Amara's POV:
I woke up slowly, my head pounding and stomach twisting with the memory of last night—or the lack of it.
Bits and pieces floated in and out: the bar, the drink, the strange warmth of the air… and then…
Vihaan.
I remembered him appearing just in time, standing between me and that pervert who had been leaning too close, invading my space. His presence was sharp, commanding, impossible to ignore.
He had spoken—short, dangerous words—and the man had slunk away like a shadow that didn't belong.
I blinked, trying to piece it all together. How did he know where I was? How did he get there so fast?
My fingers curled around the sheets as the memory of his dark, steady gaze pressed against my mind. A part of me wanted to cry, a part of me wanted to throw myself into his arms, and yet another part shivered, wondering why he wouldn't explain anything.
The rest of the night—the drinks, the way I felt dizzy, the blur of the bar—was a haze. All that remained crystal clear was him: Vihaan, protecting me, silent, unshakable, and completely unreachable.
I bit my lip, heart aching in ways I couldn't name. Something about last night wasn't just scary—it was… him. And I couldn't stop thinking about it.
"Good Morning, sleepyhead," Jia came smiling and holding a cup of coffee.
"Good Morning... How... How did I get here?" I asked, but somehow I knew the answer.
"Oh, you little drunkard." Jia arched a brow as she set the cup on the nightstand. "How on earth did you end up in that bar?"
I winced, forcing myself upright. "Long story."
"Must be, if he had to carry you home," she said, drawing out the pronoun like it weighed a ton.
My heart skipped. "Vihaan told you?"
"He didn't have to. I opened the door." Jia crossed her arms, mock stern. "Do you know how hard it is to stay calm when a brooding knight walks in with my tipsy sister in his arms?"
I buried my face in my hands. "Please tell me I didn't say anything embarrassing."
She smirked. "Depends on what you call embarrassing. You were half-asleep and kept mumbling something about eyelashes and… gravity?"
I quickly saw my face in the mirror, and my eyelashes were not. I wanted to ask Jia if she removed them, but I didn't dare because she will get another chance to tease me.
A groan escaped me. "I want to disappear."
Jia laughed softly, then her tone gentled. "You okay, Ama? Really?"
"I think so," I said, though the word felt thin. "Just… too much in my head."
"Mm." She studied me a moment, then patted my shoulder. "Drink your coffee. You'll survive. And maybe figure out why Mr. Mysterious looked like he'd fight the whole world for you."
I didn't answer. My gaze drifted toward the old wooden box half-hidden beneath a folded blanket on the shelf. Mom's box.
In all this chaos, I completely forgot about the box and the USB.
I sipped the coffee, letting the warmth chase the cold edges of my headache. Jia lingered for a moment, then, sensing my need for quiet, slipped out with a soft, "Shout if you need me."
The door clicked shut.Silence settled again.
My eyes went back to the shelf.Mom's box.
I slid from the bed, the wood floor cool beneath my feet, and pulled it down. Dust rose like a faint memory.The brass latch gave a soft click—like it had been waiting.
Inside lay the same keepsakes: the faded scarf with her perfume, old photos curled at the edges, the seashell Dad once tucked behind my ear.But my hand went straight to the cream-colored envelope and the small USB drive wrapped in tissue.
The envelope carried my mother's handwriting—steady, elegant, and somehow urgent.
I held both for a moment, heartbeat quickening. Last night already felt unreal, but this… this was something solid.Something she left for me.
The USB glinted under the morning light, as if it had a pulse of its own.
I swallowed hard."Okay, Mom," I whispered. "I'm ready."
I crossed to my desk, powered up the laptop, and slid the USB into the port.
The screen flickered to life. One single folder appeared. It wasn't named anything, but the date... It's the date of the day before their accident. I opened it, and further, there was one video, a doc, and a password-protected file.
The screen went black for a heartbeat.Then a soft click, like someone setting a camera down.
My mother's face appeared.Emma Salvatore.
Her hair was a little messy, eyes bright but shadowed, as though she'd been crying before pressing record.
"Amara," she began, voice low and steady. "If you're seeing this, it means things have gone wrong… worse than I feared."
She drew a breath, glancing over her shoulder as if she sensed someone nearby.
"You'll hear many stories about what happened to me—about an accident. Don't believe them. It wasn't an accident."Her gaze sharpened."There are people who would do anything to keep certain truths buried. People close to our family. Even blood can betray."
I felt my throat tighten.
"If I don't make it back to you, know this. I can't say more here. The names in the second file will guide you. Find the one marked 'S.' Follow the trail, but be careful who you trust—especially anyone carrying the Salvatore name."
She hesitated, eyes softening, the mother I remembered."You are stronger than you think, my love. Trust your heart. And… trust the one who stands by you when everyone else falls away. You'll know who that is."
The video ended with a faint rustle, then went black.
Somehow, my heart knows the names already, but this was the time to confirm it. I opened the file; its password was my birthday date; they always have my birth date as a password. My fingertips tingled.I swallowed, once, twice, trying to loosen the knot in my throat.
The document opened, stark and cold.
Liam Salvatore. Amelia Salvatore. Olivia Salvatore. Julian Salvatore… Seraphine Duvall.
The first four—I'd expected.But the last name…Seraphine Duvall.
A stranger in the middle of my family's darkness.
The name Seraphine Duvall wouldn't leave my mind.Who was she? And why had Mom singled her out?
I grabbed my coat and headed out, heart pounding, mind racing. There was only one place I could think of: the old paper shop near the corner of Oak Street. Dust, faded ink, and forgotten files—maybe something hidden there could point me in the right direction.
The bell above the door jingled as I entered. The musty scent of old paper hit me immediately, mixing with the faint tang of rusted metal shelves. Mr. Dorothy Brown, the shopkeeper, looked up with a frown.
"You again, Amara? Still hunting ghosts?" he asked, voice rough but not unkind.
"I need old newspapers. Anything… from fifteen-sixteen years back," I said, trying to keep my tone casual, though my hands trembled slightly.
He raised an eyebrow but gestured toward the far shelves. "Be my guest. But you know, not everything's cataloged. You might be here a while."
I rifled through the yellowed newspapers, the musty pages whispering stories from a past I hadn't lived through.
One article made my heart seize.
"Tragic Car Accident Claims Lives of James and Emma Salvatore"
It was never a car accident, yet with money and power, they buried the truth so perfectly.
A photograph accompanied it—my parents, smiling, oblivious to the danger that would take them.The date: exactly the night my world had changed.
I swallowed, trying to steady my racing thoughts.And then I saw another clipping, buried beneath it, dated just days before the accident.
The photograph showed three people in a casual pose outside an office building: my father, Albert Morgan—Jia's father(more than a father to me)—and a woman I didn't recognize.I leaned closer, scanning the typed caption beneath.
"Business Partners James Salvatore and Albert Morgan with Seraphine Duvall, negotiating new contracts for the Celine venture."
My chest tightened.Seraphine Duvall. The name from Mom's document.And here she was, in black and white, smiling with my father.
Why are there no traces of her now? Where is she? No matter where she is, I will find her.