I FORGOT HIM BUT MY HEART DIDN'T

The Taste of Lies

Chapter 2: The Taste of Lies

The bell above the door didn't just chime when he left; it cut through the silence like a blade.

I stood frozen behind the counter, my chest heaving, the air still thick with the scent of rain and expensive cedarwood.

My fingers clutched the yellowed piece of paper so hard the fragile edges began to rip.

*If you're reading this... forgot again... remember you, Lucien.*

"My handwriting," I whispered to the empty room.

My voice sounded small. Broken.

I looked down at the splayed sketchbook on the floorboards. Hundreds of charcoal eyes stared back at me. His eyes.

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

His parting words echoed in my skull, sending a cold, sharp wave of panic straight to my gut.

Why would I hate him?

What did he do to me?

"Ava? Are you okay in there?"

The voice of Mrs. Gable, the bookstore owner, drifted from the back storage room. The heavy curtain rustled.

Panic seized me. I couldn't let anyone see this. I couldn't let anyone know.

I threw myself to the floor, aggressively shoving the note back into the hidden slit of the sketchbook. I slammed the cover shut, pulling it tightly against my chest just as Mrs. Gable stepped out.

"I heard shouting, dear. Was that... was that Lucien Blackwood who just ran out?" She adjusted her glasses, her eyes scanning my pale face and trembling lips.

"I—yes," I choked out, forcing myself to stand up. My knees felt like water. "He just wanted a book."

Mrs. Gable’s expression hardened, a familiar look of deep distrust crossing her features. "You stay away from him, Ava. I’ve told you before. The Blackwood family is bad luck. That boy... he carries a darkness. Everyone knows what happened ten years ago."

My heart leaped into my throat. "What happened ten years ago?"

"The fire, Ava," she murmured, lowering her voice as if the walls were listening. "The night your parents passed. He was the only one who walked out of that burning mansion completely unscathed. People say he started it. A twisted, spoiled boy throwing a tantrum. You lost your memory that night, but the town didn't."

He started it.

The words felt like a physical blow to my stomach.

I looked down at my hands. The dream came rushing back. The roaring flames. The suffocating heat.

But in my dream, the boy wasn't hurting me. He was screaming my name. He was reaching for me.

*Someone is lying,* my mind screamed.

"I need to close up early, Mrs. Gable," I blurted out, not waiting for her permission. "I don't feel well."

Before she could protest, I grabbed my coat, shoved the sketchbook into my bag, and ran out into the pouring rain.

The Blackwood gates were rusted, towering over the edge of the town like iron teeth.

The storm was getting worse. Lightning flashed across the darkening sky, illuminating the massive, decaying stone mansion sitting on top of the hill. It looked like a tomb.

My breath came in ragged gasps as I pushed through the unlocked pedestrian gate. The gravel crunched loudly beneath my boots.

I shouldn't be here. Every survival instinct I had was screaming at me to turn around and run back to my safe, quiet life.

But I couldn't live with the hollow ache anymore. Not after seeing his face.

I marched up the grand stone steps and slammed my fist against the heavy oak front door.

"Lucien!" I screamed over the howling wind. "Open the door!"

No answer.

"Lucien! I know you're in there! Tell me the truth!"

Suddenly, the door swung open with a violent jerk.

Lucien stood in the grand entryway. He had taken off his wet coat. He wore only a black silk shirt, the top buttons undone, his dark hair damp and messy.

But it was his eyes that stopped the air in my lungs. They were bloodshot. The cold, arrogant billionaire mask was completely gone, replaced by a raw, feral desperation.

"You shouldn't be here, Ava," he growled, his voice a dangerous, low baritone that vibrated through the stormy air. "Go home."

"No!" I stepped across the threshold, forcing him to take a step back into the dimly lit foyer. "I'm not leaving. Not until you tell me what that note means. Not until you tell me how I wrote it!"

Lucien’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched violently. He looked down at me, his chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged breaths.

"It means nothing. It's a relic from a past that doesn't exist anymore."

"You're lying!" I shouted, pulling the sketchbook from my bag and holding it up between us like a weapon. "I drew you! Hundreds of times! I drew you as a child, Lucien! I drew the scar on your eyebrow before I ever even saw your face in person! How is that possible if we've never met?!"

Lucien froze. His gaze dropped to the sketchbook, and for a fraction of a second, an unbearable agony flashed across his features.

"Leave it alone, Ava," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Please."

"Did you start the fire?"

The question left my lips before I could stop it. It was a horrible, heavy accusation, echoing off the high, vaulted ceilings of the empty mansion.

Lucien flinched as if I had struck him across the face.

The silence that followed was suffocating, louder than the thunder shaking the windows.

He took a slow, deliberate step toward me. The intimidating, dominant aura he carried wrapped around me like a trap, pinning me to the spot. He didn't stop until he was inches away. The scent of rain and cedarwood engulfed my senses, making my head spin.

He slowly reached out, his long fingers hesitating before he gently, almost transparently, slid his hand down his black silk sleeve.

He turned his palms upward.

My breath caught in my throat.

His palms weren't smooth. They were covered in thick, white, jagged burn scars. Severe, deep scars that stretched all the way up his wrists, marring his otherwise perfect skin.

"The town thinks I started it," Lucien whispered, his amber eyes burning into mine with a terrifying intensity. He stepped closer, closing the final inch of distance until I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. "They think I'm a monster, Ava."

He raised his scarred hands, hovering them just millimeters away from my face, desperately wanting to touch me but fiercely holding himself back.

"Maybe I am," he rasped, a single, bitter tear slipping down his sharp cheekbone. "But if you look into my past, you won't just find answers. You'll find the monsters that destroyed us both. And I will die before I let them touch you again."

Before I could process the sudden, protective fury in his voice, a loud, sharp sound shattered the moment.

*Crack.*

The sound of tires crushing gravel outside the mansion.

Lucien’s head snapped toward the grand stained-glass windows, his pupils dilating as his entire posture turned predatory and rigid.

"He's here," Lucien muttered, his voice instantly turning to pure ice.

"Who?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Lucien didn't answer. He grabbed my arm, his grip firm but careful not to hurt me. He aggressively pulled me behind a massive marble pillar just as the heavy front doors were thrown open from the outside.

A shadow stepped into the foyer.

A middle-aged man in a pristine, expensive gray suit walked in, shaking off his umbrella. He had a cruel, polished smile and eyes that looked like a snake's.

"Lucien, nephew," the man called out, his voice smooth and dripping with fake warmth. "I saw a car from the bookstore downtown parked at the gates. I certainly hope you aren't entertaining guests. Especially... old acquaintances."

My heart stopped beating.

I looked at Lucien. His jaw was set, a dark, murderous glare locked onto the man in the suit.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered a final, terrifying warning that changed everything:

"Don't make a sound, Ava. That's my uncle. And if he finds out you have that sketchbook... he will kill you."