The villa was just as enchanting as I remembered.
Granted, the last time I was here, it had only a day or two. And with all the excitement in preparing for our shotgun wedding, I hadn't truly seen the place. At least, not like this.
The interiors carried an old-world Mediterranean charm. Ancient stone walls framing the living room and a part of the kitchen, cool and weathered with age. Dark mahogany furniture filled the space, each piece carved with careful detail, as though it had been passed down through generations. The tiled floors gleamed softly beneath our feet, partially veiled by richly woven Turkish rugs.
Alex laced his fingers through mine and led me outside.
Together, we walked into the garden where we had once exchanged our vows.
Years ago, it had been nothing more than a stretch of plain grass. Now, it bloomed with intention. Red and pink roses spilling across the grounds, their scent heavy in the air. A cobblestone pathway curved forward, toward an arch of red roses overlooking the ocean.
Exactly where ours had stood on our wedding day.
My breath caught. It was as if time had folded in on itself, with the way he practically built the layout of our ceremony before me, petal by petal.
I stopped walking, my fingers tightening around his. My lips parted, but no sound came out. I could only stand here, rooted in place, simply staring, helplessly mesmerized.
"You must've thought me insane," he said quietly, his gaze fixed on me.
"I already did," I breathed, my voice barely holding together. "This just confirms it."
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips before it faded. He turned, gently urging me forward, guiding me toward the flower arch. His eyes drifted to the ocean instead, wide and unflinching. Distant with his thoughts.
"I did this months after you went missing," he said. "I needed to remind myself that it had been real." His jaw tightened. "After every search led nowhere. All leads died out. Even the men I trusted...they kept telling me it was time to declare you dead and move on."
The words struck deeper than I expected.
All this time, I had been so trapped inside my own survival. Counting the days, the pain, the things I had lost. I hadn't truly considered what must've been like for him to come home to the aftermath. To the shattered glass. All that blood. The silence where I should have been.
I wondered if any of my grandfather's men had survived. If any of them had lived, though I suspected none. If there were, they certainly hadn't been kept in my vicinity. Still, I couldn't imagine what Alex might've felt, walking into that place alone, taking in all the violence and the damage left behind.
The past is the past. Nothing will ever change that. The best you can do is move on.
My grandfather's voice echoed in my mind, cold and final. He had said it shortly before he sent me on my last mission. Before he sent me to kill Alex.
"How long have you known?" I asked. "That it was my grandfather who ordered it. And that it was my friend, Joshua, who carried it out."
He was quiet for a moment.
"Only after I saw you at his party. New Year's Eve," he said at last. "And even then, I didn't want to believe it." His jaw tightened slightly. "I recognized you, but something was wrong. Like you were wearing her face, but you weren't...Lara. Not the one I knew."
I nodded, turning my gaze toward the yachts drifting in the distance, their white silhouettes gliding over the endless blue. The sea was calm. Indifferent. As if it had never swallowed secrets, lives whole.
"I didn't remember anything before that night," I said. "Seeing you for the first time, triggered my first memory in years." I swallowed. "Everything else...before you, it was empty."
The truth settled between us, heavy and irrevocable.
"So you didn't remember..."
His mouth tightened, the rest of the sentence dying before it could be formed.
I turned to him, knowing exactly what he couldn't say. Our baby.
"No," I said, shaking my head slowly. "I don't."
The words came apart after that.
"I woke up in a hospital confused, barely conscious. There was this unbearable pain in my lower abdomen, but I couldn't remember anything. Not the accident. Not before it." My breath stuttered. "I had a terrible bleeding afterward. I asked the doctors, but they brushed it off. Said it was a side effect of my injuries. That my body had been pushed too far."
I let out a hollow laugh. "They said I was lucky to be alive. That I'd hit my head too hard."
I realized I was rambling only when he reached for me.
He turned me gently until I was facing him, just like we were, years ago right underneath this arch, during our wedding. His hands cradled my jaw, thumbs warm against my skin as he tipped my chin to face him.
I clutched his wrists instinctively, grounding myself in the steady pulse beneath my fingers.
"I'm sorry," he breathed, like the words were torn out of him.
Those green eyes stripped bare by the wind as it pushed his hair across his brow.
"I should've protected you better," he said. "There hasn't been a single day I don't regret staying behind. I shouldn't have left you like that, unprotected."
I lifted a hand and brushed his hair back, slow and familiar, just like how I used to. He leaned into my touch without thinking, like a muscle memory. Then he caught my wrist, pressing his lips there, reverent and filled with aching.
"It's not your fault, Alex," I said softly. "I was the one who got too comfortable. I should've known, should've told you the truth before agreeing to any of it."
Alex's rested his forehead against mine, his hands sliding from my jaw, all the way down around my waist, holding me there as if he was anchoring me to the present. We swayed a little, along with the rhythms of the wind and the tearful melodies of the crashing waves. His breath uneven, warm against mine.
"This time," he said, low and deliberate, "I won't make promises I can't keep."
He pulled back, just enough to look at me, his gaze steady despite the fracture beneath it. "No more secrets. No needless sacrifices. Whatever you choose, whatever you want, you will never do it alone. You have my men, my power, at your disposal."
The ocean surged below us, relentless.
"Tell me," he continued softly. "Not what you think you owe anyone. Not what you were trained to do." His thumb brushed a slow line over my hip, grounding me to the present. "What do you want this time?"
The question settled deep, stirring something dark and long-contained. I thought of the blood, endless blood on the marble floors. Of the erased memories. Of the explosions, the files my grandfather had carefully kept in his office that I stumbled upon. Of a life I could've had, dismantled piece by piece by the very person who claimed to love me most.
I lifted my head and met his eyes.
"Revenge," I said.