Chapter 58
The tension in the villa was a living thing, thick and suffocating. For Seb, the next thirty days were a countdown to a rebirth; for Amara, they were a descent into a waking nightmare.
Amara is in the master suite, a gilded cage with bolted windows. Every time he entered with a tray of food, the air seemed to drop ten degrees.
Seb pushed the door open with his shoulder, a forced, pleasant smile on his face. “I brought you some fruit, Amara. And that tea you liked when we were in Paris p>
Amara was sitting by the window, staring at the rain-streaked glass. She didn’t turn around. Her voice was hollow, stripped of the vibrance he had known for a decade. “I want to go home, Seb p>
“You are home,” he said softly, setting the tray on the nightstand. He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she flinched so violently she nearly fell off the chair.
“Don’t,” she hissed, finally looking at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, filled with a cold, sharp loathing. “Every time you touch me, I see Elara. I see that house you built for her while you were sleeping in my bed. I see the daughter you made me raise p>
Seb’s jaw tightened. The words stung, but he reminded himself: Only twenty-eight days left. Then these words won’t exist.
“That’s the pain talking, Amara,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “It’s a sickness. But I’m going to cure you. I’ve found a way to take it all away p>
“You’re insane,” she whispered, her lip trembling. “You think you can just keep me here? My mother and Julian are looking for me. The police p>
“Stop waiting for them to come for you, I told you we vanished remember,” Seb said smoothly, leaning against the bedpost. He watched her with a terrifying, possessive hunger. “And guess what? You are going to take this time to heal. You’re going to wake up one day soon, and all this the lies, the other family, the hurt it’s going to be like a dream you can’t quite remember p>
Amara stood up, her voice rising in panic. “What are you talking about? What have you done p>
“I’m saving us,” Seb said. He stepped closer, ignoring her retreat until she was backed against the wall. He framed her face with his hands, forcing her to look at him. “In a few weeks, you’ll look at me and you won’t feel this hate. You’ll look at me and remember the first time we met. You’ll remember the way we used to laugh. The rest… it’ll just be a blur. A smudge on the glass that I’ve wiped clean p>
“You can’t rewrite my mind, Seb!” she screamed, shoving his chests. “I hate you! I will hate you until the day I die! Do you hear me? Even if you kill me, my ghost will hate you p>
Seb didn’t get angry. He didn’t yell. He just caught her wrists and held them firmly, a dark, pitying smile playing on his lips.
“We’ll see, Amara,” he whispered, kissing her forehead as she sobbed in frustration. “The doctor says it takes a month. I can wait thirty days for the next sixty years of your love p>
He backed out of the room, locking the heavy deadbolt with a metallic clack that echoed through the hallway. He pulled his phone out and checked the countdown timer.
27 Days, 14 Hours, 22 Minutes.
By the second week, the villa had become a tomb of silence, broken only by the sound of Seb’s footsteps and the scratching of Amara’s fingernails against the windowsill.
Amara had stopped screaming. She realized that her rage only fueled Seb’s delusion; it gave him a reason to fix her. Instead, she became a ghost. She sat for hours, memorizing the texture of the wallpaper, the scent of the rain, and every jagged detail of the betrayal she had uncovered.
She was terrified that if she stopped thinking about Elara and the secret daughter, they would truly cease to exist.
Seb entered the room carrying a small velvet box along with her dinner. He looked more rested than she had ever seen him, his eyes bright with a terrifying hope.
“Look at this, Amara,” he said, clicking the box open. Inside sat a vintage diamond ring, not her wedding ring, but the first one he’d ever given her, ten years ago. “I found it in the safe. I want you to wear it again. A fresh start p>
Amara looked at the ring, then up at his face. “You’re drugging me, aren’t you? The tea… it tastes like metal lately. My head feels heavy p>
Seb didn’t blink. “It’s just something to help you sleep. You’ve been so restless. The doctor says stress can interfere with the… transition p>
“What doctor, Seb?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What ’transition’? You talk like I’m a broken machine you’re sending in for repairs p>
Seb knelt at her feet, ignoring her flinch. He took her hand, his grip like a vice. “In nine days, Amara, the pain stops. You won’t have to wake up crying anymore. You won’t remember why you’re angry. You’ll look at me, and you’ll see the man who took you to the coast for our third anniversary. You’ll see the man who promised to protect you p>
“But you’re not that man,” she choked out, a single tear tracking down her pale cheek. “That man didn’t exist. He was a mask you wore while you were building a life with someone else. If you take away my memory of the truth, you’re just forcing me to live in your lie forever p>
“It’s not a lie if it’s the only reality you know,” Seb countered, his voice smooth and hypnotic. He slid the ring onto her finger. It felt like a handcuff. “I’m giving you peace. Most people would kill for a chance to forget their greatest heartbreak. I’m giving it to you as a gift p>
As soon as Seb locked the door and walked away, Amara scrambled to the corner of the room. She picked up a small, jagged piece of a broken compact mirror she had hidden under the rug.
With shaking hands, she pulled back the corner of the heavy wooden headboard of the bed. Using the glass shard, she began to carve into the wood, deep, frantic gashes.
ELARA. SEREN. HE LIED.