Don't Ever Say Her Name

Chapter 9: Don't Ever Say Her Name

Serena POV

The morning sunlight bled through the heavy velvet curtains, a soft golden warmth spilling across the sheets. Serena stirred, her body aching with a soreness that made her wince. Every muscle felt tender, her thighs trembling when she shifted. The sheets were tangled around her legs like remnants of a storm. And it had been a storm — the night before still flickered behind her eyes in broken flashes. His hands. His mouth. That dizzying spiral of pleasure until she forgot her own name.

She didn’t regret a second of it.

She closed her eyes and let herself feel it , the sting, the heat, the bruised fullness between her thighs. Lucian had ruined her in the most addictive way.

The door creaked open. Serena blinked against the light as Mona entered quietly, a small tray in her hands. Her eyes lingered on Serena for just a moment — not judgmental, but soft. Pitying.

“You should rest, Miss Vale.”

Serena tried to sit up and gasped. Mona rushed forward to help her, placing the tray gently on the bedside table. There was warm soup, toast, a glass of water — and painkillers.

Mona handed her the pills first. Serena took them without question, chasing them with a long drink.

“Where’s my husband?” she asked groggily, not even realizing what she’d said until the words hung there, echoing in the quiet.

Her stomach fluttered. Husband. The word had slipped out, unfiltered, but it wasn’t wrong. Not really. He hadn’t proposed. There’d been no vows. But last night —

It had changed something.

“I mean — where’s Lucian?” she corrected quickly, clearing her throat.

Mona smiled faintly, her eyes betraying nothing. “Today is Friday. He’s at his safe place.”

“Safe place?” Serena echoed, frowning. “Where’s that?”

“I’ve already said too much,” Mona replied, her voice tight, measured. She stood and gathered the used towel from the floor.

Serena narrowed her eyes. “Why won’t anyone around here ever give me a straight answer?”

Mona didn’t respond. She simply folded the towel neatly and moved toward the door.

Serena’s voice sharpened. “If you won’t tell me where he went, maybe you can tell me who Beverley is.”

The name hit the air like a bullet.

Mona’s hands fumbled. The glass of water she held slipped, shattering against the marble floor.

“Miss Vale,” she said, visibly shaken. “Please don’t ever mention that name again.”

“Mona—”

“I said too much already,” she cut in, voice trembling now. She turned sharply and left, footsteps echoing in the hall.

Serena stared at the shards of glass. The name Beverley wasn’t just a piece of Lucian’s past, it was something buried. Something everyone was afraid to disturb.

She sat there, the silence pressing in. This house, as beautiful, as luxurious as it was, felt like it had walls thick with secrets.

She didn’t wait for Mona to return with a replacement glass.

Serena slipped out of bed, threw on a robe, and padded barefoot down the hallway. The polished floors felt cold against her skin. She passed portraits, doors she still hadn’t opened, and moved through the house like a ghost.

The garden was her escape.

Outside, the air was crisp and sharp with the scent of roses and lavender. She found a patch of soft grass, kicked off her slippers, and sank down. The sunlight warmed her skin. A breeze moved through the trees.

For a moment, she could breathe.

Her thoughts drifted back.

Flashback – Serena’s Childhood

The garden at home had been smaller. Wilder. Her mother used to garden barefoot, dirt smudging her cheeks, her laughter carrying over the fence.

Serena had been eight, knees scuffed, braids loose, chasing her little brother through tomato plants. Her older sister sat on the porch with a book, too proud to join in but smiling anyway.

“Serena!” her mother called, waving her over. “Come help me plant the rosemary. You said it was your favorite.”

She had run into her mother’s arms, wrapping around her like she was the sun. Her mother kissed her forehead.

“My strong girl,” she’d whispered. “One day, the world will try to break you. But I know you’ll stand tall.”

Back in the present, Serena felt tears sting her eyes.

It was time to go see them. Her family. The ones who reminded her who she was before all this.

Lucian POV

The east wing of the estate was quiet. Detached. No servants. No cameras. Just clean lines, glass walls, and the scent of pine drifting through the open windows.

Lucian sat in the leather armchair, hands steepled under his chin. Dr. Langston sat across from him, calm as ever in his gray cardigan and pressed slacks.

“You slept,” Langston said simply.

Lucian nodded. “For the first time in a while.”

Langston tilted his head. “And the dreams?

Lucian looked away.

“They didn’t come last night.”

Langston said nothing. That silence full, deliberate, gave Lucian permission to speak.

“I didn’t think it would ever happen. Thirty years.”

Flashback – Lucian, Age 7

He’d been hiding under the piano.

His mother was setting the table. Liam, barely five, was running through the living room with a toy plane. The door burst open. Shouting. Gunshots.

Lucian didn’t scream. He didn’t move.

He saw his mother collapse first, blood pooling beneath her. Then Liam — a cry, a scream, silenced. Lucian bit his hand to keep from making a sound.

He watched it all. The killers didn’t even look for him.

His father had been out of the country. A contract in Geneva.

Lucian hadn’t spoken for two weeks after that. Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t sleep.

Until Dr. Langston came.

The first time Lucian spoke again, it was to him.

Present – Lucian & Langston

“She was holding Liam’s hand when she died,” Lucian murmured. “Even in death, she was protecting him.”

Langston folded his hands. “And yet you survived.”

“I hid,” Lucian said bitterly. “Like a coward.”

“You were seven.”

Lucian didn’t respond.

Langston leaned forward. “Tell me what changed.”

Lucian hesitated. Then:

“Her.”

Langston raised a brow.

“Serena.”

Langston let the name settle.

“She reminds you of someone?”

Lucian shook his head. “No. That’s the thing. She’s nothing like Beverley. Beverley was... kind. Soft. Predictable. Serena is chaos.”

“Chaos can be healing,” Langston said with a faint smile.

Lucian’s lips curved.

He smiled.

Langston sat back, stunned for a moment. “You’re smiling.”

“I know.”

“And the dreams didn’t come.”

Lucian exhaled, a long, slow breath. “I think I’ve found the one.”

Langston said nothing. Just watched him, silently celebrating a breakthrough that had taken three decades to arrive.

Back at the Garden – Serena

She stood, brushing grass from her robe. The sun was higher now, warming her face.

No more waiting. No more obeying quiet rules no one spoke aloud.

She was going to see her family.

And if this house, this man was going to keep burying its secrets, she’d dig them out one by one.

Whether Lucian liked it or not.