I was now walking the strange streets of New York.

The city pulsed around me—horns honking, people laughing, lights flickering across storefronts—but I felt completely out of place, like I didn’t belong to this rhythm. The world moved forward, endlessly fast, while I stood still. Frozen.

Tears blurred my vision, and I didn’t bother wiping them away anymore. It had been three hours since I left the restaurant. Since I left him.

Lorenzo had just stood there.

When I confronted him—when I asked about the accident, about the memories I didn’t have but everyone else seemed to carry—he looked at me with such sadness in his eyes. Like he knew something I didn’t. Like he had been holding it in for too long.

But he didn’t speak.

Not a single word.

Just silence.

And that silence shattered me more than any lie could.

So I walked away. Past the flickering chandelier of that restaurant. Past Isobella’s smirking face through the window, as if she had finally won a battle I didn’t even know I was a part of.

And now… now I was here. Somewhere by the riverside.

The cool air curled around me as I leaned against the stone railing. The river in front of me glistened with reflections of the pinkish and bluish clouds above, the evening sky casting a soft, almost dreamlike glow over the water. But there was nothing dreamy about this moment.

I wept.

Silently.

Not the dramatic sobs you see in films. Just quiet tears sliding down my cheeks like they’d been waiting to fall for years. Maybe they had.

My mind kept drifting back—snippets of confusion swirling like fog. My family. My past. The things I was never told.

My parents weren’t just in a car crash.

That much was clear now.

It was something more. Something darker. Something Lorenzo and others knew about but never told me.

The scars on my back began to itch, a dull burning that only came when memories stirred too close to the surface. My body remembered what my mind had forgotten.

A gust of wind passed, tugging at my scarf.

And then—out of nowhere—a motorbike sped past me, its tires screeching briefly before it zoomed away into the distance.

Something fluttered to the ground.

A piece of paper.

I stared at it. It lay there on the pavement beside me like a ghost waiting to be acknowledged. Something about it felt wrong. Like a warning. Or a truth.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t want to know what it held.

But then—

“Adira!”

My breath caught.

Only one person calls me that. Drops the H every single time because of his soft Italian accent.

Adira.

I turned slowly.

And there he was.

Lorenzo. Running toward me. His coat flying behind him, hair slightly disheveled, eyes frantic—like he’d searched all of Manhattan just to find me.

Before I could react, I was in his arms.

He pulled me close—tight—as if he was scared I’d disappear if he let go. His face buried in my neck, his warmth swallowing my trembling body.

“Finally,” he whispered, voice breaking, “I found you.”

He kept murmuring it again and again, like a prayer he’d been chanting in his mind.

And then he pulled back just enough to cup my face.

His thumb gently brushed away the tear from my cheek, and then he kissed my forehead—tender, aching, like he was trying to press every ounce of guilt into that touch.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have hidden things from you. I should’ve told you everything. Please… please forgive me.”

My heart pounded in my chest.

So many questions.

So much pain.

But in that moment, wrapped in his arms, I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think.

I just stared at him.

Because for the first time in years, I wasn’t sure who I was.

But somehow, I knew he did.

“Say something, angel, please… I’m sorry,” he kept whispering, voice rough and desperate.

My chest heaved, the tears still quietly dripping down my chin. His words kept ringing in my ears—angel. That name. That voice. That accent.

And yet…

I stepped out of his arms, forcing space between us. His arms dropped helplessly to his sides as I looked up at him.

“For how long do I know you?” I asked, my voice low but steady, staring straight into his eyes.

He blinked, clearly not expecting the question. “Since you were eighteen,” he said, almost too quickly.

Eighteen? I tried to make sense of it. The fragments of memory I had didn’t line up with that. Something inside me twisted.

“Adira,” he said again, reaching out, “it’s really dangerous to be out here. Back at the hotel, I’ll tell you everything. Just… let’s go back, please.”

He gently took my hand. His warmth was familiar, his touch still trembling. Like he was scared I’d vanish again.

But I tugged my hand free.

“Wait,” I whispered.

I turned and picked up the paper that had been thrown at me just moments ago. The wind had stopped, but it still fluttered faintly in my grip like it was alive. I turned and handed it to him.

“Someone threw this at me. Right before you came.”

Lorenzo’s brows furrowed as he took it. He opened the folded paper slowly, eyes scanning the words as his face paled slightly.

I leaned forward, reading the shaky handwriting over his arm.

“Trust no one. Past must stay hidden for your future. Your end is nearing, but you shall seek help from your boyfriend if you want to trust someone.”

A shiver ran through me. The words weren’t threatening, exactly, but they were chilling. Your end is nearing—what did that even mean?

I looked up at him. “What is this?” I asked, my voice quieter than before. “What does it mean?”

Lorenzo looked at me, his expression unreadable.

“I have no idea,” he said.

But something in his eyes flickered. Just for a second. A flash of something unspoken. Fear? Recognition? Guilt?

I wasn’t sure.

But I knew this—whatever was happening… it wasn’t over.

And it was only getting started.

°•. ✿ .•°

The city lights flickered outside the glass walls of the penthouse suite. I sat on the edge of the velvet couch, a cup of untouched tea on the table in front of me, hands gripping the hem of my dress like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

Lorenzo had been pacing for the last five minutes. Silent. Tense. Like he was trying to decide how much of the truth he could risk telling.

Finally, he stopped in front of me and knelt down, his hands gently reaching for mine.

"I never wanted you to find out like this," he said softly, eyes locked with mine. "Not through some cryptic note or Isobella's sick games. But you deserve to know the truth, angel."

I didn't flinch. I just nodded.

"I asked you earlier... how long I've known you," I murmured.

He inhaled deeply. "Since you were eighteen. But there's more."

He sat beside me now, voice quiet, raw, as if every word was pulled out of a locked chest inside him.

"We met for the first time at a masquerade party. Ahaan had dragged me there. You were there with a few friends... you weren't even supposed to be there, but you'd snuck out."

I blinked. "Masquerade party?"

Lorenzo smiled faintly. "You wore this silver mask with tiny sapphire beads... and a black dress that flowed like ink. You were shy at first, kept hiding behind your friends. But then... we danced."

I could see the memory coming alive in his eyes.

"You were different," he whispered. "You laughed like you hadn't known pain yet. You talked about photography and stars and how you hated loud fireworks. You told me my accent made your name sound prettier."

My breath caught. That sounds like me... but I don't remember it.

"And then... your 18th birthday," he said slowly. "Everything changed."

My pulse spiked. “What happened that night?” I asked, barely breathing, my voice just above a whisper.

Lorenzo looked at me — not just with guilt, but pain. Real pain that sat heavy in his chest and soaked into his bones.

“You were out with that bastard, Raj Gupta,” he said finally, bitterness coating every syllable. “He invited you to a gathering… with his friends. I don’t know how or why, but they pushed you into a cell. With me.”

My heart stilled.

“I was tied up, beaten, bleeding. I'd been there for a week,” he continued, voice low. “Raj’s father had some business beef with mine. He wanted information, leverage. So he took me, thinking he could break me.”

He looked away, jaw clenched. “And then you came.”

I said nothing—just listened, my entire body frozen.

“You walked into that nightmare like a storm,” he said, almost smiling despite the heaviness. “You were scared, but fierce. You didn’t know me, but when you saw me—hanging from the ceiling, barely conscious—you fought them. Screamed at them to untie me. And… they did.”

I could almost see the memory in his eyes—his younger self, broken and chained, and me… a stranger willing to bleed for him.

“You tore your dress,” he said softly. “Tied it around my bleeding knee like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were only eighteen… so full of life. A damn angel in that hellhole.”

My pulse spiked. “What happened that night?” I asked, barely breathing, my voice just above a whisper.

Lorenzo looked at me — not just with guilt, but pain. Real pain that sat heavy in his chest and soaked into his bones.

“You were out with that bastard, Raj Gupta,” he said finally, bitterness coating every syllable. “He invited you to a gathering… with his friends. I don’t know how or why, but they pushed you into a cell. With me.”

My heart stilled.

“I was tied up, beaten, bleeding. I'd been there for a week,” he continued, voice low. “Raj’s father had some business beef with mine. He wanted information, leverage. So he took me, thinking he could break me.”

He looked away, jaw clenched. “And then you came.”

I said nothing—just listened, my entire body frozen.

“You walked into that nightmare like a storm,” he said, almost smiling despite the heaviness. “You were scared, but fierce. You didn’t know me, but when you saw me—hanging from the ceiling, barely conscious—you fought them. Screamed at them to untie me. And… they did.”

I could almost see the memory in his eyes—his younger self, broken and chained, and me… a stranger willing to bleed for him.

“You tore your dress,” he said softly. “Tied it around my bleeding knee like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were only eighteen… so full of life. A damn angel in that hellhole.”

“And then… your birthday came.”

I held my breath.

“They kidnapped you that night. Dragged you away while I was unconscious. When you came back, you were in a state I don’t even want to describe. You were shaking, broken… not the same. But you still looked at me like I was your safety.”

I felt the first tear roll down my cheek.

“We were held there for three days,” he whispered. “On the last day, we tried to escape. I created a distraction, took a beating so you could run. And then… soldiers stormed the place.”

“Soldiers?” I asked, confused.

“Our parents,” he said. “Mine. Yours. They had found us—working together when the news of our kidnapping spread. They came with force. Guns. Fire.”

He exhaled slowly. “They got us out. We were safe. But after that… we didn’t see each other again. Not until you turned twenty.”

I blinked. “That was the party...”

He nodded. “You didn’t recognize me. But I did. You looked… different. Like someone had taken parts of your soul and stitched them back with silence.”

He nodded. “You didn’t recognize me. But I did. You looked… different. Like someone had taken parts of your soul and stitched them back with silence.”

“And then?” I asked.

“Our fathers—they made a decision. They wanted us to marry. To unite our families and protect us both. They thought… maybe it would make things right again.”

My head spun. “But then… the gunshots?”

Lorenzo looked down. “Yes. Just as they announced our engagement, someone opened fire. Chaos broke out. My father tried to protect everyone, and I—I went looking for you. You’d fainted from the shock. Your brother and I took you, and your parents, and tried to flee.”

He paused, his voice cracking.

“We almost made it. We were so close. But on the bridge, the car lost control. We crashed.”

My heart ached in places I didn’t even know existed.

“You lost everything that night,” Lorenzo said softly. “Not just your memory… your parents didn’t survive the crash, Adira.”

The room fell into a silence so sharp it could cut through skin.

I blinked at him slowly, a dull ringing echoing in my ears.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No. They died in a car crash… that’s all I was told.”

He looked at me, eyes heavy with grief of his own. “Because it was a car crash, yes. But it wasn’t an accident.”

My breath hitched. The walls felt like they were closing in.

“They were targeted. Someone didn’t want them to leave alive. And you… you were never supposed to survive either.”

I stumbled a step back, nearly knocking over the chair behind me. “Stop.”

“I didn’t tell you before because you weren’t ready,” he continued, taking a step toward me. “You had just lost your parents. You woke up in a hospital, confused, shattered, and in pain. Your brother made a choice to protect you from everything. So did I.”

“By lying to me?” I snapped, my voice rising for the first time in days. “By pretending we never met before I was twenty? By letting me live with this gaping hole in my memory while you knew all along?”

“I wasn’t trying to lie,” he said, his voice raw. “I was trying to give you space to heal. I didn’t want to be another scar. You were so fragile… the doctors warned us. One wrong memory could break you completely.”

My eyes burned, but the tears wouldn’t fall. Not yet.

“You disappeared,” I whispered. “After that party, after the crash... I didn’t even know you were part of my life.”

“I never left,” he said, stepping closer. “I was always there. Watching from a distance. Making sure you were okay. Your brother… he didn’t want me near you. He said my presence was a trigger. And maybe he was right.”

I stared at the man standing in front of me.

The one who had seen me broken and bleeding.
The one who had held my hand in a prison cell.
The one who had tried to protect me from a past that refused to stay buried.

“I thought I was alone in that darkness,” I whispered, voice cracking. “But you were there all along.”

He nodded, and for the first time, I saw his own pain fully unmasked.

“I never stopped caring,” he said, stepping even closer. “Not for a second. I loved you before I even knew what love was.”

The words made my chest tighten.

My throat closed up.

But something inside me—something small and trembling—began to stir.

Before I could respond, I remembered the paper. The message that warned me.

Trust no one. The past must stay hidden…

I looked down at it again, my hands trembling slightly as I opened it and reread the words.

“You still think this is just some warning?” I asked Lorenzo, holding the paper up. “Or is there someone trying to silence us again?”

Lorenzo's expression shifted. The softness in his eyes turned to steel.

“I don’t know who sent that,” he said, voice now low and dangerous. “But I swear to you, Adira—whoever they are, they won’t touch you. Not while I’m breathing.”

And for the first time since the night began, I believed him.

Even if the storm was coming—I wasn’t alone anymore.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊

There goes chapter 19.

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