The night was silent, but Kelly's mind screamed.
She sat curled on the edge of her bed, the blanket clutched tightly around her like a shield. The coldness of the room crept into her bones, but it wasn't the chill that made her shiver but the unraveling sense that nothing, not even her thoughts, belonged to her anymore.
Her fingers were shaking as she opened the journal Vincent handed over to her. The pages were filled with her own handwriting, dozens of notes, scribbles, and questions, but she didn't remember writing any of them.
"Trust no one. Not even yourself."
The message was scribbled across several pages like a haunting mantra.
Vincent's warning from earlier still echoed in her mind. "Don't believe everything he says. Especially when he's being gentle."
Rowel had been gentle that morning.
Too gentle.
He kissed her forehead, stroked her hair, and whispered something about keeping her safe. It should've been comforting, but instead, it had felt like poison wrapped in silk.
Her phone buzzed.
A single message.
Vincent DeLuca: Check under the mirror, you've hidden more than you think.
Kelly's heartbeat thundered in her ears. She threw the blanket aside and rushed toward the vanity, her knees weak. She crouched, fingertips searching under the mirror's ornate frame until her fingers brushed against something—a strip of tape. She peeled it away, revealing a folded piece of paper.
Her own handwriting again.
But this time, the message was short.
"If you're reading this… he erased more than you know."
Kelly staggered back, the paper slipped away from her fingers.
Was Rowel really… erasing her memories? Was it in the tea? The pills? The subtle way he always insisted she rest, or left the room when she felt dizzy?
She had trusted him once—somewhere deep down, a part of her still wanted to. But the growing fear that he was behind it all—her memory loss, her confusion, her fractured days—made her stomach twist.
Later that evening, as the storm outside howled against the windows, Rowel returned home.
He was soaked from the rain, his tailored coat clinging to him, his hair damp, and his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "You've been quiet today," he said, shrugging off the coat. "Is something wrong, Kelly?"
She forced a smile. "Just tired."
He walked over and reached for her cheek with a tenderness that made her skin crawl.
"Don't forget," he murmured, voice soft as velvet, "I'm the only one who's ever protected you."
But his eyes... his eyes looked like a man watching his prey—calm, calculating, waiting.
That night, Kelly didn't sleep.
She lay awake, the journal hidden beneath her pillow, the note from under the mirror clutched in her hand like a lifeline. Her thoughts kept circling back to Vincent.
Was he truly trying to help her?
Or was he just another version of Rowel in disguise?
As dawn broke, Kelly crept quietly to the balcony. The city stretched out before her, beautiful and oblivious. She could hear the faint buzz of life returning—but inside her world, everything was falling apart.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed again.
Vincent DeLuca: He's hiding something in the basement. I can't get in, but you can. Tonight. Be careful.
She didn't reply. Just stared at the screen until it dimmed.
The basement.
What could be down there?
Her reflection in the glass door caught her attention. There it was again—written in lipstick across the mirror:
"Trust no one. Not even yourself."
The air inside the mansion was thick with silence, the kind that pressed against your ears and made you feel like something was always listening.
Kelly stared at her reflection again. Her eyes—once wide with innocence—were now rimmed with a dull panic. Every corner of the house seemed darker tonight, and every shadow felt like it knew her name.
She paced slowly, her thoughts unraveling with every step.
Her reflection had changed. Not her face—but something in her gaze. There was fear, yes, but also something else... suspicion. It wasn't just about Rowel anymore. It was herself she was beginning to distrust.
She remembered the way her hand shook earlier when she poured the tea—his tea. She hadn't drunk it.
She'd poured it down the drain when no one was looking.
And yet, the dizziness returned—milder this time—but it came like clockwork.
Could the tea have been a distraction? A red code?
Kelly opened the drawer on her nightstand. Outside was a tiny bottle with no label and pale blue capsules were inside. Rowel had handed them to her last week.
"Just something to help you sleep," he'd said.
She turned the bottle in her hand.
Or forget.
The idea made her throat tighten.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door..
She opened it cautiously.
Vincent.
He stood there in a black hoodie, eyes glaring with urgency. "I told you not to contact me again unless—"
"I didn't," she whispered.
He frowned. "You sent a blank message."
"I didn't," she repeated, even softer this time.
Vincent looked over his shoulder. "Let me in. Just for a minute."
She hesitated, then stepped aside. He moved quickly like he was used to slipping in and out of danger. Once the door shut, he didn't waste time.
"You didn't just forget things, Kelly. He made you forget. I've been trying to tell you that for weeks."
"Why are you helping me?" Her voice whispered
Vincent didn't answer at first. He paced to the window trying to look out, peeked through the blinds, then turned back to her.
"Because I've seen what happens when people get too close to Rowel Don. They disappear."
Kelly's stomach trembled
He pulled something from his coat. A small flash drive. "There's footage, asecurity footage. From the night your mother's surgery was mysteriously paid for and a private clinic file. Rowel didn't just help her, he owned the clinic."
Kelly froze.
"No..." she muttered, but her hands reached for the flash drive anyway.
"Think about it," Vincent added. "Why would a man like that do something so generous for someone he didn't know? He didn't save your mother... he bought her life. And yours."
The words sank like stones into her chest.
But before she could speak again, a voice echoed faintly from the hallway. "Kelly?"
That was Rowel.
He already arrived home
Vincent's eyes widened. "Hide this." He shoved the flash drive into her hand.
Without thinking, she slipped it under the loose floorboard beside the rug.
Rowel knocked once, twice.
"Coming," Kelly called, forcing her voice to sound normal.
Vincent was already by the balcony, disappearing like a shadow.
She opened the door to find Rowel standing there with a bouquet of white lilies.
"For you," he said softly.
Kelly blinked when she saw them…Lilies!?
Funeral flowers.
"I thought you hated flowers," she said.
His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I'm trying to be better."
Her heart pounded.
She took the bouquet, her fingers brushing his. She felt this cold like a stone
"Let me know if you need anything," he added, then walked away, his footsteps fading down the hall.
Kelly shut the door and leaned against it, eyes burning with questions she couldn't ask out loud.
As she turned toward the bed, she noticed something else.
Another note on her pillow. Handwritten.
But not by her.
"He knows about Vincent."
Her breath caught in her throat.