CHAPTER ONE
Daliah’s POV
It was the kind of night that soaked you to the bone. Rain lashed the windshield in relentless waves, the car’s wipers barely keeping up with the torrent of water. My fingers trembled as I clutched the half empty water bottle, its plastic cool and crinkled under my grip. The engine hummed low, barely louder than my thoughts, I’d turned the heat off hours ago to conserve fuel. As a result I sat shivering in a strange city, parked outside a nameless bar that pulsed with warmth. I hadn’t eaten since morning, maybe even the night before, time blurred after hours on the road and now I was too exhausted to keep track. Hunger clawed at my gut, but it wasn’t as sharp as the ache behind my ribs, that ache was older, deeper, a reminder of years of fear and silence. I let my head fall back against the seat, the leather was cold against my wet hair. I should’ve stayed on the highway, should’ve just kept driving but I couldn’t see straight anymore, I couldn’t feel my fingers. I needed to be somewhere that wasn’t on the road to nowhere. Lightning cracked across the sky, for a moment, the world lit up and in that flash, I saw myself in the rearview mirror.
A ghost stared back at me. Pale, eyes too wide, lips pressed into a line that hadn’t curved in a real smile in... God, months?
“You did it”, I whispered to my reflection, my voice hoarse from disuse.
“You got out”
But that truth came with another: you can’t ever go back.
The name I used was gone, burned, buried along with the body I faked. The life I lived, the house, the man, the bruises I had to learn how to cover, they were all behind me now. I wasn’t safe but I was free, well sort of. I opened the door before I could change my mind, stepping into the downpour and letting it finish what it started. My boots splashed through puddles as I crossed the small, empty lot. The neon sign above the bar flickered, a half dead blue glow, there must have been letters on it some years ago but right now there was none, a nameless place, perfect.
The door creaked as I pushed inside, warm air slamming into me. The scent of old whiskey and fried food hit me next, thick and almost comforting. I didn’t come for comfort, though, I came to remember what it felt like to be human.
~~
I glanced around the bar, the booth on the far corner backed against the wall caught my eye. It was isolated but also gave a clear view of the entire bar, perfect. I slid in, dripping wet, drawing a few glances I couldn’t afford to return. After a few minutes a waitress sauntered over to my booth.
“Anything you want?“, she asked.
I looked up at her, she was tall, curly haired and she was scribbling in her notepad.
“Just water please”, I answered.
It was the only thing I could afford to order.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, please, thank you”
She finally looked up from her notepad then. She eyed me for a minute with a mix of pity and maybe suspicion? I wasn’t sure, so I ducked and avoided her gaze.
“Alright”, she said finally before sauntering away the same way she came.
When she was gone, I surveyed the bar. It was dim but not dark, filled with the dull thrum of conversation, laughter, the clink of glasses, a song I didn’t recognize playing low through the speakers. It was the kind of place where people came to forget. I kept my head down, pulling the hood lower over my damp hair. My clothes clung to me, heavy and damp and I could already feel the beginnings of a chill in my spine but I didn’t focus on it.
I kept one eye on the door, every time it opened, my stomach twisted. My past had a way of wearing different faces. He could’ve sent someone or maybe he hadn’t, maybe he thought I really was dead. But fear didn’t believe nor follow logic. I’d worn masks for so long I didn’t know if I’d recognize my real face anymore. Not that it mattered, I was invisible now. No one here knew me and no one cared.
Until the door opened again and he walked in.
~~
He wasn’t the kind of man you could ignore. He was tall, broad-shouldered beneath an expensive black coat. The rain had darkened his hair, slicked it back. His jaw was clenched, eyes sharp as they swept the room, not searching, just observing. He was calm, collected, power didn’t cling to him, it emanated from him.
And for some reason, I looked. I didn’t want to but I did and once I did, I couldn’t stop. He looked nothing like the man I ran from but he looked just as dangerous. Except…not in the same way. His hands didn’t twitch like they were waiting to strike. He didn’t smile like it was a weapon. His power was quieter. He ran a hand through his hair, water flicking off his fingers as he approached the bar and ordered a drink. His voice was low, a bass note I felt more than heard.
And then, he looked at me. Our eyes locked for half a second too long and panic exploded in my chest. I looked away fast, fumbling for my phone even though there was no signal and the screen was dead. I stared at it anyway, willing myself to become nothing, willing him to forget me.
But something about that glance stuck.
Curiosity? Recognition? God, no, please no. I kept my gaze glued on the table in front of me, the lump in my throat rising as my thoughts spiraled.
“Why did you look at him?“, I berated myself.
What if he saw something? What if he knows? Why did he look back like that? I shouldn’t care. I didn’t even know him but something about him rattled me. He represented like the life I used to imagine I’d have before everything turned into survival, before the bruises and the lies and the suffocating fear. And I hated that a part of me wanted to believe I could be seen by someone like that.
Tears pricked at my eyes. I clenched my jaw trying to fight them back but the dam cracked and I cried, quietly, silently. Like I’d been told to, no sobs, no gasps, just the slow leak of pain I’d buried too long. No one noticed, not the bartender, not the drunk couple a booth away, not even him. Until he did and then he moved.
I felt it before I saw it, the subtle shift in the room. I looked up just as he stood, his glass half finished in his hand, his gaze unreadable as he turned toward me. I froze, every instinct I had screamed danger. But he didn’t swagger over, didn’t leer or lean too close. He walked with slow, deliberate steps, giving me space even as he approached. He stopped a foot from my booth. His eyes, a gloomy gray, I realized now, searched my face. And then he said, simply:
“You okay?”
It wasn’t flirtatious, not invasive, just those two words, low and calm, like a question he didn’t expect an answer to but hoped for one anyway. I blinked. My mouth opened, then closed. I had no idea what to say. Lying was easy, I’d done it for years. But the way he looked at me…
It felt like the truth might be safer... maybe.
“I’m fine”, I croaked.
He nodded once, slowly, like he didn’t believe me, but wouldn’t push.
“You looked like you weren’t”, he said softly. Then added, “But okay.”
But then, he didn’t leave, he just stood there, waiting, watching. Not at me, but for me and I had no idea what to do. Tell him to leave? Lie again?
But what if he was the first person in forever who actually saw me?
