38.

Alina’s breath hitched as she jolted awake.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, her body drenched in cold sweat. For a moment, disoriented and gasping, she stared at the ceiling, the familiar glow of her apartment’s morning light filtering through the sheer curtains.

She was home.

Not in silk sheets. Not under his gaze.

Home.

Her trembling fingers clutched the blanket beneath her, but the sense of unease didn’t leave. If anything, it settled deeper, an unbearable pressure in her chest. Because she remembered.

Everything.

Caelan. His voice. His touch. The way the world had blurred into darkness at his command. The way he had made her forget—except she hadn’t.

She wasn’t supposed to remember.

Her breath came in short gasps as she threw the blanket aside and scrambled to her feet. Her body was still weak, exhaustion clinging to her limbs like lead, but she couldn’t stop.

She needed answers.

Without thinking, she grabbed her coat and rushed out the door, her bare feet cold against the hallway tiles as she sprinted toward the elevator. Her finger jabbed the button repeatedly, but the digital display remained dark.

“Come on, come on—” she muttered, but the realization hit her like a slap.

The damn thing wasn’t working.

Her pulse hammered in her ears. She didn’t have time for this.

With a frustrated groan, she turned toward the stairwell and ran.

The descent was brutal. The weight of exhaustion dragged at her limbs, each step feeling heavier than the last. By the time she reached the tenth floor, her legs were shaking. By the fifth, her lungs burned. By the time she reached the ground level, her vision blurred from the exertion, her breaths ragged and uneven.

But none of it mattered—because the moment she stepped outside, she saw it.

Caelan’s car.

Sleek, black, and already pulling out of the parking lot.

“No,” she breathed, her heart plummeting. “No, no, no—Caelan!”

Her voice rang out, raw and desperate, echoing through the early morning silence. She ran forward, stumbling on unsteady legs, waving frantically.

But the car didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow.

It was as if he hadn’t heard her.

Or worse—as if he had, and chose to ignore her.

Tears pricked at her eyes, burning with frustration and something deeper, something raw and painful. She collapsed onto her knees, her fingers digging into the pavement as she fought the whirlwind of emotions crashing over her.

Why?

Why was he doing this?

Why had he taken her, erased her memories, then let her wake up as if nothing had happened?

What was he hiding?

And why—why—had his magic failed to work on her?

Her mind spun with questions, each one sharper than the last, clawing at her sanity, leaving her dizzy with uncertainty. She had felt the power in his voice, the way it pressed down on her like a command written into her very existence.

And yet… she had broken through it.

Her fingers curled into fists as a shaky breath escaped her lips. She wasn’t special. She was just Alina. A college student. A writer. A nobody.

So why—

Why was Caelan looking at her like she was something more?

\---

Inside the car, Caelan tightened his grip on the wheel, his knuckles turning white.

He had seen her.

He had heard her.

And yet, he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

His pale grey eyes flickered to the rearview mirror, catching the sight of Alina kneeling on the pavement, tears streaming down her face, her expression a mess of confusion and betrayal.

A sharp pang twisted in his chest. Something unfamiliar. Something dangerous.

He clenched his jaw and exhaled slowly, forcing the hesitation out of his body. But the moment he closed his eyes, the image of her—breaking—was burned into his mind.

Regret coiled in his throat.

His hands tightened on the wheel.

And under his breath, just loud enough for no one to hear, he whispered,

"I’m sorry, Alina."

Alina remained on the pavement, her breath uneven, her chest heaving as the weight of everything bore down on her. The cold morning air bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. Her fingers trembled as they pressed against the ground, her mind a storm of unanswered questions.

Why had Caelan left?

Why had he looked at her like that?

Like he knew something she didn’t.

Like he was—regretting something.

Her tears blurred her vision, frustration twisting into anger. She slammed her fist against the pavement, welcoming the sting. She had had him. If she had only been faster. If she had only gotten here sooner—

A sob caught in her throat, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to breathe.

Crying wouldn’t fix this.

She needed to think.

Caelan wasn’t the kind of person who did things without reason. He was always calculated, always in control. Which meant… this? This distance he was creating between them?

It was deliberate.

He was pushing her away.

Her lips parted as realization dawned on her. He hadn’t just left—he had made sure she couldn’t follow.

But why?

What was he hiding from her?

A cold shiver ran through her body as memories from the night before crashed into her again—his piercing gaze, the way his voice had wrapped around her like an undeniable force, the power in his words when he had told her to sleep.

He had expected her to forget.

But she hadn’t.

And now… he was running.

Alina gritted her teeth. No. Not this time. She wasn’t going to sit back and let him decide what she was allowed to know.

Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, her legs still shaky, her breaths still unsteady. But her resolve had never been stronger.

She wiped at her damp cheeks, inhaled sharply, and turned on her heel.

If Caelan wouldn’t give her the truth…

She would find it herself.

\---

Caelan exhaled heavily, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel as the city blurred past him. The tension in his shoulders refused to fade, lingering like a phantom weight pressing down on his chest.

He hadn’t wanted to leave her like that.

Hadn’t wanted to see her like that.

The broken look in her eyes… the raw betrayal in her voice…

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay focused. He had done what needed to be done.

For her.

For both of them.

Alina had remembered.

She shouldn’t have been able to.

The compulsion should have erased everything—every trace of the night before, every whisper of power he had used. But somehow, against all logic, she had broken through.

And that could only mean one thing.

She wasn’t normal.

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he leaned back against the seat, exhaling slowly.

Who are you, Alina?

The question gnawed at him, the same way it had when she had looked at him last night with wide, frightened eyes, demanding answers he couldn’t give.

Because if she was what he suspected…

Then everything was about to change.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He dragged a hand down his face, shutting his eyes for the briefest moment.