The room stank of whiskey, regret, and silence.
Luca sat hunched on the cold floor, his back pressed against the glass wall of his penthouse. The once-luxurious suite that towered over the city was now a graveyard of shattered bottles and scattered memories. Curtains hung loosely, untouched. Lights stayed off. The city glowed beneath him, but he saw none of it.
Beard unshaved. Hair disheveled. Shirt stained with sweat, blood, and vomit. His blue eyes—once sharp and dangerous—now looked hollow. Haunted.
In his trembling hand was a photo frame—Rose, smiling brightly, her hair dancing in the wind. The day he bought her that car. Her squeals of surprise. The way she threw her arms around him and kissed him with a love so pure it had frightened him.
"You're one in a million," she had whispered, her forehead pressed to his.
He never said it back, but God… she was everything.
A bitter sob tore from his throat.
"I killed her," he whispered, lips trembling. "I pushed her away. I let them take her..."
He clenched the frame tighter until his knuckles turned white, then suddenly flung it across the room. It shattered against the marble wall.
With a scream, Luca grabbed a nearby bottle and hurled it too. Glass exploded. Liquor sprayed the curtains.
"FUCK!" he roared, falling to his knees, chest heaving, heart aching.
The door creaked open slightly.
One of his men stepped in cautiously, holding a tablet in his hand. "Boss… there's a situation with—"
"Leave," Luca growled without even turning around.
"But sir, it's about the supply chain—"
"I SAID GET OUT!"
His man froze, but then quietly backed out, pulling the door shut behind him.
Another man entered moments later, a different one. Nervous. Sweating.
"Boss…" he said, his voice unsure.
"Didn't I say—"
"It's about Rose," the man blurted.
Luca's blood froze.
He didn't move. Didn't breathe.
"Say that again," he said, voice barely a whisper.
"There's a chance, sir. A whisper from one of our informants. Someone saw a woman matching her description… but alive. Not dead."
Luca slowly turned his head, locking eyes with the man. For the first time in weeks, there was life behind those eyes. Hope flickered like a dying flame begging for oxygen.
His lips parted. "Alive?" he choked out.
The man nodded slowly. "We don't have proof yet, but… someone in our network said she was spotted. Same hair. Same eyes. But the location is off-grid. Some kind of private facility."
Luca's hands began to tremble again—but not from grief this time.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tried to stand. His legs buckled beneath him, and the man rushed to hold him up.
"I need… to see it," Luca said breathlessly. "The footage. The file. Anything. Right now."
The man nodded.
Luca didn't wait. He stumbled toward the bathroom, trying to wash the filth off his face. As cold water splashed over his skin, his heart began to race.
Could it be?
Could Rose still be alive?
If so…
Who took her?
And why?
His jaw tightened.
Whoever had her… was about to meet the devil he had been holding back.
******************
IN AN UNKNOWN LOCATION...
The light flickered weakly in the corner of her room, just enough to remind her she was still alive. If you could call this living.
A psychiatric hospital hidden far from civilization, with no trace on any map, cloaked in silence and time that refused to move. The world outside might have forgotten it but inside this place, time stood still. The air was thick, like it hadn't been changed in decades. The rooms smelled of disinfectant, loneliness, and old secrets.
A young woman sat hunched by the window—not looking out, because there was no real view. Just a fogged, grilled glass frame pretending to be a window. Her hair, long and tangled, stuck to her cheeks in clumps. Her once-glowing skin now held pale bruises, and the faint pink of healing scars ran across her arms and face. A thick bandage was wrapped around her chest, hiding the bullet wound that almost took her life. Almost.
She blinked slowly, her fingers nervously tugging at a thread on her oversized hospital gown.
The door creaked open.
A nurse stepped in—a middle-aged woman in a stiff blue uniform, holding a silver tray with plain food and a half-glass of water. Her smile was forced, but she tried.
"Miss Rose Adams…" the nurse called softly, stepping closer.
No reaction.
"Miss Rose…" she repeated, glancing at her face for any sign of recognition.
The girl didn't respond. Her eyes remained lost somewhere far away, like her mind was trapped in a thick fog.
Then, her lips parted.
"Who… Who is Rose?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Is… is that my name? Am I Rose?"
The nurse swallowed hard. She'd seen cases like this.people with trauma so heavy it pushed their memories into hiding.
"Yes," she said gently. "That's your name. Rose Adams. You need to eat, sweetheart. Therapy starts in an hour. It's been two days. Please."
The nurse set the tray down and left quietly, giving her space.
Rose's POV:
I woke up what felt like days ago, but here… it's impossible to tell what day or time it is. No clocks. No calendars. No sunlight to guide me. Just fluorescent bulbs that buzz and flicker like they're sick of being alive too.
They keep calling me Rose. They say I'm Rose Adams. But that name… it doesn't feel like mine. I try to remember—try to reach into that blank part of my mind—but every time I dig deeper, a sharp pain slices through my skull. And when that happens, someone always comes. A nurse. With a needle. And then I sleep again.
I'm tired of not knowing who I am. Why I hurt. Why I feel like something precious was stolen from me.
I reach for the food. Cold rice, soggy bread. It tastes like paper, but I force it down. I can't die here. I need to remember. I have to get out.
---
One Hour Later...
A loud alarm beeped through the building. My door clicked and opened.
I stepped out slowly… and that's when it hit me.
I wasn't alone.
I wasn't the only lost soul here.
The hallway was long, narrow, and terrifying. Rows upon rows of doors—just like mine—lined both sides like prison cells. Each ward had a patient, and each patient had a nurse shadowing them like silent ghosts.
The floor creaked under my feet. The lights above flickered in uneven pulses, revealing glimpses of torn walls, rusted pipes, and an overwhelming sense that the building had secrets too old to be spoken.
I stood still, stunned by the scale of it. The walls weren't just old—they were tired. And they reeked of sadness and silence.
Then someone bumped into me.
Hard.
I turned around, startled—and my breath caught.
A woman, probably in her early fifties, stood before me. She was taller than most women, regal in an almost eerie way. Her long black hair tumbled over her shoulders, and her eyes—those eyes—were piercing blue. They weren't just beautiful. They were familiar.
And for a split second—just a blink—I saw a flash.
A young man. Smiling.
With those same blue eyes.
And my head ached.
"Are you hurt?" the woman asked kindly, placing a hand on my arm. Her voice was calm, almost soothing. "I didn't mean to bump into you."
"I… I'm fine," I stammered.
Her eyes lowered to my uniform.
"Rose Adams?" she asked.
I looked down. For the first time, I noticed the name tag stitched into the fabric of my gown. My name. Or… the name they say is mine.
"Yes, I'm…"
"Miss Rose!" the nurse from earlier rushed in, interrupting me mid-sentence. Her tone was firmer now, almost protective. "Come with me."
I glanced back.
The woman with the blue eyes watched me for a second longer, then turned away slowly, disappearing down the hall with her own nurse.
Something about her… it warmed me. It was strange. I hadn't felt anything remotely comforting in this place until now. That woman gave me a strange feeling—like I'd known her in another life. Or maybe, a forgotten memory.
I followed my nurse down the hallway, but I couldn't shake the feeling that this place… this whole building, was a giant maze of secrets.
Some of them… might just belong to me.
And that woman with the blue eyes?
She may be the key.