Chapter 5
1054 Words
LEILA’s POV
Lady?
What Lady?
I watched as the two women ran towards the bed, dropping their trays on the bedside table.
One of them was tall, round-faced, with anxious eyes and hands that couldn’t stay still. The other is shorter with a bent posture, her hair pinned into a cruel knot as if she didn’t value her head.
They both wore pinafore. They didn’t seem like nurses. They were servants.
“We have to get the Lord here.” The taller maid said, her voice filled with amusement and left.
The other maid who was short sat on the bed slowly beside me, her eyes locked on mine. Her eyes examined my body for some time then she heaved a sigh of relief.
“My lady.” Her voice cracked.
No… What’s happening?
I can still hear the men’s boots on the tarmac, Sienna’s voice laced with poison, and Dante watching from the shadows. Coupled with the ache in my womb.
How did I get here and have a face that’s not mine? And on a sick bed? Did I escape death?
As the woman tried to touch my shoulder, I moved back, flinching.
“My lady, it’s me. Freya.” She said with a soft voice.
A sudden ache pierced my heart as unclear images flashed before my eyes. And it was accompanied by a sharp pain in my head.
“Ahhh…” I winced out.
The woman, Freya, as she claimed, grabbed my hands, holding me gently. For a moment, her hands were comforting, stilling my body, as if she had always been there all my life.
I opened my eyes slowly as our eyes locked. They were familiar. And it really, really felt like I had known her for years.
“Isadora,” she called, her voice trembling under the weight of her eyes while a tear dropped from her eyes to her cheeks.
My right hand moved on its own, rubbing her cheeks slightly. “Freya.” I called out with that same fragile voice.
“Isadora!”
A manly voice full of authority and command cut through the air.
Hurriedly, Freya rose from the bed. She backed herself to the corner, closer to the bedside, her head lowered.
I raised my head to see a light skinned man with a white hair. His eyes, sharp as that of an owl. He was tall and huge, despite his appearance.
The other maid ran ahead of him and stood next to Freya, doing the same.
He began to walk towards the bed, his walking stick tapping the floor gently. stopped by the bed, the clicking of the shoes coming to a halt. There were no signs of emotion on his face as it held no shock or joy. Only some sort of calculated stillness.
“You woke,” he said quietly, and even his whisper felt like thunder wrapped in velvet.
“Do you know who you are?” He asked, seeing how reserved I was. “My daughter, Isadora.”
I searched his face for warmth. The kind that a father would for his child but I found none. Though, I never saw my father but I’ve seen others outside.
And whatever love this man once had for his daughter lies buried deeper than when I was on the floor begging for my life.
This confirms it all. I’m now in a new body, with a new face.
I rolled out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheets, and stumbled toward the window. My hands shook as I tore the curtains aside.
The light stabbed through the glass—sharp, golden, and unmistakably urban.
Outside, skyscrapers glittered like blades against a winter-blue sky. Yellow cabs crawled along the street below as horns blared from a distance. A siren wailed somewhere in the distance, echoing between the buildings.
My chest loosened a little.
I was still in New York.
Different body. Same city.
“Miss…” The taller maid said, grabbing my arm. “Don’t run off like that.”
“Isadora, don’t you remember us?” The older man asked. “We’re family.”
I locked my eyes on his before I lowered my head.
I don’t know them. They are the ones that believed that I was still the same person that woke from the bed. And trust right now, is a luxury I cannot afford.
“You better learn not to run off anymore.” The old man said, approaching us. “I don’t think you can remember anything now.”
“They tried to kill you that night, Isadora.” He continued, the word seeping into my head. “They said your car’s brakes failed. But I believe that car brakes don’t fail for no reason in the Vale empire.” His voice dropped lower. “The Morettis…”
The name cleaved through me like a blade dipped in old grief.
That name.
I clenched my fist, my chest tightening.
I forced myself to breathe out of the memory to continue listening to the old man whose voice was already fading away.
“…They were the ones who tried to take your life. I don’t need any evidence. Now that you’re back, I’ll make them pay for everything they’ve done to this family because you’re my strength.”
With that, he walked out of the room, his walking stick tapping on the floor.
I staggered backward, my back hitting the walk behind as I panted heavily.
That name—Moretti—shouldn’t have been said in front of me. Whether he was the Moretti being referred to or not.
“That’s him. The devil that caused your near-death.” Freya’s voice sliced through my thoughts.
I turned toward the TV.
Dante’s face filled the screen. He looked impossibly handsome, that smug smile everyone adored. Sienna showed up behind him, a smile on her face too.
My stomach clenched as hate rose hot and bitter.
Tears pricked as the night replayed in a dozen sharp flashes: rain, boots, blood and Sienna’s laugh slipping like a knife.
The chyron at the bottom of the screen read: 20—11—2064.
A year ago. The same night they killed me.
Dante.
I’m back.
And I’ll make you watch the world you built burn starting with your child, Sienna.
- Writer
