CHAPTER 55: 55

The early morning sun found its way through the cruise window, casting a soft, golden light over the room. Carmela slowly stirred awake, her eyes fluttering open to the warmth of the day. She raised her hand, letting the sunlight play across her fingers, and noticed the large diamond ring on her finger catching the light, sending tiny rainbows dancing across the room. A smile touched her lips, though she couldn’t quite understand why the sight made her smile.

"He seriously jumped into the water to get back the ring," she thought, her smile fading into a pout as she pulled the bed cover closer, tucking it under her chin.

"You seem happy," Nix’s voice suddenly broke the morning’s quiet. Startled, she turned to look at him, but the moment their eyes met, the smile on her face disappeared.

"How was your night, Mrs. Dean?" he asked, his voice smooth as he reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. But Carmela recoiled from his touch, her heart quickening with unease. Without a word, she grabbed the handcuffs lying beside the bed and snapped them onto his wrist, chaining him to the bedpost.

"What was that for?" he asked, watching her intently as she slipped out of bed and headed towards the bathroom in search of a robe.

"Nix Demon, or whatever you call yourself, it’s time we got on the same page. I can’t have you trying to kill me for no reason," she said, planting her hands on her hips as she glared at him.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You sure are observant. How did you know I wasn’t Nix?"

"He never calls me ’Mrs. Dean,’ and..." She cut herself off, her frustration growing. "Can you just answer my question?"

He simply scoffed, his demeanor annoyingly calm. "I’m hungry. Get me something to eat."

She raised an eyebrow, surprised by his audacity. "I’ll answer your questions over breakfast," he added, his tone making it clear he wouldn’t be rushed.

Reluctantly, Carmela nodded and walked to the wardrobe, returning with a simple t-shirt and trousers. "Wear them," she instructed, tossing the clothes at him before turning and heading towards the kitchen, her mind racing with the questions she still desperately needed answers to.

As Carmela stepped into the kitchen, she instinctively reached up to gather her hair, twisting it into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. The kitchen, with its polished surfaces and stainless steel appliances, was bathed in the morning light filtering through the portholes. The quiet hum of the ship provided a soothing backdrop as she considered what to prepare.

She opened the fridge, her eyes scanning the contents until they settled on a carton of eggs. A small smile tugged at her lips. Eggs were simple, versatile, and exactly what she needed. She turned towards the counter and noticed a collection of fresh vegetables, their vibrant colors standing out against the cool tones of the kitchen. An idea sparked in her mind.

Pulling the eggs from the fridge, she set them on the counter and reached for a cutting board. With practiced hands, she began chopping the vegetables, the rhythmic sound of the knife against the board filling the space. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was making yet, but the ingredients felt right together, and she trusted her instincts.

After a moment’s hesitation, she poured a drizzle of oil into a pan, letting it heat up before adding the chopped vegetables. The sizzle was satisfying, the scent of sautéing peppers, onions, and tomatoes quickly filling the air. She sprinkled in a pinch of salt, a dash of pepper, and a few herbs she found in the spice rack. The aroma was inviting, and comforting.

Finally, Carmela cracked the eggs into a bowl, whisking them until they were smooth, then carefully poured them over the softened vegetables. She stirred gently, watching as the eggs set, binding everything together. When the dish was done, she plated it with a firm smile, satisfied with the simple yet nutritious meal she had created. A quick glance at the counter led her to a glass, and she filled it with fresh orange juice to complete the breakfast.

"A nutritious meal for a healthy day," she murmured to herself, patting her shoulder lightly with a hint of pride as she took in the finished dish. The simplicity of the moment gave her a brief sense of peace, even as the storm of uncertainty loomed on the horizon.

Carmela placed the dish on the dining table, the quiet clink of the plate on the polished wood echoing slightly in the stillness. Without another word, she turned on her heel and made her way back to the bedroom. The moment she stepped inside, she found him halfway dressed, fumbling awkwardly with his free hand as the other remained securely fastened to the bedpost.

"Are you going to undo this?" he asked, pointing to the handcuffs with a raised brow. His tone carried a mixture of irritation and mild amusement, but Carmela simply shook her head in disapproval.

"Listen," he began, his voice taking on a slightly pleading edge, "if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it when you were asleep, right?" He paused, watching her reaction as she reluctantly nodded in agreement. "But I didn’t, and I wouldn’t. So, please uncuff this it’s really uncomfortable," he whined, the slight hint of desperation in his voice almost making her smile, but she suppressed it, shaking her head once more.

"Even if I wanted to kill you, I couldn’t," he replied, his tone steady as she maintained eye contact. "Nix wouldn’t allow it." She watched him carefully, considering his words. After a long, tense moment, she finally relented, unlocking the cuffs but ensuring she kept a safe distance from him.

"So, where’s my food?" he asked, rubbing his wrist where the metal had left faint red marks.

"Dining table," she answered curtly, turning to lead the way. "And remember, you’ll have to answer all my questions," she added, her voice firm as she glanced back at him. He nodded in agreement, following her out of the room.

When they reached the dining table, his expression quickly shifted from curiosity to disgust as he eyed the dish she had prepared. He hesitated before taking a seat, his brow furrowed in displeasure.

"Is that even edible?" he asked, his tone laced with skepticism. He looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. "Don’t get me wrong, but where did you learn to make this?" His question was met with a roll of her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his critique.

"It’s edible," she responded slyly, a hint of defiance in her voice. "Don’t judge a book by its cover," she added with a scoff. Watching his expression, she saw him gather his resolve before he took a cautious bite. He chewed slowly, then let out a deep sigh.

"It’s bland but edible," he admitted, taking another bite. The corners of his mouth twitched as if he were forcing himself to continue eating.

"So, what’s your deal?" she asked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the table, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"I want Nix to become the dynasty heir, and only you can make that happen," he stated bluntly, his gaze locking onto hers.

"Meaning?" she pressed, her brow furrowing as she tried to decipher his intentions. His vague answer only fueled her curiosity and concern.

"Never mind," he waved her off, sensing her unease. "I promised to give you an answer, and I will." He paused, taking another bite before continuing. "The reason I’m not killing you is because we have a common enemy. And the enemy of my enemy is my friend," he said with a casual shrug.

"You mean you also have grudges against my grandfather?" she asked, her mind racing as she tried to piece together the puzzle.

"Your... No, I’m talking about your father," he corrected, his eyes darkening as he watched her reaction. Carmela’s breath hitched, her heart skipping a beat as confusion clouded her thoughts.

"What do you mean, my father? He... he’s dead," she stammered, her voice trembling slightly as she searched his face for answers. The look of disappointment that crossed his features made her stomach churn.

"Well, Nix did say you lost all your memories," he said slowly, as if piecing together the information himself. "He also mentioned you should check the tablet on his desk for somethingbI’m not sure what exactly." He hesitated, scratching his head as if trying to recall more. "Oh, and that you should stop building anger against that old man because he’s only trying to help you... and..."

"And?" she urged, her patience wearing thin as she leaned closer, hoping for more clarity.

"Hold on, I’m trying to remember..." He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Ah, yes. He said that you should be patient. We’ll get information from Zamiel and the others in seventy-two hours, and you must make sure you remember your memories by then," he finished lazily before returning his attention to the dish, picking at it with a lack of enthusiasm.

Carmela let out a deep sigh, her mind reeling from the answers he gave her. She sank into a chair opposite him, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. What exactly had she forgotten? And what was she missing? The answers seemed tantalizingly close, yet just out of reach, buried somewhere within the fragments of her lost memories.