"You bitch come over here" i tried to get as far away as my legs could take me from that woman the woman that was supposedly my mother.
"Sienna don't make me look for you you're only making this worse" I words made my stomach flip but I didn't stop I needed to find somewhere to hide I was probably not going to eat for days after this but I didn't care. I just wanted to live.
That hope was cut short when I ran right into the hands of dad.
"Found her darling," he called, and I could hear her excited giggles.
"I see you've grown wings," he said, smiling devishly. "Why don't I clip then off for you?"
"No!!"
I jolted awake, looking around while trying to console myself with the thought that that was just I dream. Well, it's more like nightmare.
The night had blurred into morning before I realized I'd fallen asleep. The floor was cold, my body stiff from crying and researching, but at least the tears had stopped.
That nightmare I just had wasn't helping. They stopped for a while the nightmares. Probably to fuel my hope that I was alright, but it seems they are back.
For the first time in a long while, the silence in my apartment felt… loud.
I stood up slowly, feeling the ache in my chest return with every movement. My reflection on the glass window was almost unrecognizable puffy eyes, messy hair, the same blank expression I'd been wearing all my life.
Perfect. Another picture of grace and dignity.
A humourless laugh escaped me. "Get it together," I muttered.
But then my eyes caught the photograph lying on the table the one of that man and woman. Smiling like their lives were perfect. Like mine could've been, if things were different.
I stood and picked it up. "Who are you?" I whispered. "And why do you feel so familiar?"
No answer, of course. Just that same, maddening smile frozen in time.
I found nothing from all the research I made last night. It was almost as if someone or something was trying to hide everything.
I exhaled shakily. I was not going to give up no matter what happened.
I was halfway to the kitchen when I felt it, that tiny shift in the air. Like the world holding its breath.
And then a voice, low and smooth, slid through the silence.
"Still playing detective, I see."
My entire body froze. My heart kicked painfully against my ribs.
I turned.
Cyrus was standing in the doorway like he'd always belonged there. The morning light caught on his watch, his dark shirt rolled at the sleeves, every inch of him controlled, dangerously calm.
"How..." My voice cracked. "How did you even get in here?"
He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You really should change your locks. It's almost insulting how easy it was."
"Breaking into my apartment isn't exactly normal behaviour."
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. "Neither is tearing open the past, but here you are."
I swallowed hard. "You said you've been watching me. Why?"
"i thought we've talked about this, Sienna," he replied, calling my name like he always did. The way he called my name, it was always... What are you thinking about Sienna.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. This was another reason I hated being around him.
Hus gaze flicked to the photo in my hand. Making my fingers tightened around the picture.
Something in his expression changed. For just a moment, the careful mask slipped — the faintest shadow of regret crossing his face.
"If you knew what you were looking for," he said quietly, "would you still want to find it?."
His question made no sense.
"I would" My voice was soft, but it didn't shake. "I'm tired of staying in the dark."
Cyrus stared at me for a long time, silent. Then, he walked closer until he was standing barely an arm's length away. I could smell his cologne faint spice and smoke, like warmth and danger blended together.
His eyes met mine. "You're stubborn," he murmured. "That hasn't changed."
I frowned. "Hasn't changed? What's that supposed to mean?"
For a second, it looked like he might answer. But instead, he reached out, brushing his thumb across my cheek, wiping away the tears I didn't realize was there.
"Cyrus…" I whispered.
"You shouldn't cry over people who never deserved you," he said softly. "Especially not them."
His voice — it wasn't mocking or cold. It almost sounded… protective.
"Don't act like you care," I said, but it came out weak, almost pleading.
He smirked faintly. "Maybe I don't." He turned away for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the room — at the scattered papers, the untouched coffee, the photo still clenched in my hand. "Or maybe I do."
That caught me off guard. "What?"
But he didn't answer right away. Instead, he moved to the window, resting a hand on the frame. The light hit his face just enough for me to see something different — weariness.
"You think I'm the enemy," he said finally. "Maybe I am. But not in the way you think."
I stepped closer. "Then explain it to me. Please."
Cyrus turned his head slightly, meeting my gaze again — his eyes a storm I couldn't read.
"When the truth comes out," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "i hope you dont regret searching for it."
He looked at me for another long moment, then exhaled slowly and sat down on the edge of the couch — like he wasn't planning to leave anytime soon.
"So," he said finally, leaning back, "tell me what you remember about that photograph."
I stared at him, the photo trembling in my hands, my heart racing.
Was he going to answer me now?
Maybe he wasn't leaving because he wanted to protect me.
Or maybe he just wanted to see how far I was willing to go before I broke again.
Either way… he was staying.
And I didn't know how to feel about that.