The Room He Never Forgot
1308 Words
Felicia stepped into the mansion—and stopped.
Her foot hovered just above the marble floor, as if crossing the threshold required permission her body wasn’t sure she had.
The space around her felt too open, too polished, too untouched by chaos. Her breath came shallow, uneven, and she hated herself for it.
This place wasn’t meant for someone like her.
Light spilled from high chandeliers overhead, warm and steady, reflecting softly against smooth walls and shining floors. Everything looked calm. Perfect.
The air smelled faintly of roses and something deeper—wood, maybe. Comforting, but unfamiliar.
She took one step forward.
Then another.
Her body still remembered the fire.
The heat licking her skin.
The smoke clawing at her lungs.
The moment she thought she wouldn’t make it out alive.
Now she stood in quiet luxury, wrapped in silence and space, and the contrast made her dizzy. It felt like she had walked into someone else’s life by mistake.
Soft footsteps approached.
A group of maids stopped a short distance away and bowed politely.
“Welcome, Miss Felicia,” the woman in front said, her voice gentle. “Please allow us to take you to your room.”
Felicia blinked.
My room?
The words didn’t feel real.
She nodded slowly. “Okay.”
They turned and led the way.
The hallway stretched longer than she expected. Every turn revealed more space, more doors, more art hanging on the walls—paintings that looked old, expensive, and important. The kind of things people whispered about in museums.
Her heart beat harder with every step.
She wasn’t intimidated by wealth. She had seen rich people before. But this wasn’t just money. This place carried weight, history. and power.
And she didn’t belong to any of it.
They stopped at the end of the corridor, in front of a large door.
One maid opened it.
Felicia stepped inside—and froze.
Sunlight filled the room, soft and natural, pouring through tall windows covered by light curtains that moved gently in the breeze. The bed sat at the center, wide and neatly made, white sheets pulled smooth.
A desk stood near the window. A cushioned chair beside it. A bookshelf against the wall.
Her chest tightened.
Not because it was beautiful.
Because it was familiar.
The colors.
The layout.
The way the bed faced the window.
“It looks like…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It looks like my childhood room.”
She walked farther in, her steps slow, and uncertain. Her fingers brushed the edge of the desk. Smooth, solid, and real.
On the bookshelf sat novels she knew well. Books she had read and re-read years ago. Books she had once thought no one else remembered.
By the window stood a small potted plant.
Her throat burned.
This wasn’t coincidence.
This wasn’t random.
“Please rest, Miss Felicia,” one of the maids said softly. “If you need anything, just call.”
They left quietly, closing the door behind them.
Felicia stood alone.
Her heart pounded—not from fear, but confusion.
When did he do this?
Why did he do this?
Had David prepared this room long ago? Or had he recreated it recently, just for her?
The thought that followed hurt more than she expected.
Maybe he does this for every woman.
She shook her head sharply.
Don’t be stupid.
She had no right to question him. She was here because she had nowhere else to go. Nothing more.
Her resolve hardened.
I’ll stay for a short while, she told herself. Just until I get back on my feet.
She needed to handle the fire compensation. Figure out work. Rebuild what little she had left.
Then she would leave.
She would not depend on him.
She would not get trapped in his world.
She sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled slowly.
And then—
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then everything went dark.
Felicia gasped.
The sudden darkness pressed in on her, thick and heavy. Her heart jumped violently.
“No… no,” she whispered.
She stood quickly, her hands reaching out blindly. Bed. Desk. Wall. Her fingers found the light switch.
She flipped it.
Nothing.
Again.
Still nothing.
Her breathing grew uneven.
The darkness dragged her back to the fire. To smoke filling her lungs. To heat closing in. To the feeling of being trapped.
Her chest tightened painfully.
“David…” she whispered, her voice shaking.
Elsewhere in the mansion, David stood alone in the hallway.
He hadn’t followed her to the room.
Not because he didn’t want to—but because he was afraid.
Afraid of saying too much.
Afraid of pushing too hard.
Afraid of reminding her how wide the gap between their worlds really was.
Her words echoed in his head.
I don’t belong here.
He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.
He hadn’t brought her here to impress her.
He hadn’t wanted to overwhelm her.
He just wanted her safe.
Few years ago, he had walked away believing distance was protection. That leaving her was kindness.
Now he knew better.
Distance had only hurt her.
A sharp sound cut through the quiet.
A scream.
David’s eyes snapped open.
“Felicia.”
He ran.
Felicia backed into the corner of the room, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her pulse roared in her ears. The darkness felt alive,
closing in, stealing air from her lungs.
She hated how weak she felt.
Hated that fear still controlled her.
Then the door burst open.
Light spilled in from the hallway as David rushed inside.
“Felicia!”
Relief hit her so hard her knees almost gave out.
“David!”
She ran to him without thinking, crashing into his chest and gripping his shirt. Her body shook as she buried her face against him.
“I thought something happened,” she said, voice breaking. “I thought I was alone again.”
David wrapped his arms around her immediately, holding her tight.
“You’re not alone,” he said softly. “I’m here.”
His hands were steady.
Warm.
Her shaking slowly eased.
“I won’t let anything hurt you,” he said quietly. “Not in this house. Not anywhere.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Finally, David pulled back just enough to look at her.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded weakly. “The lights went out. I panicked.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
She hesitated, then asked, “Why does this room look like mine?”
David stiffened.
For a second, he looked away.
“I remembered,” he said. “You used to talk about it. The window. The bookshelf. The plant you always forgot to water.”
Her chest tightened.
“You remembered all that?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Always.”
She swallowed. “You didn’t do this for anyone else… did you?”
He met her gaze. “No.”
“I never prepared this room for anyone but you.”
Something inside her cracked.
David rested his forehead against hers. “You don’t have to leave,” he said softly. “Not because you think you don’t belong. Not
because you feel like you owe me.”
“I’m scared,” she admitted.
“I know.”
“And what if I stay… and everything falls apart again?”
“Then I’ll be here,” he said. “Like I should have been before.”
He held her closer.
“I won’t hurt you again,” he whispered. “You’re safe with me.”
Outside the room, deep within the mansion, something ancient shifted.
The lights flickered again.
And somewhere far below the calm surface of David’s control—
The dragon stirred.
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