They didn't sleep that night.
Serena lay curled on the old chaise in the library of the Blackmere Hollow estate, a single blanket wrapped around her as if it could ward off the memories. Damon paced silently in the next room, his jaw tight, the glow of his tablet screen casting shadows under his eyes.
He was digging.
Through names.
Through numbers.
Through accounts long buried beneath aliases and false records.
And finally—he found it.
A ledger.
A hidden subroutine buried within a long-defunct banking archive, sealed under the Circle's oldest trust fund accounts.
Damon Cross knew how to read these things. How to see through the numbers. Because he'd once built his own empire on hidden shells and silent money.
But what he didn't expect to find was this:
A wire transfer.
Three days after Serena's father was declared dead.
To a private facility in Geneva. Under a name they both knew.
Matthias Vale.
Serena's father.
Alive.
Or… he was. At least then.
---
"Serena," Damon said, kneeling beside her.
Her eyes fluttered open, lashes heavy with the weight of a thousand sleepless nights. "Did you find anything?"
He nodded slowly. "I think your father survived."
She sat up too fast. "What?"
"Listen to me," he said, steady but soft. "There's a transfer. Hidden. A large sum wired to a hospital in Geneva—untraceable except through this one forgotten ledger. It was routed through three dummy charities and an investment trust. But the signature? It was forged. Badly. Someone wanted it to look like a final payout."
Serena's heart pounded in her throat. "But why? Why keep him alive and hidden?"
"Because they didn't want him to die," Damon said. "They wanted him silent."
Serena's breath hitched.
"All these years…" she whispered. "I thought he was gone. I thought I was mourning a ghost. But he was somewhere, alone."
"Or worse," Damon said darkly. "They could have kept him locked away. Drugged. Reprogrammed."
Serena's eyes hardened. "Then we find out."
---
By morning, they were already in the air.
Damon's private jet sliced through European skies toward Switzerland, where the cold winds of the Alps met the icy hush of hidden truths. Serena sat beside him, gripping a manila envelope that Damon had printed just before they left.
Inside: the ledger copy. Transfer routes. A name.
"Matthias Vale was never buried," she said, mostly to herself. "Because they never intended to kill him."
"He knew something," Damon replied. "Something the Circle couldn't let die. But they couldn't risk him free, either."
Serena turned toward the window, her voice low. "Do you think he even remembers me?"
"I don't know," Damon answered honestly. "But we're going to find out."
---
The clinic was nothing like Serena expected.
It wasn't sterile or bright or full of quiet machines. It was an estate. A gated, elegant place nestled into the side of a snow-dusted mountain—shielded from the public eye and surrounded by woods.
Damon showed the forged documents they'd brought.
His voice, cold and commanding, cut through the administrator's protests like a scalpel. "We're here to see patient 0-1-9. Now."
Eventually, they were escorted down a long, silent corridor.
Serena's steps faltered near the last door.
"I don't know if I can do this," she whispered.
Damon took her hand. "You're not alone."
She swallowed and nodded.
The nurse unlocked the door.
---
Inside, the light was dim.
And in the far corner of the room, an old man sat by the window.
Thinner. Paler. With a grey beard and hollowed eyes. But there was no mistaking it—not for her.
"Dad?" Serena whispered.
The man didn't move at first.
Then—slowly—he turned.
His eyes landed on her.
And something flickered.
Recognition.
Pain.
Hope.
"Serena…" he rasped. The name like broken glass in his throat. "Is it… real this time?"
She crossed the room in two shaky steps, collapsing at his feet. "It's me. It's really me."
He reached for her, fingers trembling. "They told me you died. That I had to forget you to survive."
Her tears broke then, pouring silently down her cheeks. "And they told me you were gone."
Behind her, Damon stood at the door, watching silently as two broken hearts tried to remember how to beat again in the same room.
---
Hours passed.
The truth came slowly, in whispered fragments and trembling breaths.
The Circle had tried to assassinate Matthias when he attempted to leak documents—proof of what they did with missing children, with dark contracts, with blood money.
But someone spared him. Someone inside.
He didn't know who.
They drugged him. Buried him in a false identity. Locked him in this place under the guise of treatment.
"They said you'd be better off without me," Matthias murmured. "That your future didn't need to be burned by my sins."
Serena held his hand. "They lied."
---
Later that night, she stood on the balcony of the lodge where Damon had booked them a private suite.
The mountain air bit at her skin, but she didn't feel it. Not with the storm raging inside.
Damon joined her, arms wrapping around her from behind.
"You did it," he whispered against her temple.
"No," she said. "We did it."
He kissed her shoulder. "You're stronger than you think."
"I'm only strong because you never let me fall alone."
---
And then she turned in his arms, looking up at him through eyes still wet with emotion.
"Damon… what if this is just the beginning?"
He cupped her face. "Then we fight every step of the way."
Together.
Because sometimes love wasn't just about softness. It was a shield. A vow.
And tonight, as they stood together beneath the stars above the Alps, Serena finally understood something:
She didn't just survive the past.
She was about to rewrite it.