Eliana had barely buckled Micah into the backseat of Skylar Kingston’s armored SUV when the nausea started to creep in. Her grip tightened on the worn tote bag in her lap, her pulse erratic, mind screaming as she realized where she was—his car, his driver, his leather seats, and that lingering scent of cedarwood and bergamot that clung to everything like a memory. Her stomach churned and her throat went dry, but Micah was softly humming a cartoon jingle under his breath, and it was the only thing anchoring her to the moment. Skylar didn’t say much during the ride on their way back home. He sat forward, absorbed in his phone, jaw tense, brow furrowed like the weight of the entire city sat on his shoulders. Every so often, his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror—brief, assessing glances that landed on her before shifting away again. He didn’t know who she was. And she wasn’t sure she remembered who she used to be. Micah eventually drifted off, his head leaning gently against the window, lips parted in sleep. Eliana watched the skyline roll by as the sun dipped, casting the city in a soft golden glow. When the car turned left toward the Upper East Side’s gated streets, her breath caught. Wrought-iron gates. Security posts. Homes that looked like museums. Money, too much of it. As they pulled into the circular driveway of the Kingston estate, her lungs forgot how to work. The gates parted like the jaws of some ancient beast, and her body went still.

She’d never seen this house before—or so she thought—but her chest tightened, and every part of her screamed that she had. Then she looked up at the mansion, and it stared back. Six towering pillars. Twin wings stretching out like arms. Roses cut into clean lines. A second-story balcony with warm lights blinking quietly through the dusk. Her instincts were shouting one word—run. Skylar turned to her, hands tucked in his coat pockets, his face unreadable. “You coming?” She gave a small nod and pulled Micah from the backseat. He wrapped his little arms around her neck, still half-asleep, and she held him close. He was the only thing keeping her sane. They stepped into the foyer, and the scent hit her instantly.

Lilies and something else, something older. She knew this smell. It haunted the dreams she never fully remembered. Warm wood, burned sugar and a piano note. Sweat clung to the air like a memory she couldn’t quite chase down. Micah yawned and looked around sleepily. “I like this house,” he said. Skylar’s gaze didn’t shift from her. “Good,” he replied. “Because you’re staying.” Then he called out, voice echoing through the mansion. “Mother. We have guests.” Eliana froze. Mother? From the hallway emerged a woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a painting—regal, with flawless posture and cold, blood-red lips. Her robe shimmered like silk even in the dim lighting. Diamond earrings caught the chandelier’s glow as she approached with measured steps. She stopped in front of them, gaze moving from Eliana to the boy in her arms. Her lips pressed together. “Skylar, you didn’t mention a child.” He shrugged off his coat and handed it to a waiting staff member. “Didn’t think I needed to.” The woman looked at Eliana again, eyes sharp. “She’s your new assistant?” “For now.” Eliana held Micah closer, feeling like that gaze was peeling her apart, layer by layer. The woman studied them for a moment more, then said flatly, “We’ll see.” Without another word, she turned and vanished down the hallway, as though the conversation were already over. Skylar gave a small shake of his head. “Don’t mind her.” He led them up the staircase, but Eliana barely heard him cause every step she took felt like a memory. They stopped at a door. “You’ll stay here. It’s a guest room now, but...” She stepped inside and froze because there in the corner beneath a lace cover sat a piano. Dusty and familiar. The same piano from her dreams, from the flashes she couldn’t explain. Her fingertips itched. She placed Micah gently on the bed, watching as he curled into the blanket and began snoring softly. Her breath came shallow and uneven. “You okay?” Skylar asked. She forced a tired smile. “Just... exhausted.” He nodded slowly. “Micah... he’s your brother?” She paused. “Yes.” Her voice cracked as she said it. Skylar studied her a moment longer, then turned toward the door. “Breakfast is at eight. Don’t be late.” The door shut behind him with a quiet click. Eliana sat on the edge of the bed, hands pressed into her lap, heart thudding. Her eyes drifted across the room. Gold wallpaper. Velvet drapes. The piano. The shadow of a picture frame long removed. She wasn’t imagining this. She’d been here before. This wasn’t just a guest room. It had been hers.

---

Hours later, long after the mansion had gone quiet, Eliana slipped out of bed and into the hall. Micah was still sprawled in sleep, peaceful and unaware. She walked barefoot, letting her body lead, fingers gliding along the walls like they remembered what she didn’t. Passing mirrors, paintings and portraits,... Closed doors. She stopped at the study and the door was open. Inside, the scent of whiskey hung in the air like a secret no one wanted to name. Dark shelves lined with books, a globe bar in one corner, papers stacked with clinical precision. But what drew her in was the photo on the shelf. Charred at the corner. Still intact in places. A man and woman on a beach in Ibiza. The woman in a red dress. The man in a white shirt with his hand on her waist. Their faces were turned slightly away, and the top corner had been burned beyond recognition—but something about the photo made her legs go weak. She knew this moment, the breeze, the sun, the weight of a hand on her thigh. She staggered backward, knocking a book off the shelf. She bent to pick it up. Then the flash hit. Blood and screams. A voice crying out her name, the voice was desperate.

“Elora!!”

Elora? Who was that? She thought to herself.

A wave of pain shot through her skull like lightning and she collapsed to the floor, gasping. Unseen in the hallway, Skylar stood silently, watching. He didn’t speak or move. He just watched the woman curled on the study floor, breathing hard and shaking. He thought she was crying but something far worse was unraveling.