CHAPTER 4: Park Encounter

The morning air was crisp. The trees whispered under a lazy wind. Siena adjusted her scarf and gripped her tote tighter as she stepped onto the path by the park. Same walk. Same route. Same playlist humming low through her earbuds.

She wasn’t thinking about the boy anymore. At least that’s what she told herself.

She hadn’t seen him again. Maybe it had all been a strange, emotional mistake. Maybe he had confused her for someone else. Maybe it didn’t matter.

But her steps slowed as she passed the bench where it happened. She didn’t sit. Just glanced. Empty today.

Her phone buzzed.

> Liam: Coffee after class?

> Siena: If I don’t get buried in research, yes.

She locked her screen and kept walking. Just a few more blocks to campus. The usual path.

Still, her chest tightened. That kid. His face kept appearing in her mind when she wasn’t looking. Every other second, she heard the sound of his voice—bright, soft, calling her something she couldn’t forget.

Mommy.

She had never told anyone, not even Liam, about the blackout year. About the memories that came in flashes. They weren’t clear. They weren’t even helpful. They just existed. Bits of hospital corridors. A woman in white. Beeping monitors. The soft, muffled sound of a baby crying in the dark.

There were days she convinced herself they weren’t real.

Then a child called her Mommy.

She shook the thought off. Her sneakers scuffed against the pavement.

The park was unusually quiet. The usual chatter of morning joggers and kids on scooters seemed muted today. Only the breeze and the low buzz of a nearby lawnmower filled the background. She didn’t notice the figure across the street.

Lucien Dela Vega leaned against the side of a black SUV. Arms folded. Eyes sharp. His black coat framed a tall, imposing frame, the collar slightly turned up against the wind. His hair was dark, neatly styled but tousled in a way that looked deliberate. His face was cut from cold stone—high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and an unreadable expression. There was something cold in his gaze—focused, patient. Nothing about him felt casual. Not the tailored coat. Not the stillness. Not the slight furrow in his brow as he watched her.

He hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. He had waited for the right moment.

Waited until she passed the old brick fountain. Until she reached the iron gates.

He saw it again. The flicker of confusion in her eyes, the way her pace shifted near the bench. She remembered. Even if she didn’t realize it yet.

Then he stepped forward.

“Siena.”

She stopped.

The name hit her like cold water.

She turned slowly.

A stranger stood in front of her. Tall. Striking. Black hair. Eyes like a scalpel. His presence was both magnetic and unsettling. The kind that filled the space without needing to speak.

“I’m sorry?”

“You don’t remember me.”

Her brows pinched. “Should I?”

Lucien took a breath and stepped closer. His posture was straight, calm, but there was tension in his shoulders. “Why are you pretending not to know your own child?”

Siena stared at him.

“What?”

His jaw tensed. A flicker of something passed through his eyes—hurt? Frustration? “The boy you left crying in this very park two days ago.”

She blinked. “I told him I wasn’t his mother. I thought he mistook me for someone else.”

“He didn’t.”

“I don’t have a child.”

“You do.”

Siena stepped back. “No. I don’t. I’ve never given birth to anyone.”

Lucien’s expression didn’t change. His voice remained steady, almost too even. “You did.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. “What are you trying to pull?”

He looked down, then back at her. “Five years ago, you disappeared. There was an accident. You were taken to a private clinic. You nearly died. And when you woke up, you were gone.”

Siena’s mouth opened, then shut again.

The world tilted just a little.

“I don’t know you,” she said.

“You knew me once.”

She looked away, struggling to steady her breath. Her chest ached. Not from fear. From something older. Something she couldn’t name.

Lucien stepped forward again. “That boy is your son. And he remembers you.”

Her ears rang. For a second, she swore she heard crying. Not his voice. A baby. Sharp and panicked. Then it was gone.

“No.”

“Siena...”

“I said no.” Her voice cracked. She backed up another step. “You’ve got the wrong woman.”

Lucien didn’t blink. “You had surgery. After the crash. They said you might lose parts of your memory.”

She froze. “Who said that?”

“The doctor. At the facility. You were under my protection.”

“I don’t remember any of this.”

“You wouldn’t. They sedated you. You were bleeding internally. You had no ID. And you were already listed as missing.”

She shook her head. “I think you need help.”

“I don’t. But you do.”

Siena turned and walked away.

Lucien didn’t follow.

He watched her walk the rest of the way to campus. Watched her pace falter. Watched her shoulders tighten.

She reached the gates. Paused. And looked back. Just once.

He was still there.

Watching her like he had known her forever.

She turned and walked through the doors.

Lucien lit a cigarette. Let the smoke drift as he stared at the sky.

She didn’t remember.

But she would.

Soon.

“You said you’d never forget,” he murmured.

Back inside, Siena reached her lecture hall with minutes to spare. She didn’t sit down.

The image of his face wouldn’t leave her mind—his stillness, his voice, those eyes that searched hers like they used to know what they’d find. A piece of her whispered he wasn’t lying.

And that terrified her more than anything.

Because if he was right, then everything she believed about her life was about to shatter.

And there was no going back from that.

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