Memories and Chemistry

Julian ran wildly. His tiny legs pumping through the shadowy forest as a fierce dog chased him, its growls echoing in the silence. He screamed for help, but the trees only returned his voice in a mocking echo. Terror gripped his heart, and he was getting weak and just then, a girl emerged from the darkness. She picked up a stone and hurled it at the beast. It yelped and fled.

Julian stopped, breathless, staring at the girl who had saved him. But her face was a blur.

He jolted awake, panting. Cold sweat clung to his brow.

It was a dream… but not like the usual ones. This one felt real. Not horror, but memory.

For days now, his nightmares had shifted. First, a stranger appeared in them. And today, the dream pattern changed completely, leaving him with something that felt like a fragment of the past. As he tried to remember it, his head pounded violently.

He pushed himself out of bed and walked downstairs to the fridge, grabbing a drink to calm the chaos in his mind. Tomorrow, he’d speak to Dr. Patel. Something wasn’t right. The change in the nightmare stirred something within him. 

As he downed the cold beer, they did little to settle him. Instead, the thoughts of his parents’ unsolved murder crept in, clinging like fog. He had waited enough. Rage boiled beneath his skin. With a guttural cry, he smashed the bottle in his hand, shards flying across the floor.

“You should all be ready,” he muttered through clenched teeth, voice cracking. “I’ll destroy every last one of you.”

And just like that, his expression shifted from rage into vulnerability. 

Tears slipped down his perfectly carved face, shattering the mask he always wore. He looked different from his usual self — He was broken and angry. 

I stood frozen behind a pillar on the balcony, my hand flying to my mouth.

What the hell? Julian Salvatore, the enigmatic CEO, was crying?

I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. I just needed water.

My own sleep had been shattered tonight by a strange dream. It was a first in what felt like a lifetime. I rarely dreamt. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t sleep at all. Ten years of insomnia had carved deep roots into my system. It started in Marcus’s lair. When sleep did come, lashes and beatings served as brutal wake-up calls. I fainted more times than I could count.

Over time, my body adapted. It learned to function without rest. I stopped expecting softness like dreams… or peace.

Since I came into the villa, I had a real sleep and tonight was different. I had a dream. It was dark and errifying but the details slipped away like sand through my fingers. When I tried to recall it, nausea churned in my gut. So I crept outside, praying the guards wouldn’t stop me, just to get a drink.

And that’s when I saw him.

Julian’s shoulders trembled slightly. Then, just like that, he pulled himself together. His face hardened, sealing away all signs of weakness.

I backed away quietly, not daring to make a sound. My heart pounded.

I knew there's more to be unveiled. More than whatever mission I came here for. 

__

The morning sun flowed peacefully through my window, wrapping the room in a calm that felt almost sacred. But inside me, a quiet storm brewed.

Last night left an imprint I couldn’t shake. Watching Julian, the Julian Salvatore crack before my eyes, stripped of his usual steel and ego... it did something to me. My chest had ached in a way I didn’t understand. What pain was he hiding from the world? And why did I care?

I didn't have answers, but I knew one thing: I had to find them. Even if it meant risking more than I was ready for.

With no urgent chores and Miss Yvonne still asleep, I decided to start my day with a simple coffee. For her. And for me. Maybe for him too. The kitchen was quiet, almost warm in the early light. I reached for the kettle, my hands moving on instinct, the way my mother once taught me. It's been years ago and I was little then but every detail remained unforgettable in my memory. The scent of fresh grounds filled the air, tugging memories out from places I’d locked away.

Back then, I brewed coffee for Marcus always perfectly. It was one of the few things that didn’t earn me punishment.

But this morning, as I stirred the pot, it wasn’t Marcus on my mind. It was Mia, my mom. 

---

Years ago…

“Mama!” I squealed, launching into her arms the moment I heard her call.

“Dante! Alexa! Come quickly!” she had said, joy bubbling in her voice. Her eyes sparkled with hope. I was just nine, barely understanding what sickness really meant, but I knew that sparkle had been gone for too long.

She sat me on the couch and gently stroked my hair. “Nathan Edelman, my boss has offered to pay for my treatment overseas. Can you believe it? We can finally leave all this behind.”

Her joy was contagious, but it died the moment she turned to Dante.

He stood by the window, unmoved.

“Dante…” she whispered, walking toward him, arms open.

His slap came so fast, so loud, it silenced the whole room. “You’ve been whoring yourself to him, haven’t you?” he roared, shoving her onto the bed. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

I screamed. I begged. But my cries didn’t matter.

His hands gripped her throat, and everything after that became a blur. I slightly remembered running into the woods, screaming for help no one could hear. Though my memories was tampered with after that night, the only thing I was sure of is that my mother didn’t die of leukemia.

---

I blinked back into the present, the kettle whistling in my hand. My head spun as I tried steadying myself. 

The pain came first, then the nausea. I barely registered the cup slipping from my hand before everything around me tilted and I collapsed right into something solid.

No… someone.

Strong arms caught me, firm and warm, grounding me. My breathing hitched as that familiar scent; sandalwood and something uniquely him wrapped around me.

“You okay?” came the deep, low voice.

It was Julian.

I slowly opened my eyes, and his was the first thing I saw. Cool, ocean-blue and for once, not cold. His brows were drawn in concern, a rare crack in his carefully built armor.

I bit my lip and stood back quickly, flustered. “I… I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to—”

“You should rest,” he cut in, voice back to its usual clipped tone. Still, his eyes lingered on mine longer than they should have.

He turned toward the counter, grabbing the kettle like nothing had happened.

“Sir, I can handle that,” I said quickly. “Miss Yvonne asked me to take over the kitchen duties.”

He didn’t reply.

I stepped forward, placing a hand lightly over his. Our skin brushed. It was brief but I felt it. That spark.

“I make really good coffee,” I smiled. “Just give me a chance.”

He studied me for a second, then slowly stepped aside.

As I worked, I could feel his eyes on me. Watching. Not like a boss inspecting a maid, but like a man trying to remember something long forgotten.

I poured the coffee and handed him a cup. He took a cautious sip. Then paused.

The reaction was small, just a shift in his expression but I caught it; familiarity, that same look on his face ever since I came and that's been how I felt. 

“This... tastes exactly how I like it,” he murmured, almost to himself.

I didn’t respond, just quietly sipped my own cup as I watched him from the corner of my eye, with a little smile. Probably for the first accolade I've ever received. 

But more noteworthy is the quiet and unspoken atmosphere between us. Like two memories brushing shoulders.

And for a moment, I wasn’t just a maid.

And he wasn’t just the CEO.

We were something else entirely.