Scarlett didn't sleep that night.
She sat at her laptop, eyes burning from crying and screen glare, fingers flying across the keyboard with manic determination. She needed to know. Needed proof. Needed something concrete to justify the rage building in her chest like a living thing.
Evidence that Sylus had murdered her parents in cold blood.
Evidence that would let her hate him with the clean, uncomplicated fury she desperately needed.
But the internet had other plans.
The first article appeared at 2 AM, from a local news outlet:
POLICE RAID REVEALS DECADES-OLD TRAFFICKING RING
Two suspects killed in confrontation during arrest attempthands froze on the keyboard.
She clicked through, heart pounding, dreading what she'd find. The article was clinical, factual, listing details that felt like punches to the gut:
Chen Wei and Liu Mei, ages 47 and 45, were killed during a police raid on their apartment in the Riverside District. The couple had been under investigation for human trafficking, with evidence suggesting involvement in a ring that had operated for over sixteen years...
Officers attempting to execute an arrest warrant were met with armed resistance. Both suspects fired on police, resulting in returnfire that proved fatal...
Evidence recovered from the scene includes forged documents, communications with known trafficking networks, and financial records showing multiple transactions involving the sale of minors...
Scarlett felt bile rise in her throat.
No.
She clicked to another article. Then another. Each one told the same story with slight variations, but the core facts remained:
Her parents—the people who'd raised her, fed her, given her a roof over her head—had been human traffickers.
For sixteen years.
Which meant...
Which meant she'd been five when the "accident" happened. When she'd "gotten lost." When a "kind couple" had found her and raised her as their own.
It wasn't kindness.
She'd been their product. Their investment. Kept alive and relatively healthy because damaged goods sold for less.
All those years of doing household chores while they disappeared for days. All those times they'd looked at her with calculation instead of love. All those moments she'd felt like a burden instead of a daughter.
Because she wasn't their daughter.
She was their merchandise.
Scarlett ran to the bathroom and was sick. Heaved up nothing—her stomach was empty—until she was just dry-sobbing over the toilet, her whole body shaking.
They'd been planning to sell her. Again. That's why they'd been so eager to hand her over to Sylus when he'd offered to settle their debts. Not guilt or desperation or even fear.
Just business.
Just one last sale before they disappeared with his money.
When she could breathe again, Scarlett dragged herself back to the laptop.needed more. Needed to understand everything.
Her fingers trembled as she typed: Chen Le assassin warehouse
The results loaded slowly, each second stretching like eternity.
Then:
BODY FOUND IN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE - SUSPECTED ASSASSIN
Male victim, mid-twenties, identified as Chen Le. Known associate of the Shadow Syndicate, a group suspected of contract killings across three provinces...
Evidence suggests victim was restrained and interrogated before death. Single gunshot wound to the head...
Police recovered sniper rifle, encrypted communications, and contracts indicating planned assassination of unnamed target...
Scarlett stared at the screen until the words blurred.
Chen Le. Her classmate. Her friend. The one person who'd seemed to care, who'd offered to help her escape.
An assassin.
Hired to kill her.
The message she'd sent him—desperate, begging for help—he'd probably laughed when he received it. Probably thought it would make his job easier. Get her to trust him, meet him somewhere private, one bullet and collect the payment.
Sylus had told her. Had tried to explain. He was an assassin. Sent specifically to get close to you. To kill you when the opportunity presented itself.
She hadn't believed him. Had thought it was just another manipulation, another lie to keep her isolated and dependent.
But it was true.All of it was true.
Scarlett pushed away from the laptop, stumbling to the window. She pressed her forehead against the cold glass, trying to process everything her world had just revealed.
Her parents weren't her parents. They were traffickers who'd kept her as inventory for sixteen years, planning to sell her to the highest bidder.
Chen Le wasn't her friend. He was an assassin hired to put a bullet through her skull.
And Sylus...
Sylus had been telling the truth.
About the danger. About the enemies hunting her. About Chen Le. About her "parents."
He turned evidence over to the police instead of killing them himself. Had tried to do things legally, properly, despite his nature.
And she'd blamed him for their deaths anyway.
"Oh god," Scarlett whispered to her reflection. "What have I done?"
The memories came flooding back with new context, new understanding:
Every time she'd tried to escape, he'd looked devastated. Not angry. Devastated. Like watching her run toward danger instead of away from it.
When he'd shot her leg, his face had been horrified. He'd aimed for her leg—a warning, a desperate attempt to stop her without killing her—and then fallen apart when he'd seen the blood.
When she'd stabbed herself, he'd screamed like his soul was being torn out.
'i can't let you go because letting you go means letting you die out there'
'Every drop of blood spilled in these halls was for you'
'I saved you, Scarlett. Again'.
She'd thought he was a monster keeping her caged. But what if... what if he'd been a desperate man trying to keep her alive?
What if the cage wasn't cruelty but protection?
"No," Scarlett said aloud, shaking her head. "No, he still forced me. Still married me against my will. Still—"
Still what? Kissed her when she didn't want it? Yes. That was wrong, always wrong, regardless of his reasons.
But had he ever actually hurt her beyond that? Beyond the gunshot to her leg that had been meant to stop her from running into danger?locked her in her room but filled it with flowers and her favorite things. He'd controlled her movements but given her bodyguards instead of chains. He'd demanded her presence but never forced himself on her completely—
always stopping, always pulling back, always showing more restraint than she'd expected from a "monster."
And in the end, he'd let her go.
Had given her exactly what she'd been willing to die for.
Her freedom.
Scarlett touched her neck absently, fingers finding those faint marks below her ear. The ones that looked like fangs.
A memory surfaced. Not from this life. From somewhere deeper, more ancient:
Flying through clouds, the world spread below like a painting. Strong wings beside hers, red scales glinting in sunlight. A voice—deep and warm and infinitely patient: "You're doing beautifully, little one. Just a bit higher. Don't be afraid. I'm right here."
Looking over to see a red dragon, massive and magnificent, flying beside her smaller white form. His eyes—red eyes, ancient and kind and so full of love it made her chest ache.
"What if I fall?" her younger self had asked, voice uncertain.
"Then I'll catch you," he'd promised. "Every time. For as long as you need me."
But one day she'd wanted to fly alone. Wanted to explore beyond their territory, beyond his protection. And he'd let her go. Despite the fear in his eyes, despite knowing the world was dangerous, despite it destroying him to watch her leave.
He'd let her fly.she'd died for it. Killed by hunters who'd wanted her rare healing abilities, her white scales, her pure Aether core. Died alone and afraid, calling for him with her last breath.
Died knowing he'd been right to be afraid. Right to want to keep her close. Right to—
Scarlett gasped, stumbling back from the window. Her hand pressed against her chest, feeling her heart race.
A dream. It had to be a dream. Some weird stress-induced hallucination brought on by trauma and sleep deprivation and emotional overload.
But it felt real. Felt like a memory.
The red dragon. Soft and gentle despite his power. Teaching her to fly. Letting her go even though it destroyed him.
Just like Sylus had done.
"No.." she whispered. "That wasn't him. It couldn't be him. Sylus is a monster. He kept me like a bird in a cage. He shot me. He—"
He let you go, a voice in her head whispered. In the end, when you chose death over captivity, he let you go. Gave you freedom even though it broke him. Just like the dragon in your dreams.
Wasn't he?
Scarlett sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. The laptop still glowed across the room, showing article after article of truths she'd been too blind to see.
Her parents had been traffickers. Planning to sell her again.
Chen Le had been an assassin. Planning to kill her.Sylus had been... what? Protecting her? Loving her? Trying desperately to keep her alive in a world that wanted her dead or enslaved?
Had she been cruel to him?
She'd pushed him away when he'd tried to comfort her. Bitten his lips when he'd kissed her. Glared at him with pure hatred. Tried to escape repeatedly, forcing him to become more and more desperate in his attempts to keep her safe.
Stabbed herself in the heart rather than accept his protection.
But it wasn't my fault, she thought desperately. He forced me to kiss him. He controlled me. He shot me. Those things were real. Those things happened.
Yes. They did. And they were wrong. Forced kisses were never okay, regardless of the reason.
But...maybe the monster she'd imagined wasn't quite as monstrous as she'd thought.
Maybe he was just a man—or a dragon, or whatever he actually was—who'd loved someone so much that he'd destroyed both of them trying to keep her safe.
A man who'd lost her once and couldn't survive losing her again.
A man who'd finally, finally learned that loving someone meant letting them fly, even if they flew away from you forever.
Scarlett's fingers traced the fang marks on her neck again. They tingled under her touch, warm and almost... alive. Like something dormant was waking up. Recognizing something.
The mate bond, some instinct whispered. He marked you. Claimed you. Not in this life—not properly—but the bond remembers. Your soul remembers.
"I don't know what to believe anymore," she whispered to the empty room.
But she knew one thing: she needed answers.
Real answers. Not assumptions. Not hatred-fueled interpretations. Not the monster she'd built in her head to justify her rage.
She needed to talk to him.
Actually talk. Listen. Try to understand.
Even if it terrified her. Even if she wasn't ready. Even if part of her still wanted to hate him because hatred was simpler than this complicated, messy truth.
Scarlett looked out the window at the city lights. Somewhere out there, in his empty mansion, was the dragon who'd let her go.
Who'd given her everything she'dasked for and asked for nothing in return.Who'd given her everything she'd asked for and asked for nothing in return.
Who was probably still bleeding from the wounds she'd inflicted—intentional and otherwise.
She didn't know if she could forgive him.
Didn't know if what he'd done was forgivable.
But maybe... maybe she could try to understand.
Tomorrow. She'd go tomorrow. When she'd slept. When she could think clearly. When she could face him without everything being colored by fresh grief and shocking revelations.
Tomorrow, she'd look the dragon in the eye and ask for the truth.
All of it.
Even if it destroyed what little was left of her carefully constructed hatred.
Even if it changed everything.
.
.
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.
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To Be Continued.