Chapter 05: Memories
1668 Words
I didn’t sleep again.
The journal stayed beside me, its pages filled with smoke-stained truths and blood-inked secrets. I read and reread every word. My mother hadn’t just lived in fear… she’d lived under contract. Bound.
Watched.
Hunted.
At dawn, I packed the journal into my bag and went straight to the storage unit tied to her name. I’d found the address scribbled in the back. almost an afterthought. But it wasn’t. Not when everything about my life was unraveling like a thread pulled too tight.
The air was thick with humidity. My hands trembled as I unlocked the metal door. Inside: dust, mildew, and memory. A single box sat in the center, untouched by time.
Inside it… documents. Letters. And a manila envelope, boldly marked:
FOR MY DAUGHTER — WHEN THE TIME COMES.
I opened it slowly.
Inside was a contract. Familiar in weight, in ink, in pain. Similar to Ethan’s… but older. Cracked with age.
A clause was underlined in red:
“In exchange for protection, subject must ensure the bloodline remains under Sovereign possession before the age of 25, through union or ritual. Failure to comply results in full forfeiture of legacy and subjugation of heir.”
My chest tightened.
Union?
Was that why Ethan wanted me close?
Why he kept offering deals wrapped in silk and charm?
I backed away, pulse pounding. At the bottom of the box, a smaller envelope.
Photos.
Recent ones.
Me. Walking to work. Leaving my flat.
Every angle. Every moment.
Someone had been watching me long before any of this began.
Room 7.
The woman.
She knew everything.
**********
Back at the motel, I opened the journal again. I needed space. Answers. Something to ground me.
Instead, I found his name again.
Ethan. Scribbled like a warning in the margin of a page that spoke of betrayal, of a son raised under Sovereign law. Trained to lure.
My hands began to shake.
And just like that—the memory hit me.
***********
The Night After Ben and Rose…
I remember that night too well.
The taste of betrayal still bitter on my tongue.
I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to forget. So I ran to Murphy’s, the darkest bar I knew, and ordered the strongest thing they had. Vodka, straight.
No chaser.
No ice.
No thoughts.
But the thoughts came anyway.
Rose’s lipstick on his shirt.
Ben’s voice, stammering through lies.
The sound of my own breath breaking.
I was halfway through my third glass when he slid onto the barstool beside me.
Ethan.
Back then, I didn’t know his name. Just his scent… clean soap and something darker underneath. I didn’t know his secrets either. Only his smile, sharp and knowing, like he’d been watching me for a while.
“Rough night?” he asked.
I didn’t answer. Just stared into my glass like it held my sanity.
“You look like someone who just set fire to everything she thought she loved.”
I blinked. “Is it that obvious?”
He smiled. “No. But I know the look. It’s the kind people wear when they stop being polite and start being honest.”
There was a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. Not cruel… just wild. Like he had nothing to lose either.
We didn’t talk much after that. Didn’t need to.
We drank. We laughed—mine sounded like a scream trapped in syrup. When he offered to walk me out, I let him.
The air was cold. I didn’t shiver.
His kiss landed under the flickering streetlight, warm, steady, the last soft thing I touched before everything shattered.
I don’t remember the walk to the hotel. But I remember the way he undressed me—slow, careful, like I was glass.
And the way I kissed him back, hard, desperate, like I needed to shatter.
It wasn’t sweet.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was everything I shouldn’t have done. Everything I craved anyway.
No names. No histories. No futures.
Just heat. And skin. And forgetting.
For a few hours, I didn’t care about Ben. Or Rose. Or my mother’s lies.
I just wanted to disappear.
And Ethan… let me.
The Morning After
I woke up tangled in sheets that weren’t mine.
Sunlight sliced through the curtains in harsh, accusing streaks. My head throbbed, but it wasn’t the hangover that hit hardest.
It was the silence. Too loud. Too real.
I turned.
He was gone.
The space beside me was cold. Barely touched.
Clothes scattered. My dress on the chair. My bra on the floor. A memory on my skin that burned hotter than shame.
I sat up slowly, the ache between my legs a reminder I hadn’t imagined it.
I had slept with a stranger.
No. Not just any stranger.
A name surfaced.
Ethan.
He hadn’t told me that night, or maybe I forgot. But I’d learn it later.
Much later.
When I’d see him again, fully dressed, powerful, smug.
The man who knew my body before he knew my name.
The man holding the key to every secret my mother buried.
But that morning… I didn’t know any of that. I just sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my hands like they belonged to someone else.
Someone reckless.
Someone desperate.
Someone with nothing left to lose.
I left the room quietly, heart pounding in a beat that didn’t feel like mine.
It wasn’t guilt that followed me.
It was the terrifying thought that I hadn’t just slept with someone dangerous.
I had invited him in.
************
The motel mirror caught me off guard.
I’d been avoiding it all morning, too many shadows clinging to my face, too many answers that didn’t feel like relief. But as I turned to grab my coat, my eyes caught the reflection.
Ethan stood in the doorway like a ghost I’d summoned.
Leaning one shoulder against the frame, arms folded, like he’d been there forever. Or maybe just long enough to hear something he shouldn’t have.
The journal was still in my hand. The contract lay facedown on the bed.
I didn’t move.
In the mirror, our eyes met.
A beat passed.
Then two.
He stepped in slowly. Quiet. Calm. Too calm for the storm inside me.
“You read it, didn’t you?” he asked softly. Not about the contract. The journal.
I didn’t answer. My lips parted, but no sound came. Only heat.
Not from anger.
From memory.
That night.
My body still remembered the way he held me like I was the only thing left worth saving. The way we crashed into each other—wild, hot, wrong. The way I cried afterward, thinking he was a stranger I’d never see again.
I felt the heat rising again. behind my ribs, under my skin, in the lies Ethan wore like cologne.
But now?
Now he was the man holding the match.
And I was already on fire.
He came closer, gaze still locked through the glass.
“You never said goodbye,” I whispered.
“You never asked me to stay.”
My throat tightened. “You didn’t give me the chance.”
His fingers grazed the journal’s edge—gentle, reverent.
“There are things in there you weren’t supposed to know.” His voice dipped. “Not yet.”
I laughed—bitter. “Too late.”
Silence stretched, thick and hot.
That pull returned.
God, I hated it.
And yet… my fingers twitched. My pulse betrayed me. My body remembered what my mind tried to bury.
Ethan stepped closer. His breath brushed my neck.
“Daisy… that night—”
“Don’t,” I cut in, voice trembling.
He didn’t finish.
Instead, he reached past me, picked up the contract, and held it between two fingers.
“You signed it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I turned to face him. Inches apart. Fire behind my eyes.
“Because I’m done running,” I said. “And if you’re going to drag me through hell, I’d rather walk through it with my eyes open.”
His mouth parted, maybe to speak, maybe to reach for me.
But I stepped back.
And… for once… Ethan didn’t chase.
I sat on the bed. Contract in front of me. Journal beside it.
My signature still burned on the page.
Then I felt him.
“You signed it,” he repeated.
“I did.”
A taut beat passed.
He studied me, gaze heavy. “Why?”
“Because I want answers,” I said. “And I’m done waiting.”
His jaw clenched. He walked in slowly, picked up the contract, and tucked it into a black folder.
“Your mother would’ve hated this.”
“You didn’t know her well enough to say that.”
He froze, right at the bed’s edge. Our knees nearly touched.
“You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“No,” I said. “But you do. And now you’re tied to me whether you like it or not.”
His expression shifted. Something flickered, memory, maybe. Pain. Or want.
That night… you acted like it never happened. Did it mean nothing to you?
He stilled.
“I remember everything,” he said, voice low. “Especially the part where you walked away.”
“You left first,” I snapped.
Silence.
He looked at me like he wanted to say more. Maybe even touch me.
But he turned.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” he said. “There’s someone you need to meet.”
“Who?”
He paused at the door.
“My mother.”
My mother doesn’t forget debts, Daisy. And she won’t forget you.
My stomach twisted.
Before I could speak, he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And I was alone again with my mother’s curse, Ethan’s secrets, and a deal that felt more like a noose.
But at least now… the fire had a direction.
And I was walking straight into it.
- Writer
