Mara was finally awake, resting in the Shepherd mansion. The accident had left her unconscious for days, and though she was now stable, the family had insisted she recover under their care.
Ethan had tried to take her from the hospital while she was still unconscious, his desperation to protect her driving him to make reckless decisions. But Steph and his mother had intervened, their calm but firm words cutting through his panic.
"You won’t win her back by taking her like this," Mrs. Anderson had said, her voice steady. "She needs ti, Ethan. Let her heal."
Now, with Mara safely at the mansion, Ethan was left in the dark. He had no news of her condition, no way to reach her. The Shepherd family had closed ranks with their gate heavily guarded.
He wondered why they were keen on keeping him away, as he was shut out completely, it was his wife and child for crying out loud. The uncertainty gnawed at him, his worry for Mara and their unborn child consuming his thoughts.
He paced his apartnt, his mind racing with scenarios each one worse than the last. His assistant tried to reassure him, but Ethan was beyond comfort. The fear of losing Mara, of not being there with her, was a weight he couldn’t shake.
Mara lay in her parents’ bedroom, the familiar surroundings a small comfort as she slowly regained her strength and mories from that night. Steve and Stefan took turns watching over her, their protective instincts in overdrive.
Stanley arrived late that evening, his usual composed deanor frayed at the edges. He hugged his brothers tightly, the relief of seeing them mingling with the guilt of not being there sooner. "How is she?" he asked, his voice low.
"She’s stable," Stefan replied, his tone guarded. "But she’s been through a lot. We’re taking it one day at a ti."
Stanley nodded, his gaze drifting toward Mara’s closed door. "And Ethan?" he asked, though he already suspected the answer.
Steve’s jaw tightened. "He’s not here. And he’s not going to be. Not after everything." Stanley didn’t argue, but the worry in his eyes was unmistakable.
_
The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of sheets as Mara shifted in her sleep. Her face, pale and drawn, twitched as the dream began to take hold—a dream that was more than a dream. It was a mory, long buried but never forgotten, clawing its way to the surface.
Ten years ago.
The storm raged outside, thunder shaking the walls of the Shepherd family. Little Mara, no more than 10 years old, clutched her mother’s hand tightly as her father hurriedly led them through the darkened shelter.
"Stay quiet, my love," her mother whispered, her voice trembling but firm. She knelt in front of Mara, her hands cupping her daughter’s face. Tears stread down her cheeks as she pressed a small, intricately designed pendant into Mara’s tiny hands. "Keep this safe, no matter what. Do you understand?"
Mara nodded, her wide eyes filled with confusion and fear. Her father crouched beside them, his face pale but resolute. "We love you, Stefania, and your brothers as well," he said, his voice breaking. "No matter what happens, rember that."
Before Mara could respond, the sound of shattering glass echoed through the shelter. Her parents exchanged a panicked glance, and her father quickly pushed her into a hidden compartnt beneath the stairs.
"Don’t make a sound," he whispered urgently. "No matter what you hear, don’t co out."
Mara crouched in the darkness, clutching the pendant to her chest. The sound of heavy footsteps and raised voices filled the air. Then, gunshots—sharp and deafening.
Mara’s breath hitched, but she bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. She heard her mother’s voice, pleading, and then another shot. Silence followed, heavy and suffocating.
The compartnt door creaked open slightly, and Mara peeked out, her heart pounding. A figure stood over her parents’ lifeless bodies, their face obscured by the shadows. "Find the girl," the figure growled, their voice cold and nacing. "She can’t have gone far."
Terror seized Mara, but she forced herself to move. She slipped out of the compartnt and bolted for the back door, her small feet barely making a sound on the wooden floor. The storm outside was relentless, rain pelting down as thunder roared overhead. Mara ran blindly, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She didn’t look back—she couldn’t.
But as she stumbled down a steep slope, her foot caught on a root, and she fell hard. Her head struck a jagged stone, and everything went black.
When she woke, the rain was still falling, soaking her clothes and hair. She sat up, disoriented and shivering, her hand instinctively clutching the pendant. But as she looked around, her mind was blank. She didn’t rember her na. She didn’t rember where she was from. All she knew was the cold, the rain, and the faint glimr of the pendant in her hand.
Present day.
Mara’s eyes flew open, and she sat bolt upright in bed, a scream tearing from her throat. "Noooo!" The sound was raw, filled with anguish and terror. Her chest heaved as she gasped for air, her hands clutching at the sheets as if to anchor herself in reality.
The door burst open, and Steve was the first to rush in, his face pale with worry. "Stef!" he exclaid, rushing to her side. Stefan followed close behind, his dical instincts kicking in as he checked her pulse and scanned her for any signs of distress. Stanley and Stanford were right behind them, their expressions a mix of fear and confusion.
Their grandfather, a tall, imposing figure with silver hair and a cane, entered the room. The old man’s sharp eyes softened as they landed on Mara, his granddaughter, trembling and drenched in sweat. "What happened?" he asked, his voice deep and steady.
Mara’s breathing began to slow, but her hands were still shaking. She looked around the room, her eyes wide and haunted. "I... I rembered," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I rembered everything."
Steve knelt beside her, his hand gripping hers tightly. "Rembered what, Mara? What did you see?"
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked at him, her voice breaking. "The night... the night we lost them. Mom and Dad... they hid . They gave a pendant." She has had the pendant all her life, they were the ti she was bullied for it, but she knew she had to keep it safe, it was still in Ethan’s house. "They told to keep it safe. And then... they were gone."
The room fell silent, the weight of her words sinking in. Stefan exchanged a glance with Stanford, his jaw tightening. Stanley stepped forward, his usual calm deanor replaced by a rare intensity. "Do you rember who did it?" he asked, his voice low.
Mara shook her head, her hands trembling. "I... I don’t know. It was dark. But I heard them... the voice was familiar but I don’t rember the face they were looking for . And then I ran... I fell..." She touched the side of her head, where a faint scar remained. "I hit my head. When I woke up, I didn’t rember anything. Not my na. Not where I was from. Nothing."
Their grandfather’s expression darkened, his grip tightening on his cane. "This changes everything," he said, his voice grave. "If Stefania’s mories are returning, it ans the past is catching up to us. We need to be prepared."
Steve stood, his protective instincts flaring. "Prepared for what?"
The old man’s eyes narrowed. "For the truth. And for whoever thought they could bury it." Mara looked around at her family, her heart aching with a mix of relief and fear. She had spent years trying to piece together the fragnts of her past, and now, it was all coming back—whether she was ready or not.
The room, already heavy with tension, seed to freeze as the familiar voice cut through the air like a blade. Mara’s body jolted in shock, her eyes snapping toward the doorway. There, leaning casually against the fra, was Philip Shepherd—Uncle Philly. His smile was wide, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto Mara with an intensity that made her skin crawl, she rembers that voice.
"Stefania, princess!" he said, his tone dripping with a false warmth that made Mara’s stomach churn. "Look at you. How lucky we are for you to join the family again. You must have suffered all these years by yourself. Welco back, princess." His words were smooth, almost rehearsed, but there was sothing dark lurking beneath them—a subtle edge that sent a shiver down Mara’s spine.
Mara’s grip tightened on the sheet, her mind racing. She forced herself to stay calm, her expression neutral, but her heart was pounding. She knew better than to react, to give him anything to work with. Philip was dangerous, she could feel it in the way he studied her, like a predator sizing up its prey.
"I heard you don’t rember anything about your past," Philip continued, his voice taking on a mock-sympathetic tone. "Too bad. Those bad guys who did that to your parents... they need to be found, don’t they?" He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving hers, as if daring her to respond.
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