Chapter 6 — Adjusting to a Simpler Life

Shen POV

Two weeks at the Seaview Inn, and I still wake up each morning feeling like a stranger in my own skin. The routine helps, or at least I tell myself it does. I rise with the dawn, help Enrie prepare breakfast, clean the guest rooms, and do whatever errands need doing. It’s simple work, honest, grounding. But my hands remember things my mind has long forgotten, and that disconnect leaves me feeling unmoored, adrift in a life that no longer belongs to me.

One morning, Avelin tried to teach me how to make fish stew. His voice was calm, patient, as he said, “Add the ginger first.” He stood close enough that I caught his scent, sea breeze and vanilla. Always vanilla. Without thinking, I reached for the ginger root. My knife moved instinctively, slicing in quick, precise julienne strips, uniform and flawless. The blade felt almost like an extension of me, the motion automatic, as if I’d done it a thousand times before.

Avelin’s gaze fixed on my hands, eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Where did you learn that?” he asked softly.

I looked down at the cutting board, feeling the weight of his stare. The strips were perfect, sharp, and professional. I hesitated, then said, “I don’t remember.” 

His brow furrowed. “Maybe you were a chef?”

“Maybe,” I echoed, though it felt wrong. This wasn’t my life. It was borrowed muscle memory, a shadow of someone I used to be. We worked in silence after that, our movements synchronized as the kitchen filled with the aroma of ginger and garlic. Steam rose from the pot, and I realized, with a strange certainty, that this, this simple act, felt more right than anything else I could remember.

“Taste,” Avelin said, holding up a spoon.

I leaned in and let him feed me. The broth was rich, complex, and ginger heat balanced by the sweetness of the fish. But what struck me more was the way he watched me. Not just waiting for my reaction, but hoping for it, like my opinion mattered more than any praise or accolades that might come from strangers or TV chefs. 

“Perfect,” I said, and meant it. 

His smile broke across his face like sunrise, and a strange, tight warmth spread through my chest, a warmth that was terrifying in its sincerity. When was the last time I’d made someone smile that way? Genuinely happy I existed? I couldn’t remember. That realization felt like its own tragedy, a quiet ache buried beneath the surface of this quiet life.

***

In the afternoon, Enrie asked me to help with the bookkeeping. “Just organize receipts, match them to the ledger, simple stuff,” he said.

But it wasn’t simple. It was instinctive. I sat at the table, and the numbers began to glow, revealing patterns, cash flow issues, seasonal dips, and waste. My hand moved swiftly across the paper, reorganizing entries, creating systems, building efficiency. Hours slipped away unnoticed. When I finally looked up, both Enrie and Avelin were standing in the doorway, watching me.

“Where did you learn corporate-level accounting?” Enrie asked carefully.

I stared at the restructured ledger, realizing I’d built profit and loss statements, identified cost savings, and created a system that could track their entire financial health. It felt natural, second nature. And that terrified me, because whoever I was before, the cold-eyed stranger on the news accepting awards, he’d been good at this. This was his language: numbers, strategy, efficiency. Building empires while people like that single mother begged for mercy.

I looked down at the ledger, my handwriting filling the margins with notes on how to optimize. My stomach clenched. I whispered softly, “I don’t want to be good at this.”

Enrie and Avelin exchanged glances. “Why not?” Avelin asked, genuinely confused.

“Because,” I struggled to find the words, “people who are good at this don’t end up bleeding in the mud. They cause others to bleed.”

Silence stretched between us before Enrie spoke, his voice gentle but firm. “Skills aren’t good or evil, Shen. It’s what you do with them that matters. You can use this talent to help us, or you can be ashamed of it. It’s your choice.”

I hesitated, feeling the weight of his words. “I don’t know,” I admitted softly. “I just… knew.”

Enrie’s jaw tightened. “Whoever you were before, you handled serious money. A lot of it.”

That statement pressed down on me like a stone. What kind of person had I become? 

Three days later, while hanging laundry with Avelin, I heard it before I saw it, a low rumble, the distant growl of an engine. An expensive car moving slowly down the quiet street, almost too deliberately. My hands froze on the wet sheet. Every muscle in my body tensed, my instincts screaming: Danger. Predator. Run.

I turned slowly, eyes narrowing through the fence slats. There, crawling past like a shark circling prey, was a black sedan with tinted windows and city plates. The same make and model as the cars that haunted my nightmares, circling, asking questions, offering money.

***

It drifted past us, slow and predatory, and I swear…I swear…it slowed when it passed our inn. The driver turned his head fractionally, just enough to look again. Watching and Memorizing. 

The sheet slipped from my grasp as the realization sank in: ”That’s them.” 

“Shen?” Avelin’s voice broke through my trance. “What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t move. Through the fence, I watched that car crawl past, the same ominous shape from my worst memories. It moved like a predator, and I could feel it, its gaze, its intent. 

The moment it disappeared around the corner, I knew…I knew…they knew I was here.

Every instinct urged me to run, hide, or fight. 

That night, I stood at the window for hours, watching. At two a.m., I saw it again, parked just beyond the last streetlight, engine off, headlights dark. Someone sat inside, phone screen faintly glowing, eyes fixed on our inn.

Feeling their gaze, I looked up. Even through the darkness and distance, I felt their stare lock onto mine. They didn’t leave. They just sat there, waiting.

That night’s nightmare was different. I was back in the van, but the voices were clearer, wet laughter, the scrape of blood on a blade, muffled voices on a phone speaker. Cold, businesslike, familiar in a way that made my skin crawl.

“Make it clean. I want it done before the board meeting.”

“What about his sister?” someone asked. 

The voice on the phone laughed, ice sliding down my spine. “I’ll comfort my wife, and then I’ll take what should have been mine from the beginning.”

The scene shifted. I was falling again, rain, wind, darkness rushing up to meet me. This time, I heard the voice distinctly as I fell.

“He won’t make it. No one survives that much blood loss. By morning, he’ll be dead.”

***

I woke screaming, fragments of the dream already slipping away like smoke. A name had been there, important, vital, but when I reached for it, it vanished into empty air.

Someone wanted me dead badly enough to make it personal.

I stumbled to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. The village below was dark and quiet, peaceful in a way that felt fragile. Then I saw it again, the black sedan, still parked at the village edge, but now a second car had pulled up beside it. Two cars. More men.

They weren’t just watching anymore. They were preparing.

And I had no idea who they were, why they wanted me dead, or what resources that stranger on TV, Leander Voss, might have had to fight back.

All I had was an assumed name, borrowed clothes, and an Omega who looked at me like I was worth saving.

It wouldn’t be enough.

A soft knock broke my focus. I spun around.

“Shen?” Avelin’s voice was gentle, tinged with concern. The door eased open, revealing him in sleep clothes, hair tousled, eyes worried. “I heard you scream. Another nightmare?”

I nodded, unable to trust my voice. My hands still trembled.

Avelin crossed the room without hesitation and placed his hand on my shoulder, warm and steady. “The same one?” he asked softly.

I turned to face him, studying those warm brown eyes, that gentle expression. In that moment, I realized something that tightened my chest, something I had known but never fully acknowledged.

I would die before I let them hurt him.

Even if I couldn’t remember my own name. Even if I didn’t know how to fight. Even if I was nobody.

I would protect him.

Worse, I whispered finally, answering his question. “It was worse. There was a name. Someone said it, but I can’t remember now. It felt important.”

Avelin’s hand moved to cup my face, gentle and grounding. His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, and I leaned into his touch, a man starving for comfort.

“It’s just a dream,” he said softly. “You’re safe here. I promise.”

I wanted to believe him…God, I wanted to believe. But outside the window, in the darkness beyond the village, two cars sat waiting. 

They weren’t just watching anymore. They were coming.