“Are you trying to punish me? I…I don't know how many times I can apologize even if it wasn't my fault that I almost—” “I never asked you to. You do whatever you want, Niya, and I really don't care. Neither should you bother with what I do.” “You're hurt. You're hurt, Alex, and you're acting out. Don't worry we could talk this through. This isn't you.” I try to reach him again but he shoots me a deadly glare that pierces through my skin like a dagger. “Sure it is. You've just never seen me like this. You don't know what I look like when I'm not in love with you,” his brows grow together. “Now we’ve had enough of your drama. You'll find the papers and enjoy the party or use the fucking door.” He pulls away and my eyes cloud again. My ears and heart find it hard to process what is actually going on. The looks on their faces tell me it is awfully too late—I have already lost everything. “Niya, careful now,” my grandmother slowly tugs at my arm as if that will somehow make everything better. “We have guests. Don’t cause a scene.” A scene? I have literally just seen a whole movie, ma. ************* My name is Niya Kendrick. I’m 25, an author who once believed she had the perfect life. But how quickly can everything I love be stripped away in the blink of an eye? Or worse, what if the life, the family I’ve cherished has always been a blatant lie, a mere fragment of the truth? Now, I’m awake, and reality is far harsher than any dream.
View MoreThe only sound accompanying the rhythmic beeping of the machines that had tethered Niya Kendrick to life for the past month was her breathing. But now, those cords were gone, and she was free to leave—at least physically. Her mind, however, was a haze of fragmented memories and a hollow ache she couldn’t understand.
She slipped into the faded jeans and soft sweater Pony had brought her, before she sat back down on the edge of the bed, crouching forward as her hands brushed her thighs.
“You shouldn’t leave yet,” Pony said, smacking her lips softly. Niya turned to see her best friend leaning against the med cart, though her weight barely rested on it.
Pony’s long blonde hair, streaked with brown roots, was tied in its usual side braid. She wore a plain blue long-sleeved shirt as Niya tried to piece together what made her temples throb. Pony's golden-brown eyes fixed on Niya with a bluntness that was hard to ignore.
“I’ve been here for thirty days, Pony. I’ve rested enough,” Niya croaked, her voice rough from disuse. “Besides, no one has come to see me in two days. I’m tired of staring at these walls.”
Pony hesitated, her mouth opening as if to say something, but then she closed it again. “Do you even remember me?” she finally asked, squinting at her.
Niya chuckled faintly, though it turned into a weak cough that jerked her chest. “Penelope. Barely,” she admitted, running her fingers through her chestnut brown hair before sweeping it into a ponytail. “But I know you’re my best friend. I don’t need my memories to tell me that.”
“I feel like...” Pony sighed, glancing away. “You still need rest.”
“I need my life back,” Niya countered almost immediately. Her gaze drifted to the small window, where sunlight streamed in, tracing golden lines down to her black sandaled toes. “Even if I can barely remember what it was before the accident, I know I had one.”
Pony made a face—something between discomfort and skepticism—but said nothing.
“Fine,” she finally relented. “Let’s get you home.”
The car hummed softly as it rolled through the city streets, sunlight bouncing off the buildings. Niya sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her fingers gripping the edge of the seatbelt. Her chest rose with every bump and turn the car made, but she kept her face blank, unwilling to let her bestfriend see the fear curling her insides.
Pony glanced at her from the driver’s seat with furrowed brows. “Why look like we might have a second round?” she muttered silently.
Niya shot her a glare before her expression softened into worry. Her eyes traced downwards to Pony’s left arm. Beneath the hem of her long sleeve, a white bandage peeked out.
“You were in the accident too,” Niya said in a quiet voice.
Pony nodded.
Niya’s fingers flexed against her seatbelt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it didn’t matter. The doctor said your memories will come back. Besides, I’m fine. Focus on yourself for once.”
Niya sighed. “I… I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“And you think stepping out into the world with zero memories and a just-realized phobia for drives is a good idea? Great plan, Niya. Solid.”
Niya huffed, leaning her head against the window. “I remember some things,” she said, though the words sounded more hopeful than confident. “I know I had a husband. I know you’re my best friend. And I know… something feels like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit together anymore.”
“Maybe that’s because the puzzle’s missing half its pieces,” Pony muttered, keeping her eyes on the road.
“What else am I supposed to do?” Niya turned to look at her through the corners of her dark lashes. “Stay in the hospital and wait for my memories to come back like some kind of magic? I don’t even know why nobody’s visited me in two days.”
Pony hesitated, her fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel. “It’s... complicated,” she said carefully.
Niya raised an eyebrow. “Complicated?”
“It’s just—look, people have lives, Niya,” Pony rushed her words. “You can’t expect the world to stop because you—” She cut herself off, biting her lower lip hard enough that it almost bled.
“Because I almost died.”
Pony exhaled heavily, “People don’t always know how to handle that. Some people... they just move on.”
Niya sinked back into the seat, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Right. Move on,” she murmured.
Pony’s grip on the wheel tightened further. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re here now, and that’s what matters. You’ve still got me, okay? Even if I’m a pain in the ass.”
“Yeah, you are,” she rolls her eyes.
They drove in silence for a few minutes, saved for the only sounds coming from the car’s engine and the occasional rustle of traffic outside. Niya’s mind drifted.
“Do you think I’ll ever remember everything?” she asked quietly, almost to herself.
The question caused Pony to stiffen, her shoulders tensing. She swallowed hard. “I think… some things are better off forgotten.”
Niya frowned, faint lines pulling her brows together. “What does that mean?”
Pony shrugged, her expression unreadable. “Just that sometimes the past is messy, you know? Maybe it’s a good thing you get to start fresh. Not everyone gets that chance.”
Niya didn’t respond.
When they arrived, the sight of her grandmother’s manor stopped her short. It was a modest place, old but well-kept, the once white paint now fading into a dull cream, with a front lawn that had more weeds than grass. Yet today, it was…different, if Niya could recall that.
Streamers hung from the porch, their faded colors swaying in the gentle breeze. Soft music spilled through the open windows, blending with the echoes of laughter and chatter coming from inside.
Niya turned to Pony, her brow furrowing. “What’s going on?”
Pony shrugged. “Your house, not mine,” she replied flatly, her golden-brown eyes avoiding Niya’s questioning gaze.
Niya scoffed and turned away into the hallway as the wooden floor creaked underneath her weight. The hallway was decorated with banners, their bright colors clashing awkwardly with the old wooden walls. Stranger faces laughing and chatting as though this were a grand celebration.
Niya froze just inside the doorway, her eyes scanning the crowd like a radar on overdrive. Her heart thudded in her chest as she searched for someone—anyone—she recognized, like a child scanning a room full of adults for a familiar face to cling to.
“This isn’t for me,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the noise. She turned, half expecting Pony to be standing stiffly behind her, ready to offer some sarcastic remark. But Pony wasn’t there.
Niya's eyes flitted over the scene—an older man with a receding hairline gesturing wildly, a group of women laughing a little too loudly near the refreshments, a waiter weaving through the crowd with a tray of drinks. Her grandmother's house had indeed been transformed.
And then she saw him. It was his smile that stopped her heart—a genuine, easy smile that lit up his face in a way that made him seem almost…human.
His mood was already wrecked. He’d been holding it down all damn second with white knuckles and grit teeth. “Are you lost?” his voice boomed when his eyes met Celine, announcing him without even trying. The sight of Celine tugged behind his eyes.Silas bowed without turning, and Niya felt his hold loosen a notch. She exhaled softly, unsure if it was of relief or something she couldn't name.“No. Just surprised to see how far your taste has fallen.” Celine flipped her hair.Wrong answer.The slouch in his posture went rigid. The relaxed curve of his head leveled, and those icy unreadable pools of his eyes darkened.“You don’t get to speak like that in front of me,” his jaw clenched so hard the skin stretched over bone. “I won't repeat myself.”“Relax,” she smiled, unfazed. “Your face is on every goddamn screen. It wasn’t hard.” She started towards him. “I was curious.”“And what?” his lips quirked up. “I’m supposed to thank you for the entertainment?”“You missed my father’s fundraise
“You don’t even belong in here. I’ve seen girls like you. Wannabes. Strays. Always hoping some powerful man will mistake pity for love,” Celine tilted her head, amusement curling at the corners of her lips like a venomous smile. “But men like Raphael don’t keep – they use, then toss and you’re a passing interest. A placeholder.”She smoothed down the front of her dress like nothing had happen, her manicured finger swirled in the air like she was tracing something invisible and hideous. “I wouldn’t even have to try,” she continued. “You don’t exist in these circles, but I could make damn sure they remember your face. You’ll be the sad little charity girl who clung to a man who never once claimed her. That’s the story they’ll spread and it’ll stick.”Niya didn’t speak. She couldn’t because her throat burned like she’d swallowed fire, and her body felt tight, like a violin string stretched past its tuning. Her hands twitched at her sides, but she still hasn't moved. Not when she wanted
She reached out and plucked a handful of popcorn from Niya’s tub without never breaking eye contact. She sniffed it and her face scrunched up.“I heard about you,” she said through her nose. “You’re the reason he missed my father's fundraiser. Do you know how many families had to re-strategize because Raphael didn’t show up to sign a single paper?”Niya had no idea what she was talking about, but her tone was somewhere between arrogant debutante and back-alley menace which was trashy in the worst way. And it grated on Niya’s nerves.“You sound very concerned about business,” Niya sighed loudly. “Are you his accountant, or just another bitter ex waiting on closure?”Celine’s eyes flashed as she leaned forward, her lips lifting up. “I’m someone who knows him better than you ever will. You think because of some low-level shopping and movie date makes you matter? He’ll forget your name before the credits roll.”She dropped the popcorn back but into Niya’s lap and dusted her hands like she
“... yeah, and you wore white that day like a damn funeral virgin. What’s your point?”Rapha walked slowly through the corridor outside the cinema, stone walls reflecting shadows beneath antique sconces that burned like gaslight. He had his phone pressed to his ear.“My point is, you're late.” The voice on the other end was quiet, but it managed to find it way under his tough skin. “That girl,” the man continued. “She’s beautiful, yes. Complex, fragile in the way that invites a man like you to –”“She’s not the mission,” Raphael interrupted, his jaw grounding together as he turned into a room at the end of the corridor. “I have the access I need. I’m one move away from that file but if I fucking move too fast, it all comes down. She’s not stupid.”The room was lined with mirrors that had wooden frames carved around the edges like coffins.“Timing was sacred when this started.”“Then let me do this my way.”“This isn’t about how, Raphael. It’s about intention, and I’m starting to think
“What were you planning to do for me, angel?” Her chest rose.Oh. Right.She was supposed to make him happy and that's what the damn contract said.“Um,” her mind scrambled to think of a safe answer. What would a man like Rapha even want? What could make a man like him happy? Was that even possible?Her palms turned clammy.He was still staring.“Movies?” she blurted.“Movies?” She nodded too fast. “Yeah. We could go see… uhm…”She paused. Her mind yanked something from her childhood that she didn't remember until then, and her mouth obeyed before reason could kick in.“Snow Belle and the Circus Crown.”A beat of silence.His blue eyes turned to slits.Her teeth sank into her lower lip.Why the hell would she say that? It was like knitting a scarf for an elephant – utterly pointless, maybe even insulting.The truth was, it was her and Maybelle’s favorite movie growing up. They knew all the cheesy musicals and the ridiculous ice-dance choreography. And now, she wanted to crawl under
“I didn’t expect the coffee to cost twelve thousand dollars.” Niya sat with her hands fondling on her lap, her body angled toward the window, but not quite leaning on it.“That wasn’t for the coffee.” Rapha sat beside her, relaxed, with legs wide and a finger absently circling on his knee like he was thinking, but his eyes hadn’t left her face.“Sure felt like it.”A loud silence crept in.“If you’d actually read the contract, you’d have known you have access to one of my cards,” he said mildly. “You can use it whenever. It’s under your name.”Her eyes finally found his and her lips curved in an ‘o’.“Didnt you see it on the vanity in your room?”“No, I don’t…” she grimaced. “I didn’t see anything in the –”“Page six, last paragraph.”“You don’t expect anyone to read all that lawyer mumbo jumbo,” she huffed. “It was like six miles long.”He smiled to himself. “I did.”“Of course you did,” she gave him a look.“I also had my lawyer bury it on purpose,” he added, glancing out the window
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