THE SINS WE DREAM

I dreamed of him again last night. His fingers trailed fire along my spine, his mouth whispering things he’d never dare say aloud. In that dream, there was no guilt, no age, no shadow of my father standing between us. There was only Damien Wolfe and the kind of love that felt like drowning in silk and sin. I woke up with the sheets tangled between my legs and guilt coiled like a serpent in my chest. It was wrong. It’s always been wrong. But I never wanted it to stop. “Elara, hurry up!” My mom’s voice echoed through the hallway. I sat up, ran my hands through my sweat-dampened hair, and looked at the half-packed suitcase at the foot of my bed. A train ticket lay on top of my passport. Ravenbay , One Way. This wasn’t a vacation. It was exile. My parents were being moved again—something about another leak in their witness protection cover. The past caught up with them quicker than they expected. And once again, I was the collateral. But this time, they weren't taking me with them. They were sending me to him. Damien Wolfe—my father’s best friend, war buddy, and the man who’d practically helped raise me from afar. He used to visit with cigars and expensive whiskey, whispering old stories my dad always laughed off. His presence was too large for our small house. His eyes too deep. His silence too loud. Now, I was going to live with him. Alone. I still don’t know if I should thank fate—or curse it. “Long time, kid.” His voice was deeper than I remembered, like smooth gravel. I stepped off the train platform into the waiting car, and there he was—leaning against the hood, dressed in black slacks and a tailored grey coat. His jaw looked sharper than it did years ago, but those eyes... they still held storms. Except now, they lingered on me just a second too long. “Elara,” he said again, nodding once. I swallowed. “Hey, Damien.” He didn’t hug me. He didn’t smile. He just opened the door to his black Bentley and waited until I got in. Silence hung between us during the drive. His car smelled like clean leather and pine. No music. Just the hum of the road and the buzz of the tension neither of us acknowledged. “So,” I said, breaking the silence, “how’s life been?” “Quiet.” “You still living in that coastal house?” “Moved out two years ago. Bigger place. More secure.” I raised an eyebrow. “Are you expecting danger?” He looked over at me, gaze unreadable. “Always.” Damien's estate wasn’t a house. It was a fortress hidden behind wrought-iron gates and layered security. Three stories of modern architecture nestled against the cliffs, facing the angry sea. Inside, it was cold and sterile,stone floors, glass walls, and empty frames. As if someone had scrubbed the place clean of memories. “You’ll stay in the east wing,” Damien said, leading me through the house without waiting for my reaction. “Don’t go into the west side unless you’re invited.” My steps slowed. “Why not?” He glanced back. “That part of the house is private.” Of course it was. He showed me to a room that looked more like a boutique hotel suite than a bedroom. White sheets. Ivory curtains. Floor-to-ceiling windows that opened to a balcony with a view of the cliffs. But everything still felt…empty. “I won’t bother you” he added. “You’ll have access to the gym, library, and kitchen. There are cameras everywhere for security. Don’t worry,they’re not in the bedrooms.” The pause before that last sentence made my skin prickle. He left before I could ask anything else. Later that night, after unpacking and showering, I wandered the halls. The house creaked in a strange rhythm, like it was breathing. I passed by the west wing. The hallway was darker there, colder somehow. I pressed a hand to the heavy double doors and found a keypad. Locked. I stepped back. Just as I turned to leave, I caught a glint above the door. A camera. It turned with me as I walked away. Midnight. I couldn't sleep. The house was too quiet, and my thoughts were too loud. I made my way to the kitchen for water, barefoot and in one of his old button-downs I found in the guest closet. It smelled like cedar and salt. Like him. I sipped from the glass and leaned against the counter, trying to breathe through the heat between my thighs. My thoughts spiraled back to those dreams. The ones where Damien didn’t stop himself. Where he let go. Where he *wanted* me as much as I wanted him. Then I heard it. A voice. Low. Gritty. From the room down the hall. I tiptoed closer, pressing my ear to the barely cracked door. “She’s here,” Damien said to someone on the phone. “No, I haven’t told her yet.” A pause. “I’ll keep her close. Don’t worry,he’ll come back for her. He won’t leave his daughter unprotected.” My heart dropped. Daughter. Is that what I was to him? Just a pawn to lure my father out of hiding? The glass slipped from my hand, shattering on the marble. Footsteps thundered toward the door. I ran. I barely made it to my room before I heard the click of the lock turning on the other side of the hall. My chest heaved as I pressed myself against the door, heart pounding, mind racing. Damien was using me. Or maybe… Maybe there was something darker going on.