CHAPTER THREE

Elara's point of view

Terror is inconvenient like that. It doesn’t arrive with clarity or structure. It doesn’t wait for you to sit down and process it properly. It scrambles things. Erases details. Leaves you with fragments instead of memories, like a badly edited film that cuts out the most important scenes.

I remembered the crash... I remembered hands grabbing me. Too strong. Too fast. I remembered a voice telling me not to look, and then nothing at all.

When I woke up, I was staring at a ceiling that was not mine.

For a brief, disoriented moment, I wondered if I’d finally lost my mind and teleported into a stranger’s apartment. Then I noticed the faint lavender scent in the air and the aggressively cheerful throw pillows.

It was Emily’s place.

My head throbbed as I shifted, every movement reminding me that my body had been through something it hadn’t signed up for. Emily appeared almost instantly, hovering over me like a worried mother hen who had definitely judged my life choices already.

“You’re awake,” she said, relief flooding her voice. “Thank God!”

“What… happened?” My throat felt raw, like I’d been screaming or crying or possibly both.

She frowned. “You don’t remember?”

“That depends,” I said weakly. “Is this one of those situations where knowing will make it worse?”

She sighed. “You texted me. Said you’d been in a car accident and needed help. You sent your location. I went there with a tow truck guy.”

I stared at her. “I texted you?”

She nodded. “You don’t remember doing that either?”

I shook my head slowly. The idea that I’d reached out for help without remembering it unsettled me more than the accident itself. “I don’t even remember getting my phone out.”

Emily’s expression softened. “Shock does that.”

That word again. Shock! Like it was a neat little label that explained everything.

I sat up slowly, ignoring the ache blooming behind my eyes. “I remember… before that,” I said. “I remember going home.”

Her face tightened. “And?”

“And finding them,” I said flatly. “In my kitchen. Very… busy.”

Emily swore under her breath.

I told her everything then. About the robe. The laughters and giggles. The way they talked about me like I was a joke that had gone on too long. I told her about recording them, about leaving, about driving like I had nothing left to lose.

By the time I finished, my hands were shaking again.

Emily wrapped her arms around me without saying anything, which was rare for her and deeply appreciated. “They’re disgusting,” she said finally. “Both of them. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I know,” I said automatically.

But knowing something and believing it were two very different things.

She pulled back and checked the time. “You need to get ready for work.”

I laughed weakly. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. You worked your ass off for that promotion. Don’t let those two ruin it.”

I wanted to argue. To curl up and hide from the world. But she was right, and I hated that.

In the shower, the hot water did very little to wash away the heaviness clinging to me. My thoughts spiraled whether I wanted them to or not, replaying moments I should have questioned, red flags I’d politely ignored. That’s when I saw it.

A mark. Just below my neck, curved like a crescent moon pressed into my skin.

I frowned and leaned closer to the mirror, touching it lightly. Pain flared, subtle but sharp enough to make me inhale. The skin was warm. Not irritated. Warm in a way that felt… alive.

“What the hell?” I muttered.

I tried scrubbing it gently. It didn’t fade. If anything, it pulsed faintly under my fingers, as if offended by the attempt.

Great. Betrayed, concussed, and now mysteriously branded. I was really collecting experiences this week.

I covered it with makeup and a high-collared blouse, shoved the unease aside, and headed out.

Blackwood Industries headquarters loomed like a glass fortress, all sharp lines and polished ambition. The lobby was chaos, people flooding toward the elevators like they were competing for survival rather than punctuality.

Of course, the main elevators were packed.

I glanced around and noticed a smaller one off to the side. Sleeker. Quieter. Probably not meant for people like me, but desperation tends to override common sense.

I sprinted for it and slammed the up button.

The doors slid open. A man was already inside.

He was tall. Broad-shouldered like he workout hard. Dressed in a suit that looked expensive in a way that didn’t need logos. His presence filled the space immediately, like the air itself had shifted to accommodate him.

He frowned the moment he saw me.

“You’re taking this elevator?” he asked.

His voice was low. Controlled. The kind that suggested he wasn’t used to being questioned.

I blinked at him. “Aren’t you on it too?” I said, stepping inside anyway. “I’m about to be late. You are too, right? Please press the button. Thank you.”

He didn’t move. I felt his gaze linger, unsettlingly focused, like he was looking at something specific. The back of my neck prickled.

I cleared my throat. “First day,” I added, because apparently my brain thought small talk was a good idea. “Promoted from a branch office. What about you?”

He looked at me then. Really looked.

“You don’t recognize me?” he asked.

I frowned. “You haven’t introduced yourself yet.”

The elevator began to rise. Straight up. No stops.

My stomach dropped slightly. “That’s… efficient.”

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. I shifted my weight, suddenly hyperaware of the enclosed space, of the way the mark under my collar warmed inexplicably.

The doors opened onto the top floor.

Before I could step out, another man rushed forward, clipboard in hand, expression tense.

“Mr. Blackwood,” he said urgently. “The shareholders have been waiting in the meeting room.”

The world froze. My heart stuttered.

“…Blackwood?” I echoed faintly.

The man beside me turned just enough to meet my gaze.

Aeron Blackwood!

And suddenly, the mark on my neck burned like it had been waiting for this moment all along.