“ZARA’S” POV
I hadn’t seen Lucian in days.
At first, I told myself it didn’t an anything.
He was always busy. Always moving, always planning. Always carrying sothing heavier than he ever let anyone else see.
Even when he was with , sotis his attention drifted. His eyes went distant, like he was listening to sothing only he could hear.
But this felt different.
Because even when he wasn’t there, I could feel him.
Or at least...I used to.
Now, that connection felt thinner. Fainter. Like a thread stretched too far, fraying at the edges in ways I didn’t understand and couldn’t fix, no matter how tightly I tried to hold on.
We had spoken a few tis—short calls, careful words. His voice was quieter than I rembered, flatter, like sothing had been pressed down on it.
“Are you alright?” I had asked the last ti.
A pause—just long enough to make unease stir inside .
“I’m fine,” he had said.
I knew he wasn’t.
But when I tried to reach for the reason—when I tried to grasp what had changed, what I had done—there was nothing there.
Just...gaps. Fragnts.
That sa empty, sliding feeling that had followed ever since I woke up in this body.
I pressed my fingers to my temple, closing my eyes as I sat at the edge of the bed, trying—again—to push past that barrier in my mind.
There had to be sothing.
Sothing I said. Sothing I did. Sothing that made him look at differently.
Because he had, I rembered that at least.
But every mory slipped, gone before I could hold onto it.
My hand dropped back into my lap, fingers curling into the fabric of my dress.
I hated this.
I hated the way my thoughts felt incomplete, like pieces of sothing larger that refused to fit together no matter how many tis I turned them over in my mind.
I hated the way ti moved strangely here—too fast in so places, too slow in others, like it wasn’t anchored to anything real.
Most of all, I hated this body.
My fingers tightened unconsciously, nails pressing into my skin as I looked down at my hands.
They didn’t feel like mine.
They responded as they were supposed to. Nothing was visibly wrong, nothing that should have made feel as if I were wearing sothing that didn’t belong to .
And yet, there was a disconnect—like I was always just out of sync with my own body.
I lifted my hand slowly, turning it over, watching the way the light caught against my skin.
Smooth. Unmarked. Perfect.
Too perfect.
A flicker of sothing passed through my mind then, so fast I almost missed it.
Rougher hands. Scarred knuckles. A faint, jagged line along the wrist—
I blinked, the image dissolving before I could grasp it, leaving behind nothing but a faint echo that made my chest tighten.
I swallowed, forcing the thought away, pushing it down into the sa place all the other fragnts went when they didn’t make sense.
Because thinking about it too much only made the feeling of wrongness worse, and I couldn’t afford that.
Not when this body was the only thing keeping here.
The only thing keeping with him.
If I lost it, I wouldn’t be able to stay by Lucian’s side. I would lose my mate again.
My chest squeezed painfully at the thought, a surge of desperation and fear clawing its way up.
No.
I couldn’t let that happen.
No matter how wrong it felt.
No matter how much I hated it.
I would endure.
For him. For us.
A soft knock at the door pulled from my thoughts.
I straightened instinctively, smoothing my expression before calling out, “Co in.”
The door opened, and my caretaker, Marie, stepped inside, her movents quiet and graceful, her gaze lowered just enough to be respectful without seeming timid.
“Miss Zara,” she said gently. “It’s ti.”
I stood and crossed the room toward her, even as sothing inside protested against the familiar routine.
“Any discomfort today?” she asked as she guided toward the chair near the window.
“No,” I answered automatically.
It wasn’t entirely true. There was always discomfort.
It just wasn’t the kind I could explain.
She nodded as if the answer was expected, and began preparing the injection with efficient, practiced movents.
The vial caught the light as she lifted it, the liquid inside a pale, almost iridescent silver.
Stabilizer.
Maintenance serum.
Different nas for the sa thing.
The thing that kept everything steady. That kept alive.
“Hold still,” she murmured.
The needle slid into my arm with a sharp, familiar sting, followed almost imdiately by a spreading warmth that seeped into my veins.
Then—
The world shifted.
It wasn’t physical. Not exactly.
It was more like...
Layers.
Sothing sliding over sothing else.
My breath caught as the sensation deepened, my fingers tightening against the armrest as fragnts—sharp, disjointed, too vivid to ignore—flashed through my mind.
Night.
Cold air biting against skin flush with anger.
Footsteps—hurried, uneven—echoing down an empty street, the sound of them too loud in the silence that followed a storm of raised voices and slamd doors.
A voice—mine, but not—still ringing in my ears. “I need space.”
The words felt final. Burning. Irrevocable.
Movent.
A shadow peeling away from the darkness ahead.
Several shadows.
Hands—strong, unyielding—closing around my arm, yanking backward before I could react.
A sharp gasp tore from my throat as my body twisted, instinct kicking in too late, adrenaline flooding my veins as I struggled against a grip that didn’t budge.
“Let go—!”
The protest cut off.
Pain exploded at the back of my neck, followed by a dizzying rush that sent the world tilting sideways.
The street blurred.
The shadows swallowed everything.
And just before the darkness closed in completely—
I sucked in a breath, my chest rising sharply as the fragnts vanished as quickly as they had co, leaving nothing behind but a lingering sense of displacent.
Marie didn’t react. Her expression remained calm and composed as she withdrew the needle and pressed a small pad of gauze against my skin.
“All done,” she said softly.
I nodded, forcing my breathing to steady, even as my mind raced.
That mory hadn’t been mine.
The voice hadn’t been mine.
The hands hadn’t been mine.
The feeling hadn’t been mine.
And yet it had been inside my head.
I swallowed, my gaze dropping to my arm where the injection had been.
This wasn’t the first ti.
There had been others—brief flickers of monts that didn’t belong to .
I had never said anything because I knew that if I did, they would take this body away. Start all over again.
And I couldn’t let that happen.
“Miss Zara?”
I looked up.
Marie was watching , her head tilted, concern flickering across her face.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly.
Her gaze lingered for a mont longer, searching, as if she could see sothing beneath the surface if she looked hard enough.
Then she nodded.
“Lady Catherine is waiting for you.”
“Waiting?” I repeated.
“That’s right.”
I frowned slightly, pushing myself to my feet as unease curled low in my stomach.
“Why is she—”
The door opened before I could finish.
Catherine stepped inside, her presence filling the room effortlessly, as composed and immaculate as ever.
“Because I have sothing special planned for you today,” she said, her voice smooth, almost warm.
I turned toward her fully, my unease sharpening.
“Special?”
Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
“You’ve been doing very well,” she continued, stepping closer, her gaze sweeping over in a way that felt...assessing. “Better than expected, in fact.”
Sothing in the way she said it made my chest tighten.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
She humd softly, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair back from my face, her touch light, almost affectionate.
“Co,” she said. “We don’t have much ti.”
“For what?” I asked.
Her smile deepened. “You’ll see.”
The unease in my chest grew sharper, heavier, even as I nodded and allowed her to guide out of the room.
We didn’t go far. Just down the corridor, into another room I hadn’t been in before.
It was larger and brighter. Two mirrors lined the walls opposite each other, reflecting the space on itself in endless repetition.
Clothing racks stood along the other side, filled with garnts in shades of white and silver, their fabrics shimring under the light.
I stopped just inside the doorway.
“What is this?” I asked.
“A fitting room,” Catherine said simply.
“For what?”
“For you.”
Before I could respond, two attendants stepped forward, their movents quiet and efficient as they began selecting items from the racks.
I stiffened instinctively, a flicker of discomfort rising.
“I don’t understand,” I said, my gaze shifting back to Catherine.
“You don’t need to,” she replied smoothly. “Just trust .”
Trust.
The word settled uneasily in my chest.
Was being dependent on soone the sa as trusting them?
I nodded anyway.
The attendants guided toward the center of the room, their hands gentle but firm as they began adjusting my clothing, removing what I wore and replacing it piece by piece.
They moved around with quiet precision, fixing my hair, adjusting the fall of the dress, applying makeup in precise, elegant strokes, stepping back and forth again until everything was exactly as they wanted it.
I stood still through it all, my reflection staring back at from the mirrors.
Unease twisted itself into dread, icy and hollow.
Because the person looking back at didn’t feel like , not even in the way this body usually didn’t feel like .
I frowned, tilting my head as I studied my reflection.
Sa pale blonde hair. Sa cerulean eyes.
But...
There was sothing about it. Sothing I couldn’t quite place.
“Perfect,” Catherine murmured behind .
I turned, eting her gaze through the mirror.
“What is this for?” I asked again.
This ti, she didn’t deflect.
Her smile was soft. Satisfied.
“I’m taking you to see soone,” she said.
My pulse skipped. “Who?”
Her gaze lingered on for a mont longer, sothing unreadable passing through her eyes.
Then she answered: “Soone important.”
A strange chill slid down my spine as I looked back at my reflection.
At the way I had been dressed. The way I had been shaped into sothing I didn’t fully understand.
The thought slipped through, quiet but undeniable.
This wasn’t just for . It was for whoever I was about to et.
And I had the distinct feeling that they weren’t ant to see at all.
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