LAUREN/ZARA
The first thing I felt was the ache. A deep, stabbing burn in my side that pulsed with every shallow breath I managed to take.
The second was the silence. Too clean. Too sterile. Not the chaos of a fight. Not the ringing in my ears. Just the low hum of machines and the faint antiseptic sting in the air.
I forced my eyes open. A blur at first,white ceiling, fluorescent light, shadows dancing at the edges of my vision. It took a moment for the pieces to settle, for the memory to slam into me like a fist.
Nick.
His gun.
Liam.
The shot—
My hand twitched against the sheets, reaching instinctively for the mask that wasn't there. Panic flared. My face…..exposed. Vulnerable. Anyone could have seen.
I struggled to sit up, a sharp cry breaking from my throat as pain ripped through my ribcage. My vision swam, but I gritted my teeth and forced myself upright.
Focus. Breathe. Don't break now.
Every movement felt heavy, like my body belonged to someone else, but the fear anchored me. If Liam saw me like this… if anyone recognized me… it would all unravel.
And worse…..if Nick found out.
I closed my eyes, pressing a trembling hand against the bandage at my side. My brother's face flashed in my mind,not the man who had beaten me bloody, but the boy who used to sneak me sweets after to cheer me up. The one who swore he'd always protect me.
He thought I was dead. And if he discovered the truth now, I wasn't sure if he'd hug me… or finish what he started.
A chill crept over me. I wasn't safe. Not here. Not anywhere.
Still, I forced my breathing into rhythm, straightened my spine, and slipped my mask of control back on,even if the literal mask was gone.
If I wanted to survive this, I couldn't be Zara. Not anymore.
I had to stay Lauren.
Even if it killed me.
I pressed my palm to the sheets, grounding myself as my mind spun.
Had Liam seen me?
The thought refused to leave. That night,the blood, the chaos, his arms around me,I'd been too weak to control what he did. Had he lifted the mask? Had he looked at me, really looked, and seen the ghost he thought was buried years ago?
My stomach knotted. If he had, why hadn't he said anything? Why hadn't the questions come crashing down the second I opened my eyes?
Unless… maybe he hadn't seen. Maybe fate had been merciful enough to keep me hidden just a little longer.
I was still caught between relief and dread when the door creaked open.
I tensed instantly, expecting a nurse,or worse, Liam himself. But instead, that voice hit me like ice water poured down my spine.
"Well, well. Sleeping Beauty finally wakes."
I froze. Every muscle in me locked tight. I knew that voice. I'd hated that voice since I was seventeen.
Beatrice.
She glided into the room, perfectly polished, her heels clicking softly against the tile. Her smirk was sharp enough to cut glass.
"Two weeks," she drawled, crossing her arms as her eyes roamed over me. "That's how long you've been out. Quite the little nap, Lauren. Or should I say…" Her head tilted, mock sympathy dripping from every word. "…Zara."
The name hit me like a slap. My breath caught, my chest aching against the bandages.
She leaned against the bedpost, her tone almost playful. "You should thank me, you know. Liam wanted to come in here, check on you. But I made sure he didn't. Wouldn't want him stumbling into your little secret too soon, would we? Imagine his face if he knew the bodyguard he's been pining after is the same pathetic girl we buried in the past."
My hands curled into fists beneath the blanket, nails digging into my palms. I wanted to spit back, to snarl, to tear that smirk off her face. But my voice caught in my throat, tangled with anger and something far more dangerous—fear.
Because she knew.
And if Beatrice knew, everything could fall apart.
I let the silence stretch, my face carefully blank. Inside, my blood roared, but on the surface…I gave her nothing.
"Zara," she said again, like she was testing the sound of it on her tongue, trying to cut me open with it.
I blinked at her slowly. "I think the painkillers are messing with my head." My voice came out steady, flat. Too steady.
Her smirk faltered. "Don't play games with me."
"I'm not." I tilted my head slightly, studying her with the same detached calm I used on targets in the field. "But maybe you are. Zara? I don't know who that is. Should I?"
The flicker of uncertainty in her eyes was small, but I caught it. Like a crack in porcelain.
I leaned back against the pillows, ignoring the ache in my ribs, and added softly, "Funny thing about people who cling to ghosts,they're usually the ones who buried them."
Her jaw tightened. She took a step closer, her voice sharper now. "Don't you dare try to….."
"Beatrice," I cut in, letting her name roll off my tongue with deliberate weight. "You sound paranoid. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, get out of my room."
For a moment, she just stared at me. Searching. Doubting. Her smirk returned, but it didn't reach her eyes this time.
"Fine," she hissed, backing toward the door. "Play dumb. But sooner or later, Liam's going to see the truth.... And when he does, I'll be there to watch you fall all over again."
The door slammed shut behind her, leaving me alone with the pounding in my chest.
I let out a slow breath, the mask of calm slipping for just a second. She knew. And now I knew she knew.
But she also doubted herself.
And if I played this right, I could turn that doubt into a weapon.
The second the door closed, I let myself exhale. My ribs screamed from holding so much tension, but I didn't care.
Beatrice knew. Or at least, she thought she did.
And now I had to make sure she never got the chance to prove it.
I pushed my hand through my hair, tugging at the loose strands like the sting could ground me. My mask was gone. My secret cracked wide open. Nick was out there, hunting. And Liam… God, Liam. If he walked through that door and saw me without the mask, all the lies I'd built around myself would collapse.
I had two options:
Hide. Or fight.
And I was so damn tired of hiding.
If Beatrice wanted to dig into the past, fine. Let her dig. Let her get dirt under her nails, chasing ghosts I'd buried years ago. Meanwhile, I would be watching. Listening. Learning. Because the more she fixated on Zara, the less she'd see Lauren moving the pieces right under her nose.
But I couldn't afford to slip. Not once.
I glanced at the IV line taped to my arm, at the monitor tracking the slow rhythm of my heart. Weakness wasn't an option. Not now. Not with everything tightening around me.
I needed to recover. Fast.
I needed to keep my mask close.
And most of all, I needed to decide what Liam was to me…an ally, or a liability.
Because Beatrice had already chosen her side.
And sooner or later, I'd have to choose mine.
The moment the nurse came in to check my vitals, I made my voice steady.
"I want to be discharged."
Her brows lifted. "Miss Lauren, you've only just woken…..,"
"I said I want to be discharged," I repeated, sharper this time. My tone carried enough steel to make her pause. "You can run your tests, write whatever notes you need, but I'm not staying in this bed another night."
She hesitated, glancing toward the door as if expecting someone to storm in and overrule me. But Liam wasn't here. Julian wasn't here. The two people who thought they had the right to cage me weren't around.
Which meant the decision was mine.
As she left to "check with the doctor," I sat up straighter, ignoring the dull ache in my muscles. Every movement hurt, but pain had always been easier to carry than helplessness.
If I left now, I could control the narrative. I could move before Beatrice decided her next step. And more importantly, I could prepare for Liam.
Because when he came back, I needed to know—
Had he seen me? My face, my truth?
Or was he still in the dark, clinging to the version of me that was safer, easier, untouchable?
Either way, I'd find out.
And until then, secrecy was my shield.
Let Beatrice think she had cornered me. Let her gloat.
I'd play the weak patient, the cooperative stranger. But in the shadows of my mind, I was already mapping escape routes, rehearsing lies, sharpening the edges of truths I might use as weapons.
This wasn't about survival anymore.
It was about control.
And I'd take it back,piece by piece, lie by lie,until I held the upper hand again.