CHAPTER 2: THE NAME HE SHOULDN'T REMEMBER
774 Words
Aria did not sleep that night.
She told herself it was the rain.
Or the wind tapping against her window.
Or the way the bookstore’s old lights flickered in her mind like broken film reels.
But the truth was simpler.
It was him.
The stranger with cold eyes and a voice that felt too deliberate to be harmless.
A person… one who shouldn’t be hard to find… if she’s still alive.
Those words kept repeating in her head like a warning she couldn’t turn off.
Alive.
Why would a stranger walk into her bookstore asking about someone who might be dead?
Aria turned on her side in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Her apartment was small. Safe. Carefully chosen for its anonymity.
No neighbors knew her well.
No one asked questions.
That was how she survived.
But tonight, safety felt thin.
Like glass about to c***k.
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The next morning came too quickly.
Aria forced herself into routine.
Coffee.
Shower.
Work clothes.
Normality was her shield.
If she repeated normal enough times, maybe her mind would believe it.
The bookstore was quiet when she arrived.
Too quiet.
Even the air felt different.
She unlocked the door and stepped inside, scanning the room without meaning to.
Empty.
Good.
She exhaled slowly.
“Get a grip,” she whispered to herself.
But as she moved behind the counter, something caught her attention.
A book.
On the counter.
She stopped.
She hadn’t left any book there yesterday.
Slowly, she reached for it.
Black cover. No title on the front.
Her fingers hesitated before touching it.
Then she opened it.
Empty pages.
All of them.
Except the first.
One line.
Neatly written.
> “Names are not as safe as people believe.”
Aria’s breath caught.
Her pulse spiked instantly.
She looked up sharply toward the door.
Locked.
No sign of entry.
No broken glass.
Nothing.
Her fingers tightened around the book.
This was not random.
This was intentional.
Her mind began racing.
Who would do this?
A customer?
A prank?
No.
Her instincts rejected every soft explanation.
Because deep down
She already knew.
That afternoon, he returned.
As if nothing had happened.
The bell above the bookstore door rang once.
Aria froze instantly.
Slowly, she looked up.
Damien Cross walked in again.
Same calm presence.
Same controlled steps.
But today, something about him felt sharper.
More focused.
Like he had already decided something.
He stopped at the counter.
And this time, he was not just looking at her.
He was observing her reaction.
Aria kept her face neutral.
Professional.
Detached.
“Welcome,” she said evenly. “Did you find what you were looking for yesterday?”
A pause.
Then he smiled faintly.
It wasn’t warm.
It wasn’t cruel either.
It was… knowing.
“I think I did,” he said.
Her grip tightened slightly under the counter.
Silence stretched between them.
Then he leaned forward just slightly.
Not enough to invade space.
Just enough to lower his voice.
“You didn’t sleep well,” he said.
Aria blinked.
“…Excuse me?”
His eyes didn’t move from her face.
“I can tell,” he added calmly. “Your eyes don’t lie as well as you think they do.”
A cold feeling spread through her chest.
This wasn’t normal conversation.
This was observation.
Analysis.
Like she was being studied.
“Are you a customer,” she said carefully, “or something else?”
For the first time, something flickered in his expression.
Interest.
“Something else,” he repeated softly, as if testing the words.
Then he reached into his coat pocket.
Aria tensed immediately.
But instead of a weapon,
He placed a folded piece of paper on the counter.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
“I’m looking for someone,” he said.
“I think you might know her.”
Aria didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
He slid the paper toward her.
Just slightly.
Not forcing her.
Inviting her.
Her fingers hovered above it.
Then she opened it.
Her world stopped.
It was a sketch.
A woman.
Not perfect.
Not detailed.
But familiar enough to make her stomach drop.
Because it looked like her.
Not Aria Voss.
Not the version she showed the world.
But Elena Marlowe.
The person she buried.
Her hand went cold instantly.
She looked up sharply.
But Damien was already watching her.
Closely.
Quietly.
Like he had been waiting for that exact reaction.
And then he said the words that broke something inside her control.
“I thought you might recognize her,” he said.
A pause.
Then softer,
“Because I think you’ve been running from her for a very long time.”
- Writer
