Episode 4
989 Words
---
Ariella woke to the sound of silence again.
But it was different this time.
It wasn't the type she was starting to get accustomed to.
It was wrong.
Too still. Too heavy. Like something was waiting.
She pushed off the silk sheets, heart pounding. Slipped her feet into slippers and padded out of the bedroom. No voices. No staff. No Lucien.
Just a white envelope sitting neatly on the kitchen island.
Her name was written on it.
Not Ms. Lane.
Not Ariella.
Just one word, in handwriting that stopped her cold:
“Nova.”
Her real name.
The name she hadn’t spoken in years.
The name no one in this city should know.
Her fingers trembled as she picked it up. Opened it. Inside was a photo.
Not just any photo.
Her.
Lucien.
And Zara.
Standing in the park three days ago. Her arm brushing Lucien’s. Her daughter smiling in the background.
Someone had been watching them.
Stalking them.
And they knew everything.
There was no note. No signature. Just a mark on the bottom corner of the photo.
A half-moon.
Drawn in blood-red ink.
Ariella stumbled back, the world spinning.
He was here.
The man with the tattoo.
The one who had destroyed her life—and Lucien’s.
He was watching them.
---
Lucien found her minutes later.
The photo was already burning in the sink, turning to ash under a blue flame.
“What the hell happened?” he asked, seeing her pale face.
She didn’t look up. Couldn’t.
She’d promised not to lie.
But telling the truth now might get her killed—or worse, Zara.
“Nothing,” she said hoarsely. “Just a bad memory.”
Lucien stepped closer, frowning.
“I’m not stupid, Ariella.”
She looked at him then. And what she saw in his face nearly undid her.
Concern.
Not suspicion. Not control.
Concern.
“There’s no way for me to protect you,if won't tell me how or what to protect you from,” he said softly.
She swallowed.
“You can’t protect me from this.”
“Try me.”
She almost told him.
Almost.
But then her phone buzzed.
She glanced at it.
One message. No number.
“If you say anything, the child dies first.”
She went still.
Lucien noticed.
“What is it?” he asked.
She shook her head. Backed away.
“It’s nothing. I just—I need a minute.”
She just walked hurriedly past him and locked the bathroom, back on the door, intensely trying not to scream.
Zara. Oh God. Zara.
He had her in his sights.
---
Later that day, Carla stormed in.
Not with gossip. Not with a complaint.
But with a newspaper.
“Did you see this?” she snapped, slamming it on the table.
BLACKWELL’S MYSTERY FIANCÉE LINKED TO MISSING PERSON CASE
Ariella stared at the headline.
Her photo was there. Not current. One from years ago. Before the fire. Before the pain.
Before she changed her name.
She read the article in seconds.
They knew.
Someone had leaked her past. Spun it into a narrative she couldn’t control.
Lucien appeared, scanned it, then looked at her.
“You lied to me.”
She closed her eyes.
“I had to.”
His voice was low. Dangerous.
“I can protect youfrom anything and anyone, but i can't protect you from your own lies, Ariella.”
“My name isn’t Ariella,” she whispered.
Lucien blinked.
“It’s Nova.”
He took a step back, face unreadable.
“And you’re the missing woman they wrote about?”
She nodded.
“I faked my death. Disappeared with my daughter. The man who ruined my life is still out there. And now he knows I’m back.”
Lucien didn’t speak for a long time.
Then he turned away.
“You should’ve told me.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought you were the one who did it.”
Lucien’s eyes snapped to hers.
“What?”
She took a deep breath. Told him everything. The fire. The m******e. The man with the tattoo. The voice. The promise. The terror.
“I saw the tattoo on you and I thought you were him. I thought this whole thing—us—was some twisted game.”
Lucien sat down.
Slowly. Quietly.
Then he pulled back his sleeve.
Revealed the tattoo again.
“This? I got it after the fire. As a vow. To kill the man who did that to my sister.”
Ariella’s heart twisted.
They weren’t enemies.
They were both survivors.
Of the same monster.
“He’s back,” she whispered. “He sent a picture. Of us. Of Zara.”
Lucien went still.
Then he rose, walked to a cabinet, and pulled out a gun.
“You’re not going anywhere without me again.”
---
That night, Lucien called in favors.
Private security. Surveillance upgrades. A tracker for Zara’s caregiver.
“Her safety comes first,” he told Ariella. “Always.”
She nodded. But the weight in her chest didn’t lift.
Because whoever was doing this—whoever had been playing them both for years—was already ten steps ahead.
She walked to the balcony, staring outside at the city.
Lucien joined her after a while.
Neither spoke.
Then he said, “Do you think he’s the reason we were brought together?”
Ariella glanced at him.
“You mean… fate?”
“No. I mean manipulation.”
Her blood chilled.
“What if we weren’t the targets?” he murmured. “What if we were the tools?”
She turned to face him.
And for the first time, the thought made sense.
Too much had aligned.
Too fast. Too perfectly.
A fake engagement. A buried past. A shared enemy.
They weren’t in control.
Someone else was writing their story.
And they were only just beginning to realize it.
- Writer
