CHAPTER THREE.
Noel woke slowly.
Not with a scream.
Not with the violent jolt that usually tore him from sleep, lungs burning, throat raw from a name he could never fully remember screaming.
There was no echo of gunfire in his ears this time. No blood. No falling.
Just pain.
A dull, relentless ache pulsed behind his eyes, spreading outward like a pressure that refused to ease. It wasn't the familiar headache that followed his nightmares—the ones born of terror and memory fragments—but something heavier.
Deeper.
This pain screamed of exhaustion.
Of a body pushed too far.
Of a mind stretched thin until it could no longer protect itself.
Noel groaned softly and rolled onto his side, burying his face into the pillow. The fabric smelled faintly of detergent and something warm—home.
Afternoon light seeped through the half-drawn curtains, painting pale lines across the walls.
His limbs felt like lead.
He tried to sit up.
Pain flared sharply along his ribs.
He sucked in a breath and froze, teeth clenching as a wave of discomfort rolled through him.
His hand instinctively moved to his side, fingers brushing tender skin.
He hissed quietly.
This wasn't a dream.
Memory stirred—not the distant, broken kind that haunted his sleep, but something recent. Clearer. Heavier.
His chest tightened.
"Oh," he whispered hoarsely.
Oh yes.
Earlier That Morning
They hadn't gone to Evalon High.
Not even close.
The realization came back to him slowly, like a bruise darkening with time.
*Flashback*
"Where are you going?" Noel asked as the car slowed abruptly.
Tiffany's hands tightened on the steering wheel. The city rushed by outside the window, Greyview waking into its usual pristine rhythm—businessmen in suits, students in uniforms, glass towers reflecting the pale morning sun.
She didn't answer.
Noel's POV
"What do you mean by home?" His voice sharpened despite himself. "I have school."
Her jaw flexed.
"Home," she repeated.
Noel leaned forward slightly. "Tiff, you can't just—"
Silence.
The road signs changed.
The route shifted.
Evalon High disappeared from possibility.
"You're serious," Noel said quietly.
Still nothing.
The gates of the Madison estate came into view, tall iron bars sliding open smoothly at Tiffany's approach.
The mansion rose beyond them, pristine and imposing, a symbol of safety Noel had never fully believed he deserved.
Tiffany parked sharply and cut the engine.
She was out of the car before he could say another word.
"Mummmmmmmmmmmmmy!"
Her voice cut through the quiet like a blade.
"Mummmmmm!! Mum?!"
Noel followed more slowly, every step sending a subtle ache through his body. He hadn't noticed it earlier—not fully—but now his muscles protested, stiff and sore.
Mrs. Riley Madison appeared at the top of the stairs leading into the house, confusion already etching lines across her face.
"Why are you back home and screaming my—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
Her eyes locked onto Noel.
The shift was instant.
"…Why is he not in school?" she asked.
Tiffany turned sharply. "Why don't you ask him, Mum?"
Mrs. Riley's gaze snapped back to Noel, sharp and assessing now.
"Noel," she said, voice calm but firm. "Why are you not in school?"
Noel opened his mouth.
Closed it.
He didn't trust his voice.
Tiffany's POV
"Oh," Tiffany added coldly, folding her arms, "and ask him where his car is."
Mrs. Riley's brows knit together. "Where's your car, Noel?"
Noel stared at the marble floor beneath his feet, its polished surface reflecting a distorted version of himself.
Silent.
The air thickened.
"I believe I asked my son a question," Mrs. Riley said evenly. "Where is your car?"
His throat tightened.
"I… gave it out."
Mrs. Riley blinked.
"…Oh."
Her tone wasn't angry. Not yet. It was careful. Controlled.
"You gave it out," she repeated slowly. "What do you mean by you gave out your custom-made blue Lamborghini? Do you know how much that car cost?"
Noel swallowed.
Tiffany let out a humorless laugh.
"Mum, he's lying."
Noel flinched.
"Just look at him," Tiffany continued, voice rising. "He's hiding something. He didn't give it out. He was robbed."
The word landed like a gunshot.
"Robbed?" Mrs. Riley echoed.
Her composure cracked.
"What do you mean robbed?" Her voice sharpened, fierce now. "Who got robbed?"
"Yes, Mum," Tiffany said firmly. "He was robbed."
She grabbed Noel's left arm suddenly.
"Tiff—" he started.
"Look," she said, yanking his sleeve up. "Just look at his arm."
The swelling was impossible to ignore.
Dark bruises ringed his wrist. The skin was tender, inflamed, marked.
Mrs. Riley froze.
Her face drained of color.
"Noel," she whispered. "Take off your clothes. Now."
His heart slammed violently.
"Mum—"
"Now," she commanded.
There was no arguing that tone.
With shaking hands, Noel obeyed.
The moment his shirt came off—
Tiffany gasped, staggering backward.
Mrs. Riley's breath caught in her throat.
Her hands flew to her mouth.
Bruises covered his torso.
Layered. Overlapping.
Old and new.
Swollen patches along his ribs.
Deep discolorations across his abdomen.
Faint but unmistakable marks along his shoulders, fingers pressed too hard, held too long.
"Oh my God," Mrs. Riley sobbed.
Her knees nearly buckled.
She stepped closer, trembling hands hovering over him, afraid to touch.
"Who did this to you?" she cried. "Who did this?"
Noel said nothing.
He couldn't.
When she moved around him—
When she saw his back—
A broken sound tore from her chest.
"Oh my God… oh my God…"
His back was worse.
A map of violence etched into skin. Angry bruises, swollen welts, shadows of pain that told a story Noel refused to tell.
Tears streamed freely down her face.
Tiffany stood frozen, fists clenched at her sides, fury burning behind her eyes.
"This didn't happen overnight," Tiffany said quietly. "Did it?"
Noel said nothing.
Mrs. Riley turned sharply toward him.
"Who did this to my son?" she demanded.
Still nothing.
The silence screamed.
Now...
Noel's chest rose and fell slowly as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The afternoon sun had shifted, casting warmer light across his room.
Somewhere downstairs, the house moved quietly—staff footsteps, distant voices—but none of it reached him.
His body throbbed in places he didn't want to acknowledge.
His head pulsed again.
He lifted his left arm carefully, wincing as pain shot along his side.
His wrist was wrapped now, neat and secure, the swelling slightly reduced but still tender.
They hadn't yelled.
That was the part that unsettled him most.
Mrs. Riley hadn't screamed or accused or blamed him for being careless.
She had cried.
Hard.
Quietly.
Like she was afraid that if she made too much noise, he might shatter.
And Tiffany—
Sharp-tongued, fearless Tiffany—had gone eerily silent.
Her anger had shifted into something colder.
More dangerous.
They hadn't pushed him.
Not yet.
But he knew them.
He knew Mrs. Riley's patience was a choice, not a weakness.
The questions would come.
The truth didn't stay buried in the Madison house.
It never did.
Noel closed his eyes, exhaustion pulling at him again.
Whatever had happened to him—
Whatever he had forgotten, or chosen not to remember—
It was no longer just his secret.
And somewhere deep inside, beneath the pain
and the silence, a familiar fear stirred.
The past wasn't done with him yet.
End of Chapter Three