Chapter 12

Ididn’t know what people meant when they said, “I’m so happy, I could die.”

Now I do. It’s like the universe has aligned everything in my life—my career, my family, and now, Alec. If someone pours a cup of coffee on my white shirt, steps on my toes, or even if the elevator never works ever again, none of that can make me any less happy.

Everything about last night has me blushing from head to toe. I never thought Alec was the type to go all caveman in bed, but now… Well, let’s say I’m more than happy to accommodate him. He’s too proper and polite and kind, and him going savage and turning into some foul-mouthed guy is … thrilling and exciting.

I feel like I chose well.

A man who’s not only gentle and caring outside the bedroom, but can also make me wet without even touching me.

Best of both worlds, I guess.

The warmth of morning sunlight dances on my skin, and no matter how tempting it is to stay in bed, I need to get up and make breakfast. My stomach commands me so.

With a soft sigh, I stretch my limbs. The smooth, cool fabric of Alec’s luxurious silk bed sheets glide against me, and all I wanna do is bury myself beneath the layers.

Damn. I need to buy something like this. My cotton sheets don’t feel as comfy.

With an internal groan, I finally rise from the bed, stealing a glance at the sleeping Greek god beside me. I reach out to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, extra cautious of my light touch to avoid disturbing his peaceful slumber.

He slightly stirs at the contact, but his breathing is still even and he continues to sleep.

Closing the door behind me with a soft click, I step right into his living room. When he said before that his place was a mess, he wasn’t kidding. This is my first time seeing everything in broad daylight. The last time I was here, it was night and I was too busy chatting with his brothers to notice other things.

My mother will have a conniption if she sees this whirlwind of clutter, mostly on the wooden table pushed against one wall.

Papers are strewn haphazardly across the floor, some even landing on his rolling chair. Post-it notes cling on almost every available surface—the walls, the edges of his desk, even the armrests.

Even his laptop sits open in the middle of the desk.

Fine. Alec is far from perfect. Then again, so am I.

I don’t bother reading the hastily scribbled notes, so I gather the papers and put everything on one side. That’s it. I won’t do anything else because he might not appreciate me going over his things on my first morning here.

After putting my hair up, I move to make breakfast when the glint of something catches my eye. Curiosity gets the better of me because I gently brush aside a few stray papers and carefully pick them up.

It’s a metal hair clip. Turning it over my palm, my heart begins to hammer.

A sudden wave of darkness washes over me, suffocating me, and a faint memory creeps its way into the perimeters of my mind.

A daisy hair clip.

Maybe it’s just the same.

But no.

The chip on one of the petals. The scruff marks on the metal.

No. It’s the same one.

MY daisy hair clip.

It takes a full minute for my shocked brain to crank back up, and when it does, my whole being kicks into full-on panic mode.

The fear starts as a distant whisper, and it grows louder and more insistent until the only sounds I can hear are the roaring of blood in my ears, my wildly beating heart, and fear echoing through my thoughts.

My breaths are quick and shallow, as if the very air refuses to fill my lungs. Images flash before my eyes, still-shots of my memory from the worst period of my childhood. I’ve spent my whole life burying them, forgetting. Now they claw their way to the surface with surprisingly relentless ferocity.

I focus on pushing them away and banishing them back to where they are supposed to be—back into the depths of my unconsciousness, back into the past where they belong.

But the memories continue to cling to me, refusing to be brushed off, forcing me to remember.

The world around me changes, fading into a hazy blur, replaced by scenes of my childhood.

A day at the beach with my parents and three siblings. Laughter. Playing. Me going to the bathroom, convincing my mom I can go alone. I’m a big girl. I don’t need her to stay outside while I pee. I can do it.

Strong, big hands wrapping around my mouth. Waking up on a dark, cold surface. Finding other eyes staring back at me. Hissing sound. Smoke filling the whole space.

Waking up again seeing the towering trees stretching to the sky, gentle rustle of leaves overhead, sunlight filtering in, smelling damp earth. Confusion mixing with fear when I realize I can’t move my hands and feet, tears blurring my vision when the ropes begin to rub my skin raw.

A boy.

A little older than me.

Standing outside my cell, his body shaking with fear, his face a mask of horror at seeing me.

The next day, he comes. Bringing me food and water. Waiting until I finish so he can take the wrappers and glass with him.

He comes again and again. Promises he’ll help me escape.

I don’t believe him.

But he does.

In the middle of the night, the key sliding in is too loud. He holds my hand as we run, up, up, up. Me slipping. No energy. He pulls me, tries to carry me but he can’t. He’s still just a boy after all.

“Can you fit yourself in this box?” he asks.

“I’m not sure.”

“You have to. It’s the only one available.”

Making myself smaller and stepping into the wooden box. I must have stayed there for hours or days. I don’t know. When it opens, a gruff man with white beard stares at me and says, “Run. Run as fast as you can. As far away as you can. They will come for you and no one can help you.”

I run. And run. And run. My heel bleeds and I run. My lungs burn and I run. I fall and scrape my knees and I run.

When my stomach starts feeling like there’s a hole the size of my head, I steal bread. And get caught. The bakery owner pushes me, wants to call the cops. The couple in matching white outfits are angry. Pays for everything.

“Where are your parents?”

“Help me please.”

“Honey, call the cops.”

“No! Please, no. I’ll leave. Don’t call the cops.”

“What happened to you, sweetheart?”

“Help me.”

“How? How can we help you?”

“Take me with you. Take me far away from here and drop me off. Just take me away please.”

The man calls someone. The woman lets me bathe in their massive hotel room. The man whispering. The woman crying and nodding.

“The men looking for you, are they family?”

“No! They hurt me. Take me with you, please. Just away from here. I’ll hide in the trunk of your car or your suitcase.”

Understanding passes between them. They ask me to tell them everything when I’m ready. The man calls his friends to find my family.

The woman cries and shows me a news clip of their accident. Everyone dead. Papa, Mama, Lily, Rose, and Jasmine.

I have no one. Then, I have them. Mom and Dad.

“Zara, baby. What’s wrong? Tell me. What’s going on?”

With me collapsing on the floor, clutching the clip to my chest, I raise my eyes to Alec, who sits on his haunches, his forehead furrowed, his hand on my shoulder.

The pain is all-consuming, as if my heart is torn away and all that’s left is an empty void that threatens to swallow me whole.

The happiness I felt now seems nothing but a distant echo of a different me. How can something so beautiful suddenly crumble in the space of a few minutes?

I want to scream at the unfairness of it all. Why, of all people, must it be him? It’s like the universe likes playing cruel pranks on me.

Alec rubs my back, and I flinch at the contact. He sees it. Of course, he does. He stops touching me and curls his hands into fists on his sides. “What is it, Zara?”

The words catch in my throat, but I force them out. “Why do you have this?”

My palm opens, and I see him slightly shift. His response comes in a hesitant, uncertain tone. “It’s from someone I met a long time ago.”

Tears blur my vision as a fresh sob racks my body.

Alec tentatively reaches for me again, but I slide back. “Zara, please. You’re scaring me. What have I done? Did I hurt you?”

I wipe my tears with the backs of my hands. “This was mine.”

“What?”

“I’m Daisy.”

Alec’s eyes widen in shock, his jaw hanging open in disbelief. For a moment, there’s nothing but tense silence between us. Then, I see the second he comprehends the magnitude of what I just said. His shoulders slump. “Daisy?”

“You’re the boy who saved me, right?”

He doesn’t answer, but his gaze drops to the floor. It’s like we’ve been thrust into an alternate reality, and I’m just watching these things happen to someone else.

My whole world shatters into a million pieces, the ground beneath my feet no longer solid. A nagging thought tickles my brain.

Alec felt familiar the first time I saw him. Is this why I was drawn to him? Because a part of me knew he saved me? Because we’re connected somehow?

“I-I can’t do this, Alec.”

He lifts his head to meet my gaze, his face a mask of horror and anguish, and I know I look pretty much the same. “What do you mean?”

“It took me years of therapy to get where I am today. To be happy. To smile again. To laugh. You … you’re going to remind me of that place. I can’t go back there, Alec. I can’t go back to that darkness.”

The naked pain in his expression forces me to look away. Alec doesn’t deserve what I’m doing to him, but I don’t want to return to that kind of mental space, either. Being with him will remind me of it every day.

Alec rises, unable to look at me. “I’m sorry, Zara. I promise you I didn’t know. I had no idea.”

“I know. I’ve always wanted to thank the boy who helped me, so thank you. That night, you risked your…” Another realization dawns on me—something more painful than the last. “Alec, tell me the truth. You didn’t have a scar when we met. Did I … did my escape cause that? Were you punished because you helped me?”

He doesn’t answer, but the look on his face says everything, and it’s like I’m stepping on shards of glass, slicing me with razor-sharp edges.

Alec rubs a hand over his chest, something I’m sure he doesn’t know he’s doing. “It doesn’t matter, Zara. It’s in the past.”

I stand up and grab his arm, forcing him to face me. “It does. You risked your life to save me. You got hurt because of it.”

“And I’d do it over and over again.”

“Who was he? I remember you were sneaking into the room. You weren’t a prisoner like me.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw, and he glares over my shoulder. “My uncle.”

Uncle. I don’t know what to feel anymore. It’s like one bomb after another. His uncle was the cause of it all? “W-where is he now?”

My stomach drops away at his next words. “We don’t know. We’ve been looking for him. So far, nothing.”

“You’ve been looking for him? Wasn’t he at that place where I was kept? Your home?”

His face hardens, eyes so cold that my insides freeze into a block of ice. “It was never my home. And as for your other question, we don’t have any idea where the chateau is. We might get answers there, sure.”

“How? How do you not know where it is? Haven’t you lived there for years?”

“He brought us there and took us out in blindfolds. We know it’s an isolated island. Other than that, we have almost zero information. Anyone who ever knew about it conveniently died. For all our snooping while there, none of us thought of figuring out where we were exactly.”

It’s too much. Everything feels too much—the shock, anger, pain. This isn’t what I signed up for.

“I’m sorry, Alec. I can’t do this. Not with you. Especially not with you. You saved me. God knows what would have happened if you didn’t. You got punished for it.” I take a deep breath, my hands trembling. “I feel like the worst person in the world for doing this to you, but I don’t want to remember that life anymore. Years after I escaped, I woke up screaming because of the nightmares. I … I can’t. I’m so sorry.”

The worst part in all of these is the look of understanding he gives me. I see a reflection of my own pain in his stormy eyes. He unintentionally reflects it back to me in a way that leaves me exposed and … vulnerable.

He doesn’t need to say the words. It’s there in the softness of his expression, the mask of icy rage he felt earlier at the mention of his uncle gone. He knows the chaos of emotions threatening to choke the life out of me, and he knows how hard I’m trying to keep myself together.

On wobbly legs, I back away from him and spin toward the door. When my fingers wrap around the cold metallic knob, I cast an apologetic glance over my shoulder and swallow past the lump in my throat. “Goodbye, Alec.”

“Goodbye, Zara.”

* * *

My hand tremblesas I dial Mom’s number. I can’t even get my breathing under control. My nose keeps running, and my heart feels like someone just punched it repeatedly.

Pain twists my insides, making me drop to the floor clutching my stomach. I want to throw up. I want to scream. I want to dig myself into a hole and never come out.

“Honey?” Mom’s voice sounds so far away, like I have cotton in my ears.

“Mom,” I choke out. That single word hangs in the air, and I know she can hear the raw emotion, the anguish, and the unbearable ache.

“Zara? Honey. What is it? Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? I’m booking a flight asap.”

I struggle for control and try to steady my breath. Mom will drop everything and be here if I ask her to, but I can’t do that. I need to process this all by myself. I need to go over everything I learned in therapy and apply it all over again. “No, no. I … I just need someone to talk to.”

“Okay, honey. I’m here. Talk to me.”

“It’s … it’s Alec. You know, my neighbor.”

“The hot one?”

Despite the heartbreak, this pulls a smile from me. “Yes, him.”

“What did he do to you? Do you need me to call the cops? Dad and I can be there in four hours at the latest.”

“No, Mom. That’s not … that’s not it. I-it’s him.”

“Him?”

“He’s the boy who saved me.” After the revelation leaves my lips, my sobs erupt in another ragged, gut-wrenching burst. Between gasping breaths, I try to speak, but the only thing I manage to get out are deep, shuddering sobs.

“Honey, are you sure?” Mom’s tone is low, and it’s as if she’s struggling to keep her emotions in check.

“Yes.”

“How did you find out?”

“I saw my old hair clip at his place, the one I left in that prison cell.”

Mom’s voice breaks, and that spears me more than anything. “We’re coming over, okay? You’re not alone, honey.”

“Mom, you said Dad has a conference.”

“I don’t care. He’ll want to be there for you too.”

“It’s fine, Mom. I need time to … to deal with my emotions alone first. I won’t do anything, I promise. I’ll just lie in bed and process everything.”

“Honey…”

“Please, Mom? I’ll let you know if I want you to come over. Knowing you’re there, one call away, is more than enough for me right now.”

“I love you, Zara. We love you. You know that, right?”

“I do. I love you too, Mom. You and Dad.”

The call ends, and I lie back on the floor, the carpet fibers rough against my skin. I don’t know where to go from here.