CHAPTER THIRTY
OLIVIA
I awoke to the scent of jasmine and myrrh, an intoxicating blend that seemed to swirl around me like a protective shroud. My head swam as I tried to lift it from the plush silk pillows, each embroidered with golden threads that shimmered in the soft morning light filtering through the lattice windows.
Tapestries of vibrant hues adorned the walls, depicting scenes of hunting and feasting, while the floor was covered with rugs so thick I knew my feet would sink into them like warm sand.
The canopy bed I lay in was a masterpiece of carved wood, swathed in diaphanous curtains that rippled gently in the breeze. Everything around me exuded excess and luxury—from the intricate inlays on the furniture to the ceiling painted with celestial motifs, gazing down like silent, watchful gods.
I struggled to sit up; every movement was sluggish, like wading through water. The door creaked open, breaking the stillness, and she entered—Zara.
Her face was seared into my memory, etched amidst flames and chaos. She was the enigmatic being who had swooped in to save me when my mother sought my destruction. Zara’s presence carried an unshakable calm, her hands steady, her sapphire eyes shimmered with an empathy that seemed to transcend time. She moved with an elegant fluidity, her steps deliberate and imbued with a quiet power.
Her attire—a blend of deep blues and purples that flowed like water—only heightened her aura of mystique, hinting at the shadows she navigated and the timeless journey she carried within her. Her golden hair cascaded like liquid silk, catching the light in an almost otherworldly way, framing her delicate features with an ethereal glow.
“You’re the woman who saved me,” I rasped, my voice cracking under gratitude and bewilderment. “From the fire, my mother set to force me to talk.”
“I am indeed,” Zara replied, her voice a soothing melody. “I transported you away from the burning building. And I made sure Reyna and Rosie were guided to safety.”
“Oh, thank God,” I murmured, taking a long breath.
“Be still, child,” she said, pressing a cool hand to my forehead. Her touch was a gentle breeze, calming the confusion swirling in my mind.
“You are safe here.”
“Safe?” The word felt foreign on my tongue, muffled by the lingering fog in my mind. How could I be safe when the last thing I remembered was the bite of steel and the certainty of death? “Is that a joke?”
“I do not jest. Your ordeal was but a charade,” she said, offering me a cup filled with a liquid that smelled faintly of mint. “The blade that cut you—it carried no poison, only a sedative to dull your senses.”
Confusion tightened its grip on me, and I pushed the cup away, desperate for clarity. “I don’t understand. Are you telling me that every test my husband and I endured was all for show? Part of some twisted game?”
“In a sense, yes, but for reasons you will come to understand,” she said, smoothing the bedding covering me with delicate precision.
“Who are you?” I asked.
She offered a small, knowing smile, her gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that seemed to pierce through my soul. “My name is Zara.”
Her voice, soft yet firm, carried the weight of centuries, each word a testament to her enduring vigilance.
“I know,” I said, my breath hitching as memories of my mother’s venomous accusations resurfaced. “My mother said your name. But who are you? What are you? Where do you come from?” The words tumbled from my lips like water breaking through a dam.
Zara’s eyes—dark pools of unfathomable depth—held mine with a steadiness that anchored me amidst the chaos of my thoughts.
“All your questions will be answered in due time,” she said, her tone as gentle as the silk drapes lining the latticed windows.
My voice trembled as I asked, “Where is my precious child, Luna? And where is Rosie? I need to see them.”
Zara’s expression softened. “They are safe, my dear. In the nursery, surrounded by new toys for Rosie and a team of devoted nannies for Luna. You will be reunited with them soon, I promise.”
With her tall frame and commanding presence, Zara embodied the essence of both a guardian and a warrior.
My heart ached to hold my children in my arms again.
“Please,” I said, “I must see them now. I miss them more than words can express.”
Zara smiled kindly, though there was a firmness in her gaze. “My dear, you need to rest and regain your strength. Trust me when I say you will see them soon enough. For now, take comfort in knowing they are safe, as are you and Roman.”
I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea that everything we had experienced was just a facade. My stomach felt sick with confusion and betrayal.
Zara touched my shoulder, her hand warm and grounding. “I understand your confusion, dear. But it was all part of Pasha Hassan’s plan. He wanted the final challenge to be against his son.”
A chill shot through my body, leaving me frozen in place.
“Could you repeat that?” I asked, trying to make sense of her words.
Zara’s piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, their unfathomable depths stirring something deep within me. “Pasha Hassan insisted on the final challenge being with his son.”
“His… son?” The word caught in my throat, heavy and jagged, its weight sinking in slowly. It wove a tangled web of implications that I struggled to unravel. “What exactly are you getting at?”
“It’s the truth,” Zara said evenly. “Pasha Hassan is Roman Alexander’s father.
“Every trial set before you, every challenge, was meant to shape you both for what lies ahead,” he said, his voice unwavering. “Each one was drawn from your memories, shaping the path forward.”
My heart hammered against my ribcage, the word “flabbergasted” barely scraping the surface of the storm raging within. How had the world tilted drastically on its axis while I remained oblivious?
“Who are you?” The plea tumbled from my lips, raw and edged with a burgeoning fear of the unknown.
“I am bound to protect you,” Zara declared, her unwavering commitment resonating in every word she uttered. “For as long as breath fills my lungs, that vow shall never waver.”
“But you are the darkness,” I stammered. Images of our recent encounters flashed through my mind, her dark powers protecting and somehow transporting me to safety. “I saw with my eyes how you took me from one dangerous situation and brought me to safety.”
Zara’s expression hardened like a storm cloud gathering before a thunderous strike.
“Most darknesses have been poisoned and twisted by those who fear their power,” she said in a low, ominous tone. “But Malik and I are different. He has been under my tutelage. He was taught to use his darkness for good, to fight for the right side.”
Her words sent chills down my spine. The idea that not all darkness was inherently evil was foreign to me, yet Zara made it sound possible—convincing, even.
“Remember this, Olivia,” she continued, her gaze unwavering, her voice like a blade carving truth into the silence. “Not all darknesses are born evil. Many are made evil by those who seek to control them.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, the memory of flames licking at my flesh and her timely intervention merging into one. “For rescuing me and my baby from the fire... and for ensuring that Rosie and Reyna made it out too.”
“Think nothing of it,” Zara said, her expression softening briefly. “It was both my honor and my duty. We stand on the precipice of something great. You’re safe, Olivia—for now.”
Her assurance should have brought comfort, yet it left me with a fresh tide of unease. “Explain,” I pressed. “Please, I need to understand. Everyone keeps holding onto these secrets, and I’m so tired of being left in the dark.”
But Zara’s lips sealed shut like the tomb of a long-forgotten sultan, her expression an impenetrable mask.
“Some truths,” she whispered, a note of finality threading through her words, “are for another time.”
Impatience clawed at my insides. “So, you won’t tell me anything?
“I promise you, Olivia, everything will be revealed to you soon. Just stay patient for a little bit longer,” Zara said, her enigmatic smile shielding her mysteries.
“I want to see my husband,” I said.
“I will go and get him,” she replied, her voice calm, before exiting the room with a rustle of her simple yet elegant garments.
I rose from the majestic bed, my legs still unsteady. My mind raced with confusion in the grand, lavish room. Zara’s cryptic words echoed as I tried to understand it all. Roman and I had been under constant threat, yet now she claimed we were safe? My body still trembled from the fear and trauma of being captured by Pasha Hassan and his army. Could there be a new definition of safety that I was discovering?
I paced the opulent chamber, which felt more like a sultan’s palace than a mere bedroom. My feet sank into thick, ornate carpets that muffled my restless steps.
The light spilling into the room captured my attention, drawing me toward its source. I couldn’t fathom where it came from in a space seemingly shielded from the sun in this underground palace. Yet, the room was bathed in a warm, golden glow, casting everything in a hazy, ethereal illumination. I walked toward the light’s source—a diffuse, glowing orb near the ceiling. It floated effortlessly, suspended in midair, radiating light and warmth. Shadows danced on the walls, alive with movement. I reached out to touch it, but my hand passed right through as if it were made of mist.
I glanced around, searching for any other light source, but there was none. There was only the orb, filling the darkness with its gentle, comforting, and strange glow. Pulling my hand back, I saw the fine attire adorning my body. The caftan I wore was a masterpiece of crimson velvet trimmed with intricate gold embroidery. Its hem was embellished with delicate pearls that whispered of wealth and status. The sleeves billowed gracefully, edged with threads of silver, while a sash cinched at my waist, studded with jewels that caught the light like stars. This was the garb of a noblewoman of the Ottoman Empire, far removed from anything I had ever owned or imagined wearing.
I turned toward the full-length, ornamental mirror standing against the wall. The woman reflected at me, draped in elegance, her posture regal. But it was her eyes—my eyes—that betrayed her. They were not the eyes of nobility but of a woman hungry for answers, yearning to piece together the fractured reality around her.
The hardwood floor vibrated under the weight of approaching footsteps, growing louder as they neared my bedroom door. Excitement rippled through me at the thought of Roman’s imminent arrival. My heart thrummed with a heady blend of love, anticipation, and an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. The journey we’d embarked on together had transformed me and tempered me like steel forged in adversity. I hardly recognized the girl I once was in the reflection of this foreign world.
The mosaic of my experiences, each a piece of colored glass, had assembled into a vibrant picture of the person I had become—a warrior, a lover, a mother, a seeker of truths. Standing on the precipice of revelation, I ached to share this new self with Roman—to see his reaction reflected in those deep eyes that promised solace and adventure.
The heavy carved door swung inward, and Roman stepped across the threshold. My breath hitched at the sight of him. His caftan fell in rich, cascading folds, the deep azure fabric embroidered with gold thread that shimmered like rivulets of sunlight. A sash encircled his waist, its intricate brocade speaking of wealth and power, while his boots, turned up at the toes, gleamed with a polish that rivaled the ornate silverwork on his belt.
His clean-shaven face revealed the strong jawline I had traced many times with my fingers. His normally unruly hair was brushed back neatly, framing his striking features. It wasn’t just the clothes that made him seem princely—there was an aura about him, a commanding presence that filled the room as though he had always belonged to this world of splendor.
Without hesitation, I ran across the plush carpet, my heart galloping. With a few strides, I was in his arms, throwing decorum to the wind as I pressed my lips to his in a kiss that sang of desperation and relief. It felt like the end of the world and the beginning of everything, all at once.
Roman cupped my face with his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Oh, my love… I thought I lost you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You were so pale… You weren’t breathing, Olivia.”
The weight of those words bore down on me, yet they lifted a burden I hadn’t known I carried.
“The thought of losing you darkened my world,” he said, “but your presence now paints my days in the colors of dawn. I love you more profoundly with each sunrise.”
Our eyes locked, and I felt the universe still for a moment.
“In every life,” I whispered, “in every version of reality, it’s you—my constant, my certainty. You are the dream from which I never wish to awaken.”
His smile then was worth every trial we’d ever faced, every question still unanswered. It was the silent echo of my soul recognizing its counterpart in another.
Our bodies collided with a force fueled by an insatiable hunger for each other; each kiss was a fierce proclamation of our unbreakable bond and the wars we had waged to preserve it. My skin prickled and tingled under the scorching heat of his touch, igniting an inferno along my body as he traced a searing path down my spine through the delicate layers of my Ottoman attire. Every caress felt like a powerful thread binding our souls together, pulling us closer until there was no space between us.
“Olivia,” Roman growled against my lips, his breath hot and irresistible like a raging wildfire consuming us both. “You will not believe what happened at the last trial. Pasha Hassan confessed to me that he is my father.”
“I know. A woman named Zara told me.” I tried to focus on the gravity of his confession, but it was like trying to grasp smoke. My senses were overwhelmed by his scent, the strength in his arms, and the taste of his kiss. My fingers danced up into his hair.
“The blades were never poisoned. It was a sedative,” he said, voice husky as if each word was a struggle against the tidal wave of desire that threatened to sweep us away.
“A sedative,” I breathed, utterly focused on him. “Zara told me. And I’m not dead, so I believe her.” I tried to smile, my lips trembling as his gaze held mine with a tenderness that deepened the fire between us.
“ So not dead,” Roman murmured, his hands trailing up and down my back.
I could barely nod, let alone form coherent thoughts. Our connection was electric, consuming—every brush of skin against skin amplified by the revelations and mysteries enveloping us. We moved together, and words fell away. Only the language of touch and longing remained.
I gasped when his lips trailed from my mouth to the sensitive hollow of my neck. My hands roamed over the embroidered velvet of his waistcoat, feeling the solid strength of his chest beneath, the power of the man who had fought for us—for this moment of unguarded passion.
“Olivia, my love,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. The intensity in his gaze mirrored the fervor of our embrace. “We are entwined, you and I, beyond bloodlines and battles. In this life, and all others.”
With a groan that vibrated through my very being, he captured my lips once more, his kiss a promise, a plea, a surrender. As we clung to each other, the world outside our cocoon of ardor ceased to exist. There was only Roman, only this moment, only the undeniable truth that whatever came next, we would face it together, hearts ablaze.
The sudden creak of the door sliced through the haze of our desire. A male servant entered, his eyes darting away as though the sight of our entwined bodies was too much to bear.
“I do apologize,” he stammered, a deep blush creeping up his neck, “but Pasha Hassan is awaiting you in his study.”
He retreated quickly, closing the ornately carved door with a soft snick.
I pushed away from Roman, trying to steady my breath and thoughts. The urgency in the servant’s voice reminded me that there were matters beyond the walls of this opulent prison of passion.
“This is your moment,” I said to Roman, clasping his hand in mine, feeling the calluses of many battles. “You’ve been waiting to learn about your father and who he is. Now, this is your chance to ask and learn everything about him. Hear your father’s story before awakening the blades.”
Roman’s jaw tensed, and his eyes clouded with a fear I had seldom seen.
“I’m scared, my love,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Why?” I asked, squeezing his hand tightly. “You’ve always wanted to know your father and your origins. This man is part of your creation.”
The room thrummed with electric tension, the air crackling as though it could barely contain the moment’s weight.
“I’m afraid of the truth,” he said. “This man...He is powerful beyond measure. You should have seen him in the final battle against me. He was like a madman, consumed by a berserker rage that defied all logic. But it’s not just darkness that drives him... there’s something more to him, something mysterious and enigmatic.”
I stepped closer, my voice steady yet filled with an urgent plea. “This is your moment, Roman. Ask him every question that haunts your mind. The truths he reveals may tear you apart, but you have to face them. Prepare yourself for raw reality, for brutal honesty. This is your moment, and I will stand by you through it all.”
Roman stilled, his gaze distant, as though staring into the abyss of his thoughts. “I’m so tired of being trapped in this cycle of our parents’ secrets and lies. Every revelation shatters what little sense of normalcy we’ve managed to hold onto. What if he had killed me?” His voice cracked, a rare vulnerability breaking through his resolute exterior. “He would have had to live with the knowledge of murdering his flesh and blood. And what if I hadn’t won? Or worse…” He shuddered, his words catching in his throat. “What if I had slid my gladius across his throat and watched his lifeblood gurgle from his neck?”
I placed my hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “We’ll never know the answer to that, thank God. Perhaps he would have declared victory before plunging his blade into your heart. But Roman, your father didn’t end your life. He challenged you, yes, but perhaps… just perhaps, he cares for you more than he dares to show. Maybe he wants to share his true story and finally give you the answers you deserve.”
Roman’s laugh was bitter, his lips curling in disbelief. “Deeply cared for me? You realize how ludicrous that sounds, don’t you, my love?” His voice blended anger, sorrow, and a flicker of something softer—dangerously close to hope.
I shrugged, forcing a faint smile. “Just trying to find something positive in this madness.”
“I wish I shared your optimism.” Roman’s voice softened as he brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, his touch both tender and grounding. “When he revealed who he was to me… seconds before I could have killed him…”
I could only imagine the storm of emotions Roman must have felt—shock and disbelief. It mirrored my own when I had first seen my long-lost mother, a ghost from the past resurrected before my very eyes. The surrealism of these revelations was almost too much to bear, yet here we stood, bracing ourselves for whatever came next.
“And Malik…” Roman said, his eyes haunted. “I feel so betrayed by Malik. He watched the fight like it meant nothing. He calls me his brother, yet he sat there, impassive, while I fought for my life, imagining that you were dying. He hid behind that mask, watching. I feel like we’re all pawns in some twisted game.”
“We are pawns,” I admitted softly, “but we also don’t know the whole story with Malik. He swore to protect us, Roman. Maybe he’s just following orders and playing a role we don’t yet understand. We need to hear the truth, all of it. I’m just playing devil’s advocate here. The first step is you discovering who your father is.”
Roman exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. His arms encircled me, pulling me close, his kiss silencing any lingering doubts.
“My heart beats for you,” he whispered against my lips, his words threading through the fabric of my soul. “You and only you.”
“Roman,” I gasped, caught in the whirlwind of his love and longing, “if we don’t leave right now, I’m going to...”
His eyes darkened, and a wicked grin played across his lips. “I’m going to strip you and ravage you until you’re screaming my name.”
A shiver ran down my spine, desire threatening to consume me. But with great effort, I stepped back, forcing my breathing to steady. “As much as I want that, we can’t. Not right now. Your father has summoned us, and we need answers. Our desires can wait.”
My voice trembled with the effort it took to resist him. We had to focus. The answers we sought were just beyond the threshold, waiting within the shadows of Pasha Hassan’s study.
Hand in hand, Roman and I stepped across the threshold into Pasha Hassan’s office. The room was a cavern of secrets, lined with shelves groaning under the weight of countless tomes, their spines as ancient and inscrutable as the man we sought. Dust motes danced like specters in the stray beams of sunlight piercing the heavy drapery.
Pasha Hassan stood with his back to us, his hair unbound and falling loosely around his shoulders. He was clad not in the opulent robes I had come to associate with his station, but in a plain, flowing shirt that hinted at the muscle beneath, tucked into loose trousers cinched at the waist. His feet were bare upon the rich carpets. Even dressed so simply, he exuded an authority that transcended mere clothing. His gaze was fixed on a painting across the room, his focus intense, as if the image held some secret only he could understand.
Pasha Hassan turned, and I caught my breath at the stark humanity in his dark eyes.
“I want you to know one thing, my son… if I may call you my son…” he began, his voice low but steady. “I understand you’re angry. I was acting on orders.”
“Why did you deceive us?” Roman demanded, desperation and betrayal lacing his tone.
“Because if I had revealed my true identity from the beginning, you would have turned away from me,” Pasha Hassan said simply. “I needed you to learn and trust me before knowing the truth.”
“Trust you?” Roman snapped, his voice rising. “You manipulated and endangered my wife and me, took our children, and put us through unimaginable trials. And above all things, you’re a Timehunter.”
Pasha Hassan’s expression remained stoic, yet there was a faint flicker of something deeper in his eyes as he replied, “My son, I am many things—a teacher, a grandfather, a darkness. But most importantly, I am a father who would do anything to protect his children.”
“Protect us?” Roman scoffed. “You speak of love as if it were foreign to you. You never once showed up in my life or Marcellious’.”
A pang of hurt cut through his words.
Pasha Hassan inclined his head. “I will tell you everything. All answers.”
The door creaked open before another word could be spoken, and Malik entered. His presence was like a jolt to the room, his eyes flickering with regret and something else—shame, perhaps. Without hesitation, I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around him, the confusion he represented momentarily eclipsed by my instinct to comfort. Roman stayed back, his expression unreadable, the weight of his emotions etched into every tense line of his posture.
“I apologize for subjecting you to such torment,” Malik said, his expression etched with pain. “You have every right to be furious with me, to despise me. But please know that I was merely following orders. I knew our path, the people we would meet, and the fate that awaited you and Olivia. I knew everything—the grueling examinations, the harrowing challenges, and even the revelation that Pasha Hassan was your father, Roman.”
A heavy sorrow emanated from Malik’s every word, deep remorse for all that had transpired. The weight of his confession hung in the air, heavy and oppressive.
The betrayal stung, but Roman stepped forward, his voice steady and resolute.
“I want to know the whole truth from you, Malik—once Pasha Hassan finishes. I’m done with the secrecy, the lies, and the betrayal from those I trusted the most.”
Malik held his gaze, his voice unwavering. “I promise, Roman. You will hear everything.”
Pasha Hassan interjected, his tone calm yet commanding. “Let us settle this now. Sit, and I will tell you everything.” He gestured toward the ornate seating area, his expression unreadable.
Roman’s voice boomed with authority as he stood beside me. “We demand the truth. No more lies, no more secrets. We need to know everything—no matter how painful.”
His piercing gaze bore into Pasha Hassan, an unspoken challenge laced with the weight of years of confusion and hurt.
“Only the truth, my son,” Pasha Hassan assured as he motioned once more for us to sit and begin unraveling the tapestry of deception that had ensnared us all.
I couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say.