How do you know me?” The man exhaled softly. “Because I knew you before you learned how to forget.” The call ended. Aria stood completely still. Her eyes returned to the photograph. For the first time in eight years, something inside her cracked. And then she remembered. Not everything. Just one thing. A black coat. A silver ring. And a pair of dark eyes watching her from the bottom of the staircase. Aria dropped the photograph. “No…” The room suddenly felt too small. She backed away from the desk. “No, no, no…” Her breathing became faster. The memory was coming back. And somewhere across the city, Damian Cross stood beside his bedroom window, holding the same photograph. Except his photograph had something Aria's didn't. A name written beneath the missing face. Damian Cross. He looked at the rain falling against the glass. Eight years ago, he had promised a dying woman that he would find her daughter. He had kept his promise. But there was one thing he had never told Aria. He hadn't just been looking for her. He had been protecting her. From the very people who had destroyed her childhood. And now that they had found her too… Damian knew the game had begun.