I FORGOT HIM BUT MY HEART DIDN'T

The key to the Past

Chapter 4: The Key to the Past

The walk back to my tiny apartment was a blur of torrential rain, flashing lightning, and a blinding, suffocating panic.

Because if you remember... you'll hate me forever.

Lucien’s parting words rang in my ears, perfectly matching the heavy, terrifying beat of the thunder overhead. My hands shook so badly I dropped my keys twice before managing to unlock my apartment door. The moment I was inside, I slammed the door shut, throwing all three deadbolts, and collapsed against the cold wood. My clothes were completely soaked, my skin was freezing, but my blood felt like liquid fire.

I dragged my trembling body over to the small wooden dining table and dumped my bag. The battered sketchbook slid out, hitting the tabletop with a heavy, dark thud.

My hands were still stained with black charcoal dust. Shaking, I pulled the book toward me, lighting a single small lamp that cast long, flickering shadows across the room. I flipped the book open to the very back cover, staring at the hidden slit in the fabric lining where the yellowed note had been tucked away for years.

"What are you hiding from me?" I whispered into the quiet room, my voice cracking with sheer exhaustion.

I ran my fingertips over the fabric lining of the back cover. There was a strange, stiff thickness to the cardboard beneath the cloth that I had never noticed before. It wasn't just a simple hollow pocket for a paper note. My thumb caught on a hard, sharp, metallic edge embedded deeply near the spine of the book.

Heart hammering violently against my ribs, I didn't care about ruining the sketchbook anymore. This book held the pieces of my shattered soul, and I needed them back. I grabbed a sharp pair of scissors from my kitchen drawer and precisely slit the ancient fabric open, ripping through the old adhesive.

Cardboard fibers flew as I peeled the stiff lining back.

Something metallic gleamed brilliantly in the dim, warm light of my lamp.

I reached in, my fingers brushing against cold iron, and pulled it out.

It was a key.

It wasn't a modern key. It was a heavy, tarnished silver skeleton key, its intricate bow beautifully shaped into a very distinct, familiar crest—the exact same heavy silver crest necklace I had drawn around the neck of the twelve-year-old boy in my sketches.

Tears pricked my eyes as a sudden, violent flash of an entirely buried memory hit my brain like a physical blow.

*A heavy, dark wooden door. The sharp, overwhelming smell of old dust, burning cedarwood, and sweet lavender. A young boy’s voice, rough with tears, whispering right into my ear: "Keep it safe, Ava. Don't let anyone find it. Especially not him."*

I gasped out loud, dropping the silver key onto the wooden table. The phantom memory vanished as quickly as it had arrived, leaving my head throbbing with a sharp, blinding pain right behind my temples.

This key belonged to the Blackwood mansion. It belonged to a door that had been locked and forgotten for ten agonizing years.

If Julian Blackwood was willing to use blackmail, threats, and violence to keep the secrets of the past buried, then whatever this key unlocked was the exact weapon Lucien needed to destroy him. It was the absolute truth of the fire that had taken my family and my mind.

I looked out the window. The storm was reaching its peak, the wind howling against the glass pane like a dying animal. Lucien was up on that lonely hill, entirely alone in that dark tomb of a house, preparing to sign away his entire life, his inheritance, and his freedom to a monster tomorrow morning—just to protect me.

"No," I said aloud, my resolve hardening as I stared at the silver crest. "I won't let him do it. I won't let him suffer alone anymore."

I grabbed the silver key, shoved it deep into the inner pocket of my heavy coat, and walked right back out into the freezing, relentless storm.

The Blackwood mansion looked even more menacing the second time around, silhouetted against the jagged arcs of lightning splitting the night sky.

The front iron gates were still unlocked, swinging wildly back and forth in the wind with a low, screeching groan. I slipped through the dark shadows, avoiding the grand gravel driveway entirely just in case Julian’s luxury car returned unexpectedly. I made my way around the side of the massive stone estate, my boots sinking into the mud, as I searched for a servant's entrance or a low-sitting window.

The thunder masked the sound of my frantic movements as I finally found a heavy, arched wooden side door, half-hidden by thick, overgrown ivy.

I pulled the silver skeleton key from my pocket. My hands shook violently from the freezing cold and the pure adrenaline pumping through my veins as I pushed the key into the ancient, rusted keyhole.

It fit perfectly.

With a heavy, grinding, metallic click, the lock turned. I pushed the door open, slipping quietly into a pitch-black, freezing corridor that smelled heavily of damp stone, old ash, and neglect.

I pulled out my phone, turning on the flashlight. The narrow beam of white light sliced through the heavy darkness, illuminating a steep staircase leading upward into the main house. I climbed as quietly as possible, my heart in my throat, until I reached a heavy mahogany door at the very top.

I cracked it open, stepping out into the grand hallway of the second floor.

"Lucien?" I whispered into the dark, but the house was dead silent, save for the storm rattling the stained-glass windows.

I walked down the long corridor, the flashlight beam bouncing off dust-covered furniture, draped sheets, and dark portraits of stern-faced ancestors. I needed to find where he kept his private documents, or where the fire had actually taken place ten years ago.

Suddenly, a floorboard creaked sharply directly behind me.

Before I could even turn around to defend myself, a powerful hand clamped tightly over my mouth, suffocating my gasp, and a strong, muscular arm wrapped securely around my waist. I was lifted completely off my feet, pulled back into the dark recess of an alcove.

I thrashed violently against the solid chest, my phone slipping from my fingers and dropping to the plush carpet, its flashlight casting long, erratic, terrifying shadows across the high ceiling.

"I told you to go home," a dark, furious, and utterly ragged voice rasped directly against my ear.

The suffocating grip loosened, and I was spun around roughly to face my captor.

Lucien looked entirely unraveled. His black silk shirt was wrinkled, the top buttons torn open, and his jaw was tight with sheer, maddening exhaustion. His dark hair was damp from the rain, clinging to his forehead, and his amber eyes burned with an anger so intense it made me catch my breath.

"Are you completely insane, Ava?!" he hissed, gripping both of my wrists tightly. His hold was firm, anchoring me, but he was incredibly careful not to hurt me. "Do you have a death wish? If my uncle’s security men had seen you outside—"

"I found it, Lucien!" I interrupted, tearing my hands away from his grip with a surge of sudden confidence.

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the tarnished silver key, holding it up directly between our faces.

The moment Lucien’s eyes locked onto the intricate silver crest on the key, all the fury, the ice, and the arrogance drained from his face in an instant. He staggered backward a step, his chest heaving, his amber eyes widening in pure, unadulterated shock. He looked at the key as if it were a physical ghost standing between us.

"Where... where did you get that?" he choked out, his deep voice trembling so hard it was barely audible over the thunder.

"It was hidden inside the cardboard lining of my sketchbook," I said, stepping closer to him, refusing to let him pull away or hide behind his billionaire mask this time. "I cut the fabric open. Lucien, I remembered something when I touched it. I remembered a boy telling me to keep it safe from *him*. This key unlocks something vital in this house, doesn't it? Something your uncle is absolutely terrified of."

Lucien stared at the key, a single, bitter tear finally slipping down his sharp cheekbone. He slowly raised his scarred hand, his long fingers hovering just millimeters away from the silver metal but never fully touching it, as if he were afraid the reality of it would burn him all over again.

"It unlocks my father’s private study," Lucien whispered, his voice completely broken, stripped of all his usual defenses. "The room at the very end of the north wing. It's the only room the fire didn't touch ten years ago... because the doors were heavily reinforced with iron. Julian has spent an entire decade trying to break into it, but the lock is ancient and complex. He couldn't open it without entirely destroying the safe and the documents inside."

"Then we open it right now," I said firmly. I reached out, grabbing his scarred hand and pressing the heavy silver key directly into his open palm. Our fingers brushed, and a violent, electric jolt of warmth shot straight up my arm, making my heart race with a terrifying familiarity. "We find the truth before the board meeting tomorrow morning. We stop him, Lucien."

Lucien looked down at our joined hands, his chest heaving as the agonizing conflict inside his soul played out across his face. He wanted to push me out into the rain to keep me safe from his family's darkness, but the fire of hope burning in his chest was suddenly too powerful to fight.

"If we do this, Ava," he rasped, lifting his piercing eyes to mine, his gaze intense, possessive, and desperately dark. "There is no turning back. The secrets in that room will change everything you think you know. Are you sure you're ready to remember?"

I swallowed the heavy lump in my throat, looking up at the beautiful, tragic man I had drawn a thousand times from a memory my brain had tried to force me to forget.

"I've been living with a hollow heart for seven years, Lucien," I said softly, my voice steady. "I'm ready to be whole again."

Lucien’s jaw tightened, a dark, protective determination settling over his features. He gripped the silver key tightly in his hand, his posture turning rigid and dominant once more.

"Follow me," he said.

He reached down, picked up my dropped phone, and grabbed my hand, leading me quickly down the dark, twisting corridor of the north wing. We walked straight toward the heavy, iron-reinforced door waiting at the very end of the hall the final, fragile boundary between my forgotten past and a truth that could destroy us both.