Kaison pov
The first glimpse of her in the Spellman mansion hallway had been like a physical blow—breathtaking, disorienting, and painful all at once. After years and months of searching, after exhausting every resource at my disposal, there she was. My Mira. Standing mere feet away, looking both exactly as I remembered and somehow completely transformed.
Her darkness had grown stronger—that was immediately apparent. It responded to her emotions more fluidly than before, curling around her fingers like living shadows eager to protect her. Her posture was different too—more guarded, her body angled for quick escape, her eyes constantly scanning for threats. Gone was the woman who had gradually learned to relax in my presence, who had eventually trusted me enough to fall asleep in my arms.
But beneath these changes, she was unmistakably mine. The same eyes that had once looked at me with growing trust, then affection, then love. The same lips that had whispered my name in the darkness of my bedroom. The same hands that had tentatively reached for mine across the kitchen counter that first time she'd allowed me to touch her without flinching.
The shock of her lack of recognition had been devastating. I had prepared for anger, for accusations about why I hadn't found her sooner, even for the possibility that she might have moved on. But not for this—this blank confusion, this complete absence of recognition in her eyes.
"I've never seen you before in my life."
The words had cut deeper than any blade. How could she not remember? The year we had spent together, the slow building of trust, the careful courtship, the love we had finally acknowledged and consummated? How could all of that simply vanish from her mind?
But then came the kiss—impulsive, perhaps unwise, but I had to know if her body remembered what her mind had forgotten. And for one breathtaking moment, it did. She had responded instinctively, her lips softening against mine, her body swaying slightly toward me before conscious thought reasserted itself and she pulled away.
That moment has sustained me through the days of waiting since. Her body remembers me. Somewhere beneath whatever conditioning or memory manipulation she's endured, the woman who loved me still exists.
I stare at my phone for what must be the hundredth time today, willing it to ring. The business card I left with her burns in my mind—the lifeline I extended, hoping she would reach for it when she was ready. Every time my phone vibrates with a notification, my heart leaps before I remind myself that Mira would be more likely to call from an unknown number, cautious as she always was.
Patience has never been my strong suit. The blue flames of my power flicker around my fingertips as my frustration builds, casting eerie shadows across the penthouse that serves as my temporary S City residence. I could go to her again. I could demand answers from the Spellman family. I have the resources, the power to force the issue.
But I won't. Not yet. Rushing this would only drive her further away, and I've waited too long to risk losing her again.
Besides, there are other matters requiring my attention—mainly the disturbing information Grandfather provided about Project K and Greystone Hospital. The file he gave me makes for grim reading: medical experimentation, magical augmentation, forced breeding programs. The thought of Mira subjected to any of these abominations fills me with a cold rage that threatens to consume everything around me.
If my cousin Cole was truly involved in this, as Grandfather implied, then he will face justice at my hands. Family or not, no one touches what is mine and lives to boast of it.
The most troubling aspect of all this is the gap in Mira's timeline—the missing year that perfectly aligns with her time at my Crystal City estate. Someone deliberately erased her memories of that period, replacing them with fabricated horrors designed to make her fear and distrust everyone, including me. Especially me, perhaps.
But why? What threat did our relationship pose? And to whom?
I recall our last morning together—Mira's smile as she handed me coffee, the light teasing about my business trip, her kiss goodbye. There had been no indication she planned to leave, no warning signs of trouble. I had promised to return in two weeks. By the time I arrived home, she was gone without a trace.
Now I wonder: was she taken? Did she leave voluntarily? Or was there some other factor I failed to consider?
The most pressing question, though, is one I hardly dare contemplate. During the confrontation at the Spellman mansion, she had been fiercely protective of something in her room. Her darkness had formed a barrier between the family and the stairs with a ferocity that seemed beyond mere self-defense.
Mira will be my wife, as was always the plan. I will not be denied this future—not by the Spellmans, not by whoever manipulated Mira's memories, not even by Mira herself in her current confused state.
The blue flames dance higher around me as my resolve solidifies. I've given her time to call, to reach out of her own accord. But my patience is not limitless. If she doesn't contact me soon, I will take more direct action.
After all, I am Kaison Monroe. I have toppled governments, eliminated rivals, built an empire that spans continents. Reclaiming my woman from a family of shadow-wielders, however powerful they may be, is well within my capabilities.
And if blood must be spilled to achieve this? So be it. The Spellmans may discover that shadows offer little protection against the consuming heat of my blue flame.
But first, I'll wait just a little longer. For Mira's sake. For the sake of what we once had, and what we will have again.
She will remember. She will call. And if she doesn't...
Well, I've never been one to leave my fate in others' hands.