CHAPTER 123: REMEMBERING THE PAST

AIDEN

The darkness had swallowed me whole.

The stone walls. The smell of mold, piss, and blood. The cold iron cuffs biting into my wrists. My own heartbeat thudding in my ears, louder than the rats scuttling in the corners.

And her.

The princess.

Alexia.

Her silk shoes clicked across the dungeon floor, each step a quiet terror. She didn’t look at me when she entered—not at first. She was radiant. Untouchable. Eyes the color of fury, hands wrapped in lace and power.

She wasn’t here to speak. Not anymore. Just to watch.

This wasn’t just dreaming anymore.

I remembered everything.

In that life, I had no name.

They called me Slave or Dog. Never by name. Never as a person. My identity had been beaten out of me by the time I was fifteen.

Except to her.

She called me her pet.

A twisted sort of ownership, like I was her favorite thing to break when the world disappointed her—which was often.

She was royalty, and a furious one. Spoiled. Volatile. She saw disrespect in every glance, betrayal in every breath, and when she didn’t like something, she broke it.

She broke people.

And when her rage reached its peak, she’d throw her food—rip the linens, scream like the heavens were meant to tremble at her wrath.

And I... I would wait.

Wait for her to leave, then crawl through the mess. Salvage the food she’d thrown. Not for myself—I’d long since accepted hunger—but for the others. The prisoners. The slaves she kept in the dark, starving for crimes like spilling wine on her gown or daring to ask a question.

I fed them. Quietly. Carefully. Risking everything.

And when she found out...

She didn’t say a word.

Just had me dragged to the dungeon. Stripped. Shackled.

And then came the whippings.

Five a day. Every day.

For a week.

No food. Just a bowl of porridge so thin it may as well have been water. And real water, which I rationed to keep others alive when the guards weren’t watching.

I could take the beatings. I could take the cold. But then came the final cruelty—the one that still haunted me more than the sting of the whip or the hunger in my gut.

My sister.

She’d been kind. Too kind. She smiled at the wrong time. Tried to shield me when they hit me too hard. She was beautiful in a quiet way—graceful, soft-spoken. Not rebellious. Just... human.

But the princess didn’t like that.

Didn’t like that someone else cared for me.

And in her eyes, that was seduction. Manipulation. A threat.

She had my sister executed. Claimed she was a thief. A seductress. Someone who would make me forget my place.

I’d fallen to my knees, begged her to spare her. Told her the truth.

"She’s my sister," I said. "My sister, not my lover. Please."

She didn’t even blink.

The blade came down.

And something inside me broke.

I shot upright in bed, breath catching in my throat like it was strangling me from the inside out.

My skin was drenched in sweat. My heart beat so fast I thought it might burst. And beside me—her. The nightmare still bleeding into reality.

Alexia.

She touched me. Whispered my name like it meant something. Like she hadn’t—

"Don’t touch me!" I roared, voice sharp and ragged.

She froze. Her face was pale, lips parted in confusion, fear.

Good. She should be afraid.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. My blood felt like it was boiling under my skin. My fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms.

Memories kept slamming into me—her face twisted in cruelty, that triumphant smirk when she ordered the executions, the sound of the whip slicing through the air.

I staggered to my feet, needing distance. Needing to get away from her before I did something I’d regret.

She called my name again—this version of her. The one who didn’t know. Who didn’t remember. Who looked at me like she cared.

But all I saw was the past. The chains. The blood. My sister’s body hitting the ground with a thud.

"You don’t get to touch me," I rasped, voice low, hollow. "Not after what you did."

She flinched. "Aiden, what are you talking about?"

I couldn’t look at her. If I did, I’d see the confusion, the fear, maybe even hurt—and it would mess with my head. Because this version of her wasn’t that girl. Not yet.

But she was still her.

She had the same eyes. The same voice. And she was in my bed.

I stumbled into the bathroom, slammed the door behind me, and turned on the faucet just to drown out the sound of my own thoughts.

The cold water hit my face, but it didn’t help.

The memories wouldn’t stop.

Her laughter as I was dragged away in chains.

The way she ignored my screams when they whipped me.

The blankness in her eyes when I sobbed for my sister’s life.

She killed her.

She killed her, and now she lay beside me in silk sheets, wrapped in my scent, kissing me like she meant it, whispering that she loved me.

I gripped the edge of the sink until my knuckles turned white.

It wasn’t fair.

How could this be? How could I have fallen for her—? After everything?

No. No more weakness.

I had to get out of here. Get her out. Or I’d drown in this again.

I didn’t go back to the bedroom. I spent the next hour pacing the jet’s lounge in silence, watching the clouds blur past through the window, my reflection staring back at me like a stranger.

When the door finally creaked behind me, I didn’t turn.

She stood there for a beat. I could feel her eyes on me. But she didn’t speak.

Eventually, she whispered, "You looked at me like I was a monster."

I didn’t answer.

"You said, ’What I did’—what are you talking about?"

I turned slowly.

She stood barefoot, wrapped in one of the bed’s blankets, hair tousled, eyes red.

"I had a dream," I said, voice cold. "Or maybe a memory."

Her brows pulled together.

"In another life... I was your slave. And you were the spoiled, sadistic little brat of a princess who tortured me for fun."

Her mouth parted.

"I remembered everything," I said. "The chains. The blood. The starvation. The beatings."

Her eyes widened, but she said nothing.

"You locked people away for looking at you wrong. You whipped me five times a day because I dared feed starving prisoners with food you threw away."

Still nothing.

"And you executed my sister," I snarled, stepping closer now. "Because you thought she was seducing me."

She staggered back, gripping the wall for support. Her lips trembled.

"You never listened," I whispered. "Not once. Not even when I cried. Not even when I begged."

"Aiden..." Her voice cracked.

"You killed her."

She shook her head slowly. "Aiden, that wasn’t me—"

"But it was," I snapped. "You. Your soul. I remember now. Every second."

Silence stretched between us, taut and heavy.

"I didn’t remember any of this until last night," I continued, quieter now. "Not until I saw your face in my dream, standing above me with that same fire in your eyes... except it wasn’t passion. It was cruelty. Entitlement. You used me. Broke me."

Her hand covered her mouth. "I didn’t know..."

"No. You didn’t." I exhaled sharply. "You don’t even remember. But I do. And right now, I can’t look at you without seeing her."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she nodded. "Okay," she whispered. "Then I’ll go."

She turned to leave.

And that should’ve felt like relief.

But it didn’t.

Because even now, with all the rage, all the loathing clawing through me... some sick part of me still wanted to pull her back.

Hold her.

Tell her I didn’t mean it.

But I did.

And that scared me more than anything.

How could I lay in bed with her? Kiss her? Touch her? How could I laugh and smile and hold her when she’d once taken everything from me?

My sister’s face swam behind my eyes.

Her blood on the stones.

Her eyes wide with betrayal and fear.

And Alexia—Princess Alexia—watching from above, wrapped in gold and venom, satisfied.

I scrubbed my hands over my face.

"I’m losing my mind," I whispered.

But I wasn’t.

Every fiber of me knew this was real.

It was her.

God, I wanted to scream. To punch something. To wake myself up again because this—this couldn’t be real.

But it was.

It was all so vividly real.

The memory had clawed its way up from whatever abyss it had been buried in and refused to let go.

I wasn’t dreaming anymore.

I remembered everything.

To think all this time, those stupid little snips—those broken flashes of firelight, screaming, chains clinking—I’d chalked them up to nightmares. My brain jumbling up stress and exhaustion into surreal, twisted dreams.

But they weren’t dreams.

They were memories.

And now that I’d stopped running from them, they came rushing back like a flood I couldn’t hold back. Every lash. Every sob. Every time I’d thought I was hallucinating... I was just remembering.