NIGHTMARE

The days that followed the Black Crescent Gala blurred into an unsettling kaleidoscope of designer dresses and hollow smiles. Aria navigated Damien’s world like a ghost, a mannequin dressed in expensive clothes, displayed for an audience she didn't understand. The brand burned into her neck was a constant reminder of the night, a searing heat that echoed in the chilling emptiness she felt inside.

Her body was a traitor. A single touch from Damien sent shivers down her spine, a confusing mix of revulsion and something…else. Something akin to longing. But her mind remained a fortress of distrust, every instinct screaming that this opulent life, this possessive man, was a dangerous illusion.

Sleep offered no escape. It was a descent into a terrifying, fragmented landscape. Night after night, she was plagued by visions: blood staining pristine marble, licking across the stone like a hungry tide. A forest consumed by flames, the inferno casting long, dancing shadows. And always, always, the wolves.

Two wolves locked in a silent, predatory dance. One a creature of pure shadow, sleek and menacing. The other, bathed in an unnatural golden light, radiating power. And in the heart of their conflict, a girl. She looked like Aria, but her eyes blazed with an untamed intensity, a primal energy that Aria didn't recognize in herself. This girl was something more, something other than human. Something raw.

One night, Aria woke up screaming, drenched in a cold sweat. Damien was there instantly, his face etched with a concern that felt…practiced. He held her, his touch sending another unwelcome jolt through her.

"Nightmare," he murmured, stroking her hair. "Just a nightmare."

Aria pulled away, the feel of his skin now repulsive. "Was it?" she whispered, the question hanging heavy in the air.

He didn't answer, and the silence spoke volumes.

Driven by a desperate need to understand, to reclaim some semblance of control, Aria began her search. She started small, subtly questioning Damien about his life, his business, anything that might offer a clue to her own identity. He was evasive, always steering the conversation back to her, to her "recovery."

"You need to focus on getting better, Aria," he'd say, his voice a low, soothing hum. "Let me handle the rest."

But “better” meant forgetting, meant surrendering to his narrative. And that, Aria somehow knew, was the most dangerous thing she could do.

One afternoon, while Damien was away at a meeting – a meeting shrouded in the usual vague terms – Aria decided to act. She knew the risks. She knew she was playing a dangerous game with a man who held all the cards. But the thought of those wolves, of the burning forest, spurred her on.

She made her way to Damien’s private study, a sanctum of dark wood and towering bookshelves. The room itself felt like a secret, a place where truths were buried deep. She remembered the smart system in the apartment and how Damien had answered when asked about it. The AI assistant... She needed to use it.

She located the wall safe, hidden behind a painting of a stormy sea. Her fingers trembled as she punched in the code – a string of numbers that, inexplicably, felt familiar. Inside, nestled amongst stacks of documents and expensive watches, was a sealed envelope.

Her name was written on it in elegant script.

Luna Aria Blackthorn.

Luna. The word resonated deep within her, striking a chord she couldn't quite place. Blackthorn, she already knew. It was everywhere. But Luna... what did it mean?

Married? Was she married to Damien? How could she not remember such a thing? And didn't Damien say she's his fiancé? He didn't say wife.

Her hands shook as she tore open the envelope. The paper inside was thick and expensive, but the single sentence scrawled across it seemed to bleed with desperation.

“You are not their mate. But you are very much their weapon.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. A weapon? What did that even mean? Who are "they"? And if she wasn't a mate... what was she?

Behind her, the heavy steel door of the safe slammed shut with a deafening clang. Aria whirled around, her heart hammering against her ribs. The air shifted, growing cold.

One by one, the candles that flickered on the shelves were extinguished, plunging the room into near darkness. The only light came from the sliver of moon visible through the tall windows.

And then she heard it. A whisper, so faint it might have been her imagination. But it was there, inside her head, resonating with a power that made her knees weak.

“Remember.”

A jolt of recognition, a flicker of something long forgotten, threatened to break through the wall of amnesia. Images flashed – a young girl running through a forest, her bare feet pounding on the earth. A woman with haunted eyes, whispering warnings. A ritual, chanting, pain…

Aria gasped, clutching her head. The fragments were too much, too fast. She stumbled, reaching out for something to hold onto.

Suddenly, she wasn't alone.

Damien stood in the doorway, his face obscured by shadow. He hadn't made a sound. She hadn't heard him arrive. He was just… there.

"You shouldn't have done that, Aria," he said, his voice low and dangerous, devoid of all warmth.

Aria stared at him, her mind reeling. The nightmare visions, the locked safe, the cryptic message… it all pointed to one horrifying truth: Damien wasn't her savior. He was her captor.

The fear gave way to a surge of anger, a primal rage she didn't know she possessed.

"Who am I really?" she demanded, her voice trembling but firm. "Why did you lie to me?"

Damien stepped into the light, his expression unreadable. “You don’t understand, Aria,” he said, his voice dangerously soft.

“Then make me understand,” she snapped. “Tell me the truth!”

But he didn't. He simply tilted his head and said, "Get dressed. We're going somewhere." That's same robotic response he gave her when she discovered the call recording from the AI assistant, and that “get dressed, we're going somewhere,” ended in him marking her in public. What is he up to this time around?

"Where?" she asked, her voice guarded.

His lips curled into a chilling smile. "Somewhere you belong."

The journey was a blur. Aria sat stiffly in the back of the limousine, watching the city lights streak past. She was trapped, caught in a web of lies and deceit. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew one thing: she was walking into a trap.

When the car finally stopped, Aria found herself standing before a towering stone building, its facade bathed in an eerie green light. The air crackled with an unfamiliar energy, a palpable sense of power.

Damien took her hand, his grip surprisingly strong. "Welcome home, Aria," he said, his eyes gleaming in the darkness.

As he steered her towards the entrance, Aria caught a glimpse of a figure standing in the shadows, watching them with undisguised contempt. It was a woman, cloaked and hooded, her face hidden from view.

As they passed, the woman’s voice, raspy and low, brushed against Aria's ear:

“You’re walking into hell, little wolf.”