Sleep eluded me that night. I tossed in my bed, the events of the past days replaying in my mind like a nightmare I couldn't escape. Dominic's cold eyes in the garden, Kayla's smug smile as she clung to his arm—everything felt wrong, twisted somehow.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed midnight as I finally gave up on sleep. Perhaps fresh air would clear my head. I slipped from my room, my bare feet silent against the cold marble floors of the Scott estate.

A light glimmered from beneath my father's study door. Strange—he usually retired early. Curiosity pulled me forward, my military training making my steps nearly soundless.

"I still don't understand why you didn't just tell her plainly," a voice drifted through the crack—Marcus Thornfield, Dominic's advisor.

"Plainly?" Dominic's laugh was sharp, cruel—nothing like the warm sound I remembered from our childhood. "And risk her causing a scene? The amnesia story was perfect. Clean, simple."

My blood turned to ice in my veins.

"You should have seen her face at the announcement," Dominic continued, amusement lacing his words. "All those medals on her chest, standing there like some kind of statue while everyone watched for her reaction."

"And she believed the amnesia?" Marcus asked.

"Of course she did." Dominic's voice dripped with disdain. "Nina always was too trusting. Too devoted. It made things... convenient."

I pressed my hand against my mouth to stifle a gasp. The amnesia—all of it—had been a lie. A calculated betrayal.

"The King was pleased with how smoothly it went," Marcus said. "Though I'm not sure he entirely approves of your choice."

"What choice?" Dominic snapped. "Kayla brings the Scott shipping empire to our union. Nina brings... what? Battlefield stories and a handful of medals?"

I backed away, my heart hammering against my ribs. The man I'd loved since childhood—the boy who'd once carved our initials into that oak tree—had never existed at all.

---

The dining room felt suffocating the next evening. Father had insisted on a family dinner to "celebrate" my return. Kayla sat across from me, her eyes glittering with malice barely concealed beneath a veneer of sisterly affection.

"Nina," Father said, "your mother would be proud of your accomplishments."

The mention of Mother sent a pang through my chest. After her death, I'd kept her ashes in a beautiful porcelain urn—the only thing I had left of her.

"Oh, is this her?" Kayla's voice cut through my thoughts as she rose from her seat, moving toward the mantel where the urn sat. "May I see it?"

Before anyone could stop her, she lifted the delicate container.

"It's lovely," she said, examining it with false admiration. "So... fragile."

Her fingers loosened deliberately, and I lunged forward as the urn slipped from her grasp. Too late—it shattered against the floor, my mother's ashes spilling across the hardwood.

"Oh!" Kayla's hand flew to her mouth in mock horror. "How clumsy of me! I'm so terribly sorry."

But her eyes—her eyes held nothing but satisfaction.

Something snapped inside me. A roar filled my ears as I tackled her to the ground, my hands reaching for her throat.

"You did that on purpose!" I screamed.

Strong arms pulled me back—Father, his face contorted with anger.

"That's enough!" he bellowed. "What's gotten into you, Nina? Your sister apologized!"

"She did it deliberately!" I struggled against his grip, tears blurring my vision.

"Nina Scott!" Father's voice cut through my rage like a whip. "You will apologize to your sister this instant!"

Kayla brushed herself off, a single tear sliding down her cheek. "It was an accident," she said softly. "I would never harm Nina's mother intentionally."

---

"I want justice," I told Dominic the next day, my voice shaking with barely controlled fury. "She destroyed my mother's ashes—the only thing I had left."

We stood in the palace garden again, but this time there was no trace of the boy I'd once loved in his eyes.

"Kayla explained what happened," he said coldly. "An unfortunate accident."

"It was no accident!" I stepped closer, desperation making my voice rise. "Dominic, if you remember anything about us—"

"Enough!" His hand shot out, gripping my arm with bruising force. "You will not speak to me this way."

"Or what?" I challenged, years of military command giving me courage.

His face darkened as he drew his ceremonial dagger from his belt. "You need to learn your place, Nina."

Before I could react, he drove the blade through my uniform, finding the exact spot where I'd been wounded at Blackwater Ridge. Pain exploded through me as he twisted the knife.

"Now," he whispered, his face inches from mine, "you will respect my future wife."

I collapsed to my knees as he withdrew the blade, watching my blood stain the garden path crimson.

"You've forgotten who you are," he said, wiping the dagger clean on my torn sleeve. "Perhaps this will help remind you."

The wound Dominic inflicted had healed into another scar—a permanent reminder of his betrayal. But physical pain was nothing compared to the ache in my chest as I watched him parade around with Kayla on his arm, playing the devoted fiancé.

Something wasn't right. The Kayla I remembered from childhood was nothing like this manipulative woman who'd stolen my future. I needed answers.

"I need to know who she really is," I whispered to myself, standing at my bedroom window, watching Kayla in the garden below. She moved with practiced grace, but there was something calculated in every gesture.

I started with the household records. Late at night, when the mansion fell silent, I slipped into Father's study and began searching through old documents. Birth records, school certificates, medical histories—anything that might reveal Kayla's true background.

"Miss Nina?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Mrs. Winters, our old housekeeper who'd served Mother for years, stood in the doorway.

"I'm sorry to startle you," she said, her eyes darting nervously to the door. "But I couldn't sleep knowing you were looking into... certain matters."

"You know something," I said. It wasn't a question.

Mrs. Winters glanced over her shoulder before stepping closer. "Your half-sister isn't who she claims to be. I overheard her mother speaking strange languages when she thought no one was listening. And there were... things in their quarters. Strange symbols, foreign trinkets."

My pulse quickened. "Do you remember anything specific?"

"The mother—Elena Blackwood—she wasn't just a poor girl your father helped. She had connections, powerful ones. Foreign connections." Mrs. Winters's voice dropped to a whisper. "And Kayla... she's been planning this since she was old enough to understand what was taken from her mother."

I thanked her and continued my search, eventually finding Kayla's old room in the east wing. Father had kept it locked after she left for boarding school, but the lock was simple enough for someone with military training.

Inside, beneath a loose floorboard, I found what I was looking for—a small wooden box containing strange symbols carved into bone, dried herbs tied with hair, and letters written in an unfamiliar script that made my skin crawl. The paper smelled faintly of something acrid, like burned flesh.

I was so absorbed in my discovery that I didn't hear the footsteps until it was too late.

"Well, well," Kayla's voice sliced through the silence. "What do we have here?"

I spun around, clutching the box. "These are yours."

"Give me that." She lunged forward, but I sidestepped her.

"Not until you tell me what they are."

Her face contorted with rage. "You stupid girl. You have no idea what you're interfering with."

Before I could react, she blew out the lamp. In the darkness, I heard her whisper words in that strange language Mrs. Winters had mentioned.

---

The market district was usually bustling with activity, but tonight it was eerily quiet. I'd left the house with copies of the documents I'd found, intending to visit an old military contact who might help decipher the strange writing.

I should have known better than to walk alone.

They came from nowhere—three figures in black, faces obscured by masks. One grabbed me from behind while another clamped a cloth over my mouth. I fought, years of military training kicking in instantly, but they were prepared. Something hard struck my temple, and the world spun.

"Bring her to the warehouse," a voice commanded.

I lost consciousness, waking to searing pain as something hot pressed against my thigh. A branding iron.

"Stop squirming," a rough voice growled.

Through blurred vision, I made out my surroundings—an abandoned warehouse filled with shadows. My wrists were bound to a chair, and the smell of my own burning flesh filled my nostrils.

"Your mistress wants answers," the man said, lifting the iron. "How much do you know about Kayla Scott?"

"Nothing," I gasped through the pain.

"Liar." The iron pressed against my arm this time. "What did you find in her room?"

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a scream.

"If you don't talk," another voice said, stepping from the shadows, "we'll take your eyes next. A blind general would be quite the spectacle."

---

I don't remember how long they tortured me. Time blurred between waves of agony and brief moments of clarity.

Then suddenly, the warehouse door burst open.

"Get away from her!"

The voice was commanding, familiar in a way I couldn't place through the haze of pain.

Figures rushed in—guards in royal livery. And at their center, a man whose face I slowly recognized.

Prince Gregory Pierce.

His eyes widened as he took in my condition. "Nina," he whispered, dropping to his knees beside me.

The last thing I remember was his gentle hands cutting through my bonds, his voice low and urgent as he ordered his men to find a physician.

When I woke again, I was in an unfamiliar chamber. Soft sheets replaced the hard wooden chair, and the scent of healing herbs filled the air.

Gregory sat beside me, his eyes filled with a concern I hadn't seen in so long.

"Rest now," he said softly, his hand warm on mine. "You're safe."

As I drifted back to sleep, I realized something had changed. In Gregory's eyes, I saw something Dominic had never given me—respect. And perhaps something more.