Chapter 3
Elle
I blink hard a few times, trying to see through the teardrops blurring my vision.
I need to ground myself, to breathe while taking in the little details.
So I breathe in the evening air, thick with salt and a bitter sweetness.
The hum of music from the reception plays softly, fading like a memory that doesn’t quite belong to me.
They’re playing a song I know the tune of, yet can’t quite place from where.
My hazy mind keeps returning to the masked man. The way he stood in the vineyard, still as a shadow. The way his touch burned into my body. It wasn’t rough or cruel, but steady, nearly anchoring. Holding me there as if he had already decided I wouldn’t leave.
I should have been afraid, but I hadn’t been.
Not until I saw the bodies. Three of them, barely buried in loose soil at the far back corner of the vineyard, away from any prying eyes, except mine.
Their dead eyes reminded me of a scene that strikes my mind but quickly keeps leaving me as soon as I try to remember it.
Clo’s at my side, her eyes gazing between me and the empty space where the masked man stood just moments ago. My breath comes out shaken. Had she seen…?
If she did, she gives no indication, her expression smooth. She smiles at me, so warm that it wrinkles her eyes. “Poor thing. Kaye meant well keeping you for the party, but you must be so tired.”
I breathe out, trying to keep my balance, trying to keep my grip on something I don’t have a name for. Clo moves with an effortless grace, each step precise.
I should be afraid after what I saw in the vineyard. After the man in the mask. After the way my body had stirred when he looked my way. When he chased me. When he held me.
But Clo’s hands are on my arm, bringing me back to the center of the reception, and bringing me out of my thoughts. Her hands give me a motherly warmth. Her smile, a presence too carefully cultivated to be questioned.
“Now no more running, dear girl,” Clo murmurs, her fingers tightening slightly. “The vineyard’s no place for that. So, darling thing, do slow down.”
The words settle over me like the brush of fingertips across my skin. Slow down. My breath hitches, then evens out. Slow down. The tension in my shoulders releases, the world softening at the edges.
Something about this moment feels familiar. Something warm. Something safe. Something that slows my heart rate, which was pulsing so fast that I thought it would crush against my heaving chest.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My thoughts are tangled, knotted with the events of the past while.
The vineyard. The tall trellis walls.
A thud. Crushed fruit.
A chase. Falling. Getting up.
Seeing lovers by the cliff.
Being caught, held, and dragged.
Bodies. Those bodies. Eyes grayed out. Empty.
Then his eyes, even hiding under all the shadows of his mask, I saw the color—a dark gray. They looked like swirling storm clouds overhead, warning of rain, so hard it would leave me drenched.
My pulse still pounds, only slower. My body still buzzes with the echo of those unseen eyes.
I don’t have the bravery to look back. But I blink a few times. Slow down. Clo’s words keep repeating in my mind like it’s music stuck in my head.
Clo brings us toward the back entrance into the mansion. Her words are louder in my head than the music and chatter around us. When I blink my eyes, it’s as if I’m seeing something new. We’re passing through the guests, parting for Clo’s presence.
I blink as the glimmers of wineglasses reflect the setting sun.
And I…don’t remember much now…except the feeling of being watched.
But I can’t remember all the details. They’re becoming foggy, cloudy with each passing second.
Storm clouds. Gray eyes. Dark, cold, and calculating. Whose eyes do they belong to?
Clo’s arm loops through mine, her touch light and guiding. It’s a gentle motion halting my thoughts. I blink once more as I look at her, the details dwindling with the wind. What was I even thinking about just now?
My mind must not be doing well…after what I’ve been through. Whatever it may have been. But the feeling in my gut is all I have to remind me that it wasn’t good.
It doesn’t matter. I’m safe now. Clo’s by my side. She’s been so nurturing to me, not just today, but everyday since she’s hired me as her live-in stylist. That, I clearly remember, as though it’s been told to me so many times that it’s as factual as time passing.
So I don’t worry over the details I don’t remember. Whenever I do, I get a splitting headache anyway. Just like now. So I forget it, let it go with the passing wind. Instead, I pay attention to my surroundings. Mundane details, they ground me.
The warmth of the wedding reception fades behind us, the music distant, blurred by the quiet hum of the evening air. The night stretches ahead, the gentle glow of light lining the stone pathway toward the mansion.
I don’t remember how many times I’ve walked this path. I know I’ve been here before. Of course, I have. I work for Clo. I’ve always worked for her…haven’t I?
A small frown tugs at my lips, but it smooths away when Clo squeezes my arm ever so slightly, drawing me back.
“Darling girl,” she says, the words brushing over me like silk. “You must be exhausted.”
I exhale, and only then do I realize how heavy my limbs feel, how my body sways slightly in her grip. “I guess so,” I say softly. “I’m…exhausted.”
Clo hums in agreement. “But you’ve done wonderfully as always.”
Her praise settles over me like a warm blanket, and I don’t question it. But then, suddenly, my body remembers. The lingering press of his gloves against my lips. The iron grip around my waist. The feeling of being trapped and held. Consumed and comforted. Comforted…?
I shake my head as another shiver runs down my spine. Clo’s fingers tighten around my arm, gentle but firm, and the memories fade at the blink of an eye. All gone in an instant.
Her presence is steady, smoothing over the jagged edges of my mind.
There’s nothing to fear now. Not when she’s here.
She’s always protected me, I’m sure. She’s taken me in when I had no one, nowhere, no memories.
Nothing. The only things I know are from her.
And I’m so thankful that I remember some of my past and prospects. All thanks to Clo.
I hold on to her tightly, showing her my silent thanks. She pats my hand, smiling as she leads us closer to home.
Home. I hesitate for half a second. Is that what this is? My home as well? Not just Clo’s or the Song-Smiths’, but mine too…? Before the thought can fully form, Clo guides me inside, and the scent of roses and a faint, familiar sweetness fills my lungs.
The air is warm and inviting. The walls gleam under the glow of a chandelier, the polished marble floors reflecting our steps. Everything about this place should be intimidating, with its endless corridors, but it isn’t. Because I belong here. I always have. Haven’t I…?
Clo’s voice is soothing as she leads me through the halls. “I had the maids prepare your room exactly the way you like it, with fresh flowers and that warm lighting you prefer.”
I nod, even though I don’t quite remember making such requests. But Clo knows what’s best for me. She always seems to.
We reach a familiar door, and as Clo pushes it open, a wave of warmth washes over me.
I step in and take in the space. A large, velvety red bed.
A small bedside table. A vase of small flowers on top.
A dresser. Not much else, aside from the sheer, white curtains fluttering from the open window.
This space is my room. Everything is just as it should be. Like Clo said.
I step inside, breathing in the faint traces of a floral perfume lingering in the air. The plush bed looks welcoming for my worn-out bones.
Clo brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, her smile approving. “Get some rest, Elle. And don’t forget, the day’s ended, so whatever can wait, let it wait. Slow down, you dear thing.”
I meet her gaze, gratitude swelling in my chest. “Thank you, Clo.”
She lingers for a moment, watching me. One of the staff goes to her, handing her something. Then Clo steps further inside, setting a delicate porcelain cup on the nightstand. Steam curls from its surface, carrying the fragrance of honeyed flowery tea.
I wrap my fingers around the warm cup, the heat sinking into my palms.
The first sip is smooth and sweet, the golden liquid coating my throat, soothing me in a way I can’t explain.
Slow down. Those were Clo’s calming words.
They sink into my mind deeper, making me breathe more evenly.
The fading memory of the vineyard flickers at the edges of my mind—the feel of a suffocating grip, the breathless fear, the way my heart fluttered.
But as I take another sip, the thought drifts further away, unraveling like a half-remembered dream, like the rest of my life has been.
I am safe. Here, under Clo’s watch, I have nothing to fear. She places a pillow under my ankle. My shoulders ease, my mind softening. This is where I belong. This is home.
I set the empty cup down, stretching as I settle onto the bed. The sheets are silken, the pillows soft. My body sinks into the comfort, but my mind lingers, drifting through shadows of memories that never quite take shape. They should worry me. They don’t.
I close my eyes, breathing in the faint scent of roses, of tea, of warmth. My thoughts slow. My body relaxes.
A featherlight trail of fingers on my skin, I feel it, but I don’t know who they belong to. Fabric shifts around me. My skin feels cooler, as though they’re bare now, but then I’m warmer, feeling cotton softness, too loose for my liking. Yet I feel safe, held in some unseen way.
Sleep takes me, as the sensation lingers, an unspoken touch I can’t quite place.
***