Page 45 of Luna's Forgotten Vow

SERAPHINA

The brain is a fickle thing. It buries what it must to protect us, locking away memories like a jealous guardian. Sometimes, it hides them so well that we forget they ever existed. Other times, all it takes is a single trigger—a sound, a scent, a touch—for the floodgates to crack open. And when they do, the past doesn't return gently. It rushes in, relentless and unforgiving, demanding to be remembered.

In my case, the trigger was one name.

I overlook the windows, the rolling hills covered in snow, the houses lit up from inside and the children running around in them. The fathers shoveling the snow off their front porches. Mothers catching the squealing children and wrapping scarves around their necks. Soren running around, being chased by an army of angry little girls, with Landon strapped to his front.

The last holds my attention.

His large hand resting carefully on Landon's back, even as he outmaneuvers a snowball being tossed.

It's rather hard to believe the same man lied to me, deceived me. The cunning bastard.

The contract crumples in my grasp and I let it fall to the ground by my feet. I hadn't bothered to take a look at it since that night, too busy chasing my fleeing memories and duties as his wife.

Last night, however, I had dreamt up my entire life, waking up with a vicious start. And I had dashed out of Soren's bedroom to tell him I remembered every single detail, only to be halted in my tracks by his voice, so damn cruel, so damn cold.

Her innocence has nothing to do with her usefulness to me. If she is the key to acquiring everything I want, then I will keep her, use her until you have nothing left to give.

And it came back to me. Everything. That night at the Red Wolf Pack. He already knew my name, even if I didn't tell him. He's known who I was all along. Everything.

Pretending to help me get better to restore my memories, the log he'd created to enter every event so I could refer back to them when I felt better. It was all a farce. A charade. To keep me here for however long he wishes. To use me against Ronan for some long-term beef between the both of them.

And I had fallen for it.

Gods, I had kissed him yesterday like I would die if I didn't have his lips on me. And if I wasn't still healing, I would have begged him to fuck me on the terrace, under the stars.

I don't cry.

I'm too fucking mad to cry.

But the tears fill my eyes anyway, running down my cheeks. My heart aches so severely, I feel as though I am being ripped to shreds from the inside. I had learned to trust him, learned to look in his eyes and trust the intense green of them, trust every word that fell from his mouth.

I should've known nothing came easy in my life. Not love. Not trust. Nothing good came without pain.

I've contemplated it for hours. Leaving. Starting over somewhere else. The possibility of Soren letting me leave at all. But I have to find a way. Because there is nothing left for me here.

At first, I stayed because of what I stood to gain, but over the months, I found my resolve loosening, changing. I loved it here. I found a home here. I grew complacent, gullible and foolish, letting my heart rule me.

I could never see Soren the same way again. All he's taught me is men lie. They ruin. They take advantage of you, use you and discard you once they are through.

That last part will not be my reality. I wipe my tears.

Every month, I received a steady allowance from Soren, into an account he created in my name. I've never had to use or ask for them, because he ensured I had everything I needed.

My heart twists painfully, but I ignore the reaction. If I hope to truly escape him, I need those accounts. Running out of here with Landon like I did when I was fleeing from Ronan would be stupid. And even if my heart bleeds, my body wanting to leave this very instant, and my mind struggling with the idea of taking anything that has been remotely touched by Soren, I did earn my keep here.

I worked hard for every penny.

Turning on my heel, I head for the nightstands, pulling out compartment after compartment. Files. Signatories. I find nothing of importance. Not in the bedroom. Just accounts I've seen and worked on with him before.

Thoughts surface of working with him late into the night, falling asleep against his thighs and drifting off to his adept fingers twining in my hair or his voice vibrating against my cheek as he spoke to someone over the phone.

My fists clench. Foolish. I was extremely foolish to let myself go enough to open up and let him in.

Friends? Fuck that. Friends didn't know the way each other's lips tasted. Friends didn't have wet dreams about each other, neither did they steal glances at each other at the breakfast table, watching as the other licked the jam off the spoon or spread the goat cheese with his fingers. Friends surely didn't imagine those fingers between their thighs.

I liked him. Iactuallyliked him.

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