Eliana woke with a start.
Her chest heaved, the remnants of her dream clinging to her like mist on her skin. She sat upright in bed, pressing a trembling hand to her heart as the room slowly came into focus.
There had been a man.
Rough hands.
A dark scowl twisted in fury, his grip on her wrists unrelenting. Panic surged in her dream-self as she tried to wrench away, fear curling in her stomach like smoke. And then—a voice. Calm, protective, fierce.
"Let her go."
Another man had pulled her away.
She hadn't seen his face. Just strong arms, warmth, safety, and that voice—so familiar.
So unmistakably Damon's.
She sat still for several minutes, staring at the duvet pooled around her waist, her mind a whirlwind. Was the man who protected her in the dream really Damon? Or was her memory just splicing itself together out of desperation?
She didn't know.
And that terrified her more than the dream itself.
A soft knock drew her attention.
"Miss Eliana?" a maid's voice came through gently. "Breakfast is served downstairs."
Eliana cleared her throat. "I'll be down shortly."
She took her time dressing, choosing a soft lilac blouse and flowing black trousers. Her reflection in the mirror showed a calm composure, but it was only skin-deep. Inside, her thoughts were a storm.
When she entered the dining room, Damon was already seated at the head of the table. A morning paper lay in front of him, untouched, and a pot of coffee steamed beside a plate of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and fresh berries.
Their eyes met briefly as she stepped in. He rose out of habit, pulling her chair before she could reach it.
"Morning," he said, voice neutral.
"Morning," she echoed softly, avoiding his gaze.
The silence between them wasn't as cold as the day before, but it lingered like a fog, thick and uncertain.
She picked at her food in silence, memories of her dream looping through her mind.
Who was that man who tried to hurt her? What had happened?
And more hauntingly—why did Damon's voice in the dream feel like the only thing anchoring her?
But she didn't ask him.
Not today.
She glanced sideways at him. He looked tired. There were faint shadows under his eyes, and his shirt was only half-buttoned under his blazer like he'd dressed in a hurry.
Had he slept at all?
Damon suddenly cleared his throat, setting down his coffee cup. "Your parents will be flying in tomorrow."
Eliana blinked.
She looked up sharply, confusion flickering through her expression. "My parents?"
He nodded once, studying her reaction carefully.
"I thought…" she faltered, brow furrowed. "You said I didn't want anything to do with them."
"You did," Damon replied, his tone even. "Before the accident, you made it clear you didn't want contact. But things are different now."
She stared at him, stunned. "Why now? Why tell me this now?"
Damon's jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his gaze on hers. "Because you deserve answers. And maybe… a chance to understand what led you here."
"And you think they can give me that?"
"I think they can give you pieces of the puzzle I can't."
Eliana sat back slowly, trying to process the sudden wave of information. Her parents. The people she hadn't remembered, the ones she apparently cut ties with before the accident. What kind of person had she been before?
Did they even want to see her?
Were they angry?
Relieved?
Her mind spiraled with questions she didn't dare voice.
Damon took something from his pocket and slid it across the table.
A black credit card.
"If you feel like getting out today, go shopping. Buy what you like. Clear your head."
She stared at the card for a long moment, then looked up. "Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?"
He didn't answer right away. He stood slowly, gathering his jacket.
"I have work to attend to. I won't be home until late."
She watched him, searching his face for a hint of his thoughts. There was none.
"You're avoiding the question," she said quietly.
He paused at the doorway, his back still turned.
"I'm trying not to lose you."
With that, he walked out.
Eliana remained seated, her breath caught between disbelief and something that felt dangerously close to hope.
---
The rest of the day passed in a haze.
Eliana wandered the estate garden for hours, the credit card forgotten on her nightstand. She didn't feel like shopping. She didn't feel like pretending she was someone else today.
She ran her fingers across the delicate petals of a rose, wondering what her mother looked like. What kind of relationship they had. Why she had shut them out.
What had Damon meant when he said she deserved answers?
As the sun began to dip low in the sky, casting everything in hues of orange and gold, Eliana sat by the fountain in the center of the garden, the gentle splash of water soothing her racing thoughts.
She didn't know what tomorrow would bring.
But she felt it would change everything.
---
That evening, dinner was quieter.
Eliana sat alone at first, the long mahogany table stretching out before her like a corridor of solitude. The chandelier overhead bathed the room in warm light, bouncing off crystal and polished silver.
Damon entered ten minutes late. He looked even more tired than in the morning, but he said nothing as he took his seat.
She glanced up at him briefly, noting the slight slump in his shoulders, the faint crease in his brow.
"Long day?" she asked, surprising even herself.
Damon nodded, pouring himself a glass of water. "You could say that."
She pushed her food around on the plate, eyes flicking up to him again.
She wanted to ask about the dream.
She wanted to ask if he had ever protected her from someone. If he'd ever fought for her.
But she couldn't. Not yet.
So instead, she said, "Thank you."
Damon looked up, startled. "For what?"
"For telling me about my parents."
He didn't smile, but something in his eyes softened.
"You deserve to know where you come from. Even if it hurts."
Her throat tightened. "And what if I don't like what I find?"
"Then at least you'll have the truth."
They sat in silence again, but this time it wasn't uncomfortable. It was cautious. Fragile.
Eliana finished her food slowly and stood up.
"Goodnight, Damon."
He looked up, voice low. "Goodnight, Eliana."
She turned and walked out of the dining room, her bare feet soft against the marble floor.
As she climbed the staircase, her thoughts turned again to the dream. The faceless man who had pulled her free. The voice that had promised to protect her.
Was it Damon?
And if it was, had she been wrong about him all along?
She didn't know.
But something inside her told her the answers were getting closer.
And tomorrow, when she saw her parents—she would take one step closer to the truth.