Chapter 5: The Box That Shouldn't Exist
Aria didn't sleep that night.
After the gala, Damien had escorted her back to the penthouse without another word. He hadn't kissed her, hadn't even touched her again. Just handed her off to the silent driver like she was something fragile and fading.
She kept the ring on.
Not because she trusted it.
Because she was afraid of what might happen if she took it off again.
The penthouse was dark when she stepped inside, but she froze the second she reached the living room.
Something was on the table.
A black velvet box.
She hadn't left it there.
And her doorman never allowed unannounced deliveries.
She stepped closer. No card. No note. Just a box that pulsed with quiet danger.
Her fingers hovered over the lid.
Don't open it, reason said.
But curiosity had already won.
She lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled in silk, was a necklace.
Silver. Elegant. And at the center—a gem that looked identical to the one in her ring.
Black. Heart-shaped. And humming.
The moment her fingers touched it, the room around her vanished.
She was somewhere else again.
Only this time, it wasn't fire or blood or war.
It was a garden.
Moonlight filtered through silver-leaf trees. Strange white blossoms floated lazily in the air. A distant harp played a haunting melody that wrapped around her like smoke.
And she was dancing.
No shoes. No crown. Just a dark blue gown, and laughter spilling from her lips.
Damien was there.
Not in black, but deep green and gold. Younger. Softer.
Smiling.
Holding her.
"I wish we could stay here forever," she heard herself whisper.
Damien leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead. "We'll build a world where we can."
Aria's heart clenched.
But the memory twisted. Darkened.
Suddenly, the trees caught fire.
The music warped into screams.
And Damien was bleeding.
At her feet.
She snapped awake, gasping. She had collapsed on the floor of her living room. The necklace had fallen beside her. The box was gone.
Someone had taken it.
Or maybe it had never been there at all.
The next morning, she stormed into Westwood Tower.
Damien looked up from his desk the moment she barged in, brows lifting slightly. "You're early."
"Don't you dare pretend you don't know," she snapped, slamming the necklace down on the desk. "You sent this."
His face shifted—very subtly. A flicker of something like shock. Or regret.
"I didn't."
"Then who did?"
Damien stood slowly. "Describe what you saw."
"Not until you tell me what this is," she demanded, pointing at the gem.
He hesitated. Then said, "It's a memory anchor. We used to wear them during the Celestial War to protect ourselves from mind erasure."
She blinked. "What?"
"You weren't just a queen," he said quietly. "You were a guardian—of the Astral Flame. The memory anchors helped you store pieces of yourself in objects you could reclaim across lifetimes."
She stared at the necklace. "So this… it is me."
"A piece of you," he confirmed. "And someone's trying to awaken those pieces faster than they should be."
"Caden."
"Most likely. He always believed if you remembered everything, you'd come back to him."
"I saw you," she whispered. "We were dancing. You said you'd build a world for us. Then—then there was fire. Blood. You died."
Damien's voice was steady, but distant. "That night was the beginning of the end."
She looked at him, eyes burning. "Why would I kill someone I loved?"
"You didn't kill me," he said. "Not that night."
"But eventually?"
Damien didn't answer.
Which meant yes.
Aria sat down in one of the guest chairs without being invited.
Her fingers traced the edges of the necklace. "Why now? Why me? Why is everything breaking open?"
"Because you turned twenty-five," Damien said simply. "That's when the soul reaches its next age threshold. Memories that were sealed begin to ripple."
"I didn't ask for this."
"I know."
"I don't want to remember."
"But you will."
He walked around the desk and leaned against it, arms folded. "The seal is breaking. And the pieces you find won't always make sense. They won't come in order. You'll doubt what's real. That's how memory anchors work—they test your mind first."
She looked up at him. "And when the seal is fully broken?"
"You'll remember who you really are," Damien said. "And then you'll have to choose."
"Choose what?"
He leaned closer, voice low.
"To save this world. Or destroy it again."
Aria stood.
Her voice trembled—but her spine stayed straight.
"I don't remember who I used to be. But I know who I am now. And I'm not a weapon. Or a queen. Or some fantasy reborn to pick a side."
She met his eyes—those haunted, beautiful, too-old eyes.
"I'm not choosing anything until I understand the whole truth."
Damien nodded once. "Then we'll find it. Together."
A silence passed between them. Then he gently picked up the necklace, walked over, and clasped it around her neck.
The gem was cold. Then warm. Then… steady.
And for the first time in days, she didn't feel like she was falling.
She felt anchored.
Damien looked at her and murmured, "You've always been strongest when you were falling apart."
Aria swallowed hard. "You keep saying things only someone who really loved me would say."
He met her gaze.
"I did love you," he said. "Once."
She held his eyes.
And whispered, "Then show me why."