Kara knew the truth had claws. She just didn't expect them to rip through her life in one night.
Xavier stood in her doorway like a force of nature his shoulders broad, his jaw clenched, and
his eyes darker than she'd ever seen. Not angry. Not confused. Just quiet. Terrifyingly quiet.
He had found the contract.
The one she'd hidden in the back of her bookshelf for five years.
The one she had foolishly signed.
"Is it true?" he asked, his voice low, lethal.
Kara swallowed. She couldn't lie. Not anymore. Not with Zia asleep upstairs and the truth
pounding in her chest.
"Yes," she whispered. "Every word."
The silence that followed was worse than shouting.
"So we were married," he said, stepping inside. "For real. Not a dream. Not a lie. And you ran.
You don't remember," she said.
"But I know enough now." He held the papers in his hand like they were a blade. "Why didn't you
tell me?"
Kara looked down. "Because you didn't love me. Because you made it clear it was a deal, not a
life. Because I thought you'd take Zia."
His jaw twitched. "Zia."
"She's your daughter," Kara said softly. "I tried to tell you once. I even wrote you a letter, but—"
"I never got it," Xavier said. "Someone made sure of that."
The name neither of them said hung between them like poison.
Veronica.
Xavier looked around the small apartment the toys on the floor, the worn couch, the family photo
taped to the wall.
He stared at Zia's smiling face.
"She has your eyes," he murmured.
Kara nodded. "And your fire."
He exhaled, long and broken. "Why does it feel like I'm grieving a life I don't remember?"
Kara stepped forward, hands trembling. "Because we did have something. Not perfect. But real.
You weren't always cruel. You smiled sometimes. You held me once and said my name like it
meant something."
He looked at her then really looked.
And something cracked.
"I want it back," he said. "I want her back. I want us."
Kara shook her head. "You can't fix what you don't remember."
"Then make me remember."
He reached out, but she stepped back.
"I can't just open my heart again," she said. "Not when it nearly killed me the first time."
Xavier's voice dropped. "Let me earn it.
Just then, Zia stirred upstairs.
They both turned.
"Is she…?" Xavier began.
"She dreams about you sometimes," Kara said. "Before she even met you. She said she saw a
man in a black coat with sad eyes and a loud heart."
Xavier looked stunned. "I used to wear a black coat every night we were together."
Kara didn't answer. She didn't have to.
He stepped closer. "I don't want to fight anymore."
"Then stop making everything a battle," she replied.
He touched her hand.
"I remember the way you looked when you signed the contract," he said softly. "Scared but
fierce. I remember your voice in the dark. And the night we danced on the balcony, even if I
don't remember your face in that moment."
Kara's breath hitched.
"That night… was the night I got pregnant," she said.
His eyes darkened. "The night I was drugged."
She nodded.
Xavier closed his eyes. "Veronica. It was her."
Kara stepped forward. "Yes. She confessed it in a voicemail she never meant to send. I kept it."
"Play it for me," he said.
Kara walked to the drawer, pulled out an old phone, and pressed play.
Veronica's voice crackled through the speaker. Twisted. Bitter.
"If I can't have you, Xavier, no one will. I slipped something in your drink that night. She'll think
you wanted it. You'll think you forgot. And by the time you know the truth, she'll be gone."
Silence followed.
Xavier opened his eyes.
"She took everything from us."
Kara looked at him. "But we're still here."
A pause.
Then Zia's small voice from upstairs: "Mommy? I had the dream again."
Kara turned toward the stairs. "I'm coming, baby."
Xavier stopped her. "Let me."
She froze.
He went upstairs.
And for the first time in five years, Kara let someone else carry the storm.