Power Plays
1211 Words
Aleena - POV
Nico walks me to my room like he’s escorting a ghost instead of a person.
“I don’t remember saying anything that cruel,” I murmur, my voice barely there.
He stops so suddenly I crash into his back. Pain sparks up my nose and I hiss, stumbling a step away.
He turns slowly. His green eyes are unreadable — cold, composed, California winter ocean cold.
“You had an accident, Aleena,” he says evenly. “You lost your memory.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“When did this accident happen? Why didn’t El tell me? Why didn’t Father?” My chest tightens. “I have memories.”
“What memories?” he asks, voice clipped. “Name them.”
I close my eyes. I search.
Nothing.
Just fragments. Mom crying behind closed doors. The nightmare of my eighteenth birthday — flashes of fear and something darker.
El at the kitchen table, buried in medical textbooks, chasing her MD like it’s the only safe thing in the world.
That’s it.
“Name them,” Nico repeats, colder now.
“Mom being mistreated by Dad,” I whisper. “And… that birthday.” My body betrays me — I shiver, arms wrapping around myself like armor.
His gaze softens, just barely. He exhales.
“Follow me.”
I do.
Zane is leaning against the doorframe, watching us like he’s observing a scene he’s already memorized. Nico acts like he isn’t even there and shuts the door.
The room suddenly feels smaller.
I stand in the center, unsure, exposed. Nico steps closer and gently turns me toward the mirror.
“There,” he says.
The faint scar on my forehead catches the light — subtle, but undeniable.
My fingers drift up to it. I’ve always wondered about that mark.
“So why didn’t Dad tell me?” I ask quietly, staring at Nico through the reflection. His green eyes lock onto mine in the mirror.
“You know the answer,” he murmurs.
And I do.
My father never wanted me to remember. The less I know, the easier I am to control. The easier I am to move around like a chess piece in whatever twisted game he’s playing.
I hold his gaze, but before the emotions rising in my chest betray me, I look away and step back, putting space between us.
“I think I need to see my doctor,” I say quietly.
“You can’t,” Nico replies, calm as ever. Too calm. “Your father’s men are watching you.”
His eyes flick toward the door. My throat tightens.
“And the doctor?” I ask.
“He’s your father’s best friend. Your medical files are locked with him.”
Of course they are.
I look back at Nico, searching his face for something human.
“Help me get my medical report.”
“No need,” he says smoothly. “If you’re serious about getting your memories back, I’ll get you the best doctors money can buy.”
“What do you want in return?” I ask.
His lips curve faintly. Not a smile. Something more dangerous.
“I’ll keep the debt,” he says. “And collect when I need to.”
A chill crawls up my spine.
He turns toward the door.
“What happened between us?” I ask quickly.
He pauses, but doesn’t look at me. “Long story. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You sound like we turned into enemies.”
“Our families were enemies,” he corrects. “Our friendship was a secret. For a long time. Until—”
He stops.
“Until what?” I demand. “Why is my father so obsessed with this marriage?”
His gaze turns glacial. “I can’t tell you the details. It could trigger something. You might spiral.”
“And the marriage?”
“Power,” he says simply.
Then he leaves cold mask back in place before I can drag more answers out of him.
Power. Enemies. Marriage.
There’s a massive hole in my memory, and I can feel the shape of it. The strange part? I forgot my past… but I never forgot coding.
I scoff softly. Of course not. That’s mine. No one can take that from me.
I slip on my laptop glasses and open my system.
Lines of code spill across the screen as music hums through my headphones. I build some new software that scans micro-expressions, behavioral shifts, emotional patterns. A system that can track anyone from a single photograph and pinpoint their real-time location anywhere in the world.
If they want to play power games, I’ll build better weapons.
Hours pass. When I finally glance at the clock, it’s past midnight. My neck aches. I stretch and groan.
The door bursts open.
I gasp.
Zane stands there, fully alert, eyes scanning the room like he’s about to neutralize a threat.
“Who tried to harm you?” he demands.
“No one!” I say quickly. “I stretched. Stiff neck.”
He blinks. “Oh.”
His gaze shifts to the glowing laptop, code still running.
“Working?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He studies me for a moment, Stoic, unreadable.
I stepped past him into the hallway.
“Where are you going?” he asks, following.
I don’t answer.
I stop at El’s door and knock.
No response.
I push it open.
She’s asleep in the chair, books open around her. Even during a break, she’s studying. Such a nerd and she has the audacity to call me one.
“El,” I whispered, nudging her. “Come sleep on the bed. You’ll wreck your neck.”
She mumbles incoherently.
“I can carry her,” Caldwell says from behind me.
“No. I’ve got her.”
He looks doubtful.
I lift El carefully. She’s light. I’ve done this a hundred times before.
And then
A flash.
A memory jolts through me. I stagger.
Caldwell catches my arm, steadying me before I fall.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I whisper.
He doesn’t look convinced.
Before I can protest, he scoops me up.
I gasp. “Hey! I can walk.”
“Clearly not,” he says evenly. “You’re wobbling.”
His arms are solid. Strong. The scent of whiskey and something woody wraps around me, clean, masculine, grounding.
He sets me gently on the edge of my bed.
“That was impressive,” he says. “Carrying your sister. You’re protective.”
“I’m protective as hell,” I reply. “No one messes with her.”
He studies me.
“What about you?” he asks quietly. “Who looks out for you?”
The question hits somewhere deeper than I expected.
“You know what, never mind,” he mutters, mistaking my silence.
“No one,” I whispered. “Just me.”
He turns fully toward me at that.
“You don’t have to worry about me reporting back to Mr. Caruso,” he says.
Before I can ask what that means, he walks out and shuts the door behind him.
And just like that, I’m alone again.
- Writer
