Chapter 49
Morning crept through the heavy curtains of the mansion in the medical estate in a thin line of gold. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and orchids, the doctor’s ointments still clinging to her skin.
I hadn’t slept. I couldn’t. Not after the way her body had locked up in the hospital–that terrifying spasm when Asvika mentioned the ‘meeting.’ The doctors called it a ‘protective blackout’ a physical manifestation of her dissociative amnesia.
To me, it looked like I was losing her all over again.
Besides, Who knew what my uncle would do when I wasn’t watching? It’s not like he had let Ara go; she escaped.
She was curled against the pillow, her breathing steady. My mind flashed back to the time I barged into her room in the Versace mansion and she was asleep, except she was actively fighting demons in her sleep, now, she can’t even remember the demons.
It was strange seeing her like this. Peaceful. No glare, no sharp remark, none of the edges she wore like armour.
When the light touched the floorboards, she stirred. Her eyes snapped open, searching the room with a defensive flicker before they landed on me.
“You’re still here, “she said. Her voice was scratchy, but the pride was returning. She pulled the duvet higher, covering the faint bruising on her collarbone.
“I’m not going anywhere, Ara.” I said in a whisper.
“I can sit up on my own, Dominic. Stop hovering.” She pushed herself up, wincing as her ribs protested. I reached out to help, but she stiffened, her gaze frosting over. “I said I’ve got it.”
I guess the Versace who hugged me yesterday was gone.
"The doctors want you to move today," I said, stepping back to give her the space she was silently demanding. "Fresh air. The garden is private. No one can see you there."
That seemed to satisfy her—the idea of being hidden from the world's pity.
Why did I think that her partial memory loss would help her live a bit freely, even if it was for a month?
But that was the thing with this woman called Versace. The minute you think she's opening up, she drifts farther from your reach.
I’m being an ungrateful fool right now. I don't know what traumas she suffered in the hands of my uncle. I should be happy she's alive and even letting me stay by her side.
She walked out of the closet with disgust written all over her face. “This dress is triggering.” I stared at the yellow sundress that looked too cheerful for the ghosts haunting her eyes.
“Where’s my black turtleneck? Or my dark sweat co-ords?”
“More of your clothes will be brought today, just bear with this one.”
We stepped out into the estate's garden. She walked with a slight limp, her hand barely touching mine for balance. She wasn't holding my hand because she wanted to; she was doing it because she had to.
She paused by a row of white roses, her fingers hovering over a petal. “I…I don’t like flowers, but I can't remember why”
I felt my jaw tighten. "The doctor said not to push it, Ara."
"I don't like being told what my own brain can't handle," she snapped, turning to face me. The green fire was back in her eyes, but behind it was a terrifying void.
"You'll remember when you're ready," I said, my voice rough.
"Or maybe I'll stay like this," she whispered, her pride finally cracking for a split second. "A stranger in my own life."
She turned away from the roses, her shoulders squared, heading back toward the mansion. She was Versace again—closed off, independent, and radiating a silent fury at the world for making her forget.
But sometimes she was Ara, the girl who wasn't afraid to ask me to stay with her.
I followed her, guarding her shadow, knowing that every step she took toward the truth was a step toward another possible collapse. But as she reached the door, she paused, looking back at me with a look that wasn't trust, but a desperate, silent question.
"Dominic?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't let them in today. Any of them. I can't handle the way they look at me."
"Just us," I promised.
She nodded once, a sharp, regal movement, and disappeared back into the silk and shadows of her gilded cage. My phone buzzed.
Mrs Versace: Thank you for taking care of her. You’re the only one they fear. Sanaa and Asvika will drop some things this evening.
Could they come tomorrow instead, Versace doesn’t want any visitors today.
Is she okay?
She needs the space.
I locked the screen, walking towards the door to grab the room service.
She was curled up on the bed watching as the news played on the tv screen.
“I’m not hungry.” she voiced, not sparing me a glance as her attention fixed on the news.
“You need to eat, Ara.”
“I said I'm not hungry, Dominic.”
I grabbed the remote in frustration. Her eyes snapped to my direction and I leaned closer, our noses almost touching.
“Eyes on me when I'm speaking to you, Ara.” Her eyes widened, then narrowed.
I moved back to the chair, setting the plate of grilled salmon on my hand as I cut a piece and raised it to her. She looked flustered but didn’t question and took the salmon from the fork munching on it.
After a few bites, I turned on the tv again and she smirked and I chuckled. “Is this a game where I behave like a good kid and you let me watch tv?”
“You’re everything but a child, Ara.”
The smirk on her face died down. “Don’t you have work?”
“My second-in-command will hold the fort. I’m not leaving here without you.” She nodded in understanding, taking a bite and focusing on the tv.
I guess that meant the conversation was over.
Once she finished, I gathered the dishes.
The private chef had handled dinner; maybe tomorrow I’d step into the kitchen.
I looked down at the porcelain in my hands, a bitter smirk tugging at my mouth.
Dominic Moretti, the man who had painted half the coast red to get what he wanted, was playing nursemaid.
Was this what love did? Or was I a different breed of a fool?
My phone vibrated on the marble counter. 'Kashani’s Son' flashed on the screen. The sour taste in my mouth turned to pure acid. I picked it up, my voice dropping into that low, quiet register that usually preceded a funeral.
“Give me one reason not to block this number permanently.”
“How is she?” Aurelio’s voice was frantic, thin. “When can I see her?”
“You aren’t coming within a mile of this estate, Aurelio. Not today, not in this lifetime. Unless she asks for you—and we both know your name is currently buried in the graveyard of things she’s better off forgetting.”
A heavy crash echoed through the line. He’d thrown something. “She’s, my fiancée! I have the right—”
“Future fiancée,” I corrected, my tone sharpening like a blade. “And ‘rights’ are for men who can actually protect what’s theirs. Don't get ahead of your station, cousin. It’s a long drop.”
“This must be a goddamn thrill for you, Dominic,” he seethed, his breathing ragged. “Watching her cling to you while me and Zorian are ghosts in her head. You’re loving this power trip, aren’t you?”
I leaned against the counter, staring at my reflection in the darkened window.
“Oh, I’m more than thrilled. It would be a tragedy if she forgot the man who mobilized three syndicates to find her.
It would be an insult if she didn’t remember the one who pulled her out of the dirt, only to remember the coward who can't even grow the balls to look his own father in the eye.”
The silence on the other end was deafening. It was the silence of a man who knew he was a footnote in someone else’s empire.
“Make sure she doesn’t get hurt again,” he muttered, the words sounding like they were being dragged over broken glass.
“Honestly, Aurelio, your concern is a little late to be useful. The one time I decided to take my eyes off Versace—the one time I trusted you to be the shadow at her back—she gets snatched by your own blood. Your own father took her, and you did what? You watched? You waited for me to fix it?”
I gripped the phone tight enough to crack the casing.
“Instead of calling me to play family, you should sit in your room and think about how you let your old man turn her into a trophy. Because if I find out you had even a hint that he was moving on her... I won’t just take her memory of you. I’ll make sure there’s nothing left of you to remember.”
I stayed in the kitchen long after the line went dead, the silence of the mansion pressing in on me.
Kashani’s Son. The name was a stain. I stared at the phone as if I could see Aurelio’s cowardice through the screen.
He was right about one thing—I was glad she didn’t remember him.
I was glad her mind had wiped the slate clean of every man who had failed her, leaving only me.
I forced the tension out of my shoulders, scrubbing a hand over my face. I couldn’t bring the scent of blood and threats into her room.
When I pushed the heavy oak doors open, the suite was bathed in the dim, flickering blue light of the television mounted across from the bed. The volume was a low hum; a background noise she’d likely used to keep the silence from feeling too heavy.
She had fallen asleep propped against the pillows.
She looked smaller like this, her head tilted to the side, hair fanned out against the silk.
The pride that usually kept her spine straight and her gaze sharp had vanished in sleep.
She didn’t look like the untouchable Versace right now; she looked like the girl I had pulled out of the dark—fragile, haunted, and finally still.
I crossed the room, my footsteps silent on the heavy rugs. I picked up the remote from the nightstand and clicked the screen to black, plunging the room into the soft amber glow of the garden lamps filtering through the curtains.
I stood there for a long time, just watching her breathe. My mind was still reeling from the call, from the reminder that Zorian and Aurelio were circling like vultures, waiting for her to "wake up" so they could claim their stake in her life again.
"You're better off without them, Ara," I whispered to the shadows. "You're better off not knowing."
I reached down, my fingers ghosting over the hair spilled across her forehead. She stirred, a small, pained sound leaving her lips, and her eyes fluttered open. For a second, there was no pride, no independence, just the raw, instinctive recognition of the "anchor" her brain had clung to.
"Dominic?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
"I'm here," I said, sitting on the edge of the mattress beside her. "Go back to sleep."
She shifted, moving closer until her hand instinctively found mine. She didn't know I had just threatened her fiancé. “She only knew that in this big, empty house, I was the only thing that felt real.
"I had a dream," she whispered, her eyes closing again as she held onto my hand. "There was an abandoned factory.”
And someone was screaming. But every time I tried to see their face, it turned into… mine."
My heart stopped. The "time-bridge" was cracking. The trauma was trying to leak through the gaps.
"It was just a dream," I lied, my voice a rough rasp as I stroked her hair. "You're safe now. Just us. Remember?"
She didn't answer. She was already drifting back under, her grip on my hand loosening but not letting go, leaving me alone with the weight of the secrets I was keeping to "save" her.
She’d remember on her own soon, I will not risk another trigger.