After striking out on finding a single open seat in the library for the nth time, I called the boy I knew was pathologically in love with me. “Hey, Aidan,” I said, my voice breezy. “Quick question. You know that soundproofed little basement room you built for me? Any chance I could borrow it a little ahead of schedule?” The silence on the other end of the line was so absolute I thought the call had dropped. Then, a soft, strangled sound. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I laughed, leaning against a mercifully empty wall. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. I was practically supervising the construction from the coffee shop across the street.” 1 This time, the silence was funereal. Even the sound of his breathing had vanished. I waited a beat. “You’re allowed to breathe, you know,” I offered. “Wouldn’t want you to pass out.” A few seconds later, a shaky exhale rustled through the phone, followed by a low, hoarse voice. “…Thank you.” He was so polite, this boy. Though I had no idea what he was thanking me for. I decided to press on. “Look, graduation is just around the corner, and I’ve got two theses for my double major to write. I’m desperate for a place with zero distractions. Your little… gilded cage is perfect. So, can I use it? I’m serious, I really need it.” Aidan cleared his throat. “…Okay.” “So we’re done pretending you didn’t build a bespoke prison for me in your basement?” “…I’m sorry,” he whispered. He was quick to apologize, I’ll give him that. And his voice was nice, a low timber that vibrated pleasantly even when strained with shame. I decided to let him off the hook. “…Are you coming now?” he asked. “Yeah. I know the address. I’ll grab an Uber.” “Don’t. I can give you a ride. It’ll be faster.” I paused. “…Don’t tell me you’re watching me right now.” “…I’m… sorry.” “Okay, enough with the apologies. Where are you?” “Turn around.” I turned. And there he was, emerging from the shadow of a large oak tree not fifty feet away. Aidan was all long legs and lean frame, dressed in a black hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low. His eyes were lost in the shade of the brim, but the part of his face I could see—his jawline, his mouth—was pale and finely sculpted, like something carved from porcelain. The sight of him was arresting, but my mind flashed with a sudden, intrusive image of crimson. The thick, metallic smell of blood flooded my memory, overwhelming and sharp. By the time I blinked it away, he was standing in front of me, his head bowed like a penitent. 2 My gaze landed on the black baseball cap. I raised an eyebrow. “I think I have a hat just like that.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. His voice was a murmur. “I had it custom-made. To match yours.” Of course he did. The earnest intensity of teenage boys… it was something else. My eyes drifted down to his hands. They were beautiful hands, long-fingered and elegant, with prominent knuckles. Right now, they were trembling almost imperceptibly. “Are you nervous?” “No…” he denied instantly, then corrected himself. “…A little.” He pressed his lips together, annoyed at his own transparency. “Where’s your car?” I asked. “Underground parking. Level two.” “Lead the way.” “Okay.” Aidan’s car was a Maybach. The kind that screamed money. I’m not great with cars, but the overlapping M’s of the Maybach logo, shaped like a stylized pyramid, were unmistakable. Nine years ago, when I was just starting middle school, my biological father drove a Maybach for a while. He wasn’t the owner, of course. He was the chauffeur. Thirty grand a month, weekends off. To this day, I still can’t figure out how a waste of space like him, a man who was mediocre at everything including driving, landed a gig like that. Thankfully, he was fired after a month. “…Is something wrong?” Aidan’s voice pulled me from the memory. I had stopped in front of the passenger door. “Is it the car?” I shook my head. “The car’s fine. Just… remembering something unpleasant.” He didn’t press for details. Instead, he just opened the door for me, his other hand carefully placed on the roof of the car to make sure I didn’t hit my head. It was a thoughtful, gentle gesture. I slid into the plush leather seat without a second thought. Aidan got in the driver’s side, buckled his seatbelt, and placed his hands on the steering wheel. But he didn’t start the car. He turned to me, his face still half-hidden by shadows. “How did you know I… that I was building a…” He faltered, unable to bring himself to say the words. A room for you. A cage. The shame of his own dark impulse was a physical thing, choking the confession in his throat. I knew exactly what he was thinking, but I decided to be cruel. “A prison?” “…Yeah.” His head dipped lower, like a stray dog expecting a kick. I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and gently scratched him under the chin. His entire body went rigid. I pulled my hand back, a slow, lazy smile spreading across my face. “I would think you’d be more curious about why I didn’t call the cops the moment I saw the construction.” “…Why didn’t you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. I just kept smiling, letting the silence stretch. The air in the car grew thick and heavy. A fine sheen of sweat appeared on Aidan’s brow. “You… you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he finally stammered, his voice tight with anxiety. “Just… please don’t be mad at me.” Please don’t hate me. “I’m not mad at you,” I said softly. I just… didn’t know where to begin. Because, according to the original timeline, I wasn’t supposed to find out about any of this for another six months. At his funeral. 3 Three days ago— I stood in the center of the library’s grand lobby, my eyes fluttering open. A wave of dizziness and a high-pitched ringing in my ears hit me all at once. For a disorienting moment, the river of students flowing around me blurred into a surreal, slow-motion film reel. I was the glitch in the frame, completely out of sync. Even after the physical sensations faded, a profound sense of dislocation remained. I didn’t know what to call what had happened to me. Rebirth? No. In the car crash that was supposed to happen six months from now, Aidan was the only one who died. He’d shielded me with his own body, and I had survived. I’d even made it to his funeral in a wheelchair. A dream, then? That didn’t feel right either. Dreams were fragmented, illogical, hazy. My memories were crystal clear. After turning it over and over in my mind, I landed on the only explanation that made any sense. Time travel. I had somehow been sent back six months. I took a deep, shuddering breath as the images flooded my mind: Aidan’s body lying in a pool of blood, the stark black-and-white photo on his headstone… and his diary. Right before I came back, his mother had given it to me. The cover was made of rich, worn leather, embossed with a single, elegant line of text: This body is like a flame, born of thirst and of love. When I’d opened it to the first page, I saw my own name, written in his careful, precise script: Esme. … “We’re here.” Aidan’s voice snapped me back to the present. I looked up. He had driven us deep into the wooded hills outside the city and parked in front of a stunning modern villa, all clean lines and glass, nestled among the trees. I turned to look at him. “You certainly know how to pick a spot. It’s beautiful up here, so secluded…” Aidan flushed with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. I let the pause hang in the air before adding, “…Perfect for hiding a body.” He choked on a breath of air. I couldn’t help but laugh. It was just too easy to tease him. Then, my eyes caught a glimpse of his wrist. A silver chain bracelet, delicate and intricate, circled the fine bones. My breath hitched. “Is that… Is that the bracelet I lost last semester?” “Yes,” he admitted, his smile vanishing. When he saw the look on my face, his anxiety returned in a rush. “…I’m sorry.” I was silent for a moment, then I used his full name. “Aidan, is ‘I’m sorry’ the only phrase you know?” “…No.” “Then why do you say it to me all the time?” You’re the last person in the world who should be apologizing to me. He kept his head down, a boy well over six feet tall who somehow managed to look like a small child awaiting punishment. “Because I did something wrong.” “What, exactly?” I pressed. “Following me around like a D-list movie stalker because you’re worried about my safety, but never daring to get within thirty feet of me? Or building a five-star hotel suite of a prison for me that you were too scared to ever actually use?” His voice was almost inaudible. “…I found your bracelet and I kept it. I didn’t give it back.” I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. “Keep it,” I said. His head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Really? I can?” I nodded. “Yeah. It’s yours now.” A brilliant, breathtaking smile broke across his face, as if I’d just handed him the crown jewels. His eyes, a striking shade of hazel, crinkled at the corners. Even half-hidden by the shadow of his hat, they were devastating. Watching him, I leaned back against the headrest, propping my chin on my hand. “You know,” I said playfully, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you built that cage hoping I’d be the one to lock you up in it.” His gaze flickered towards me, and a dark blush crept up his neck and flooded his ears. “If… if that’s what you wanted,” he stammered, “I would be okay with that.” 4 “An interesting proposal. I’ll think about it.” 5 The room was in the basement, but it was flooded with light. I walked down a short flight of stairs and stepped into the most magnificent, audacious space I had ever seen. It was a cage, yes, but a cage made of polished brass and reinforced glass, furnished with exquisite, minimalist pieces. I tilted my head back. In the center of the ceiling was a massive skylight, custom-built in the shape of a butterfly. Golden afternoon sunlight streamed through its transparent wings, scattering across the floor in a shimmering, dreamlike pattern. “…Do you like it?” Aidan asked from behind me, his voice laced with nervous hope. He sounded like a young architect waiting for the final verdict from a demanding client. I nodded slowly. “It’s hard not to. It’s breathtaking.” He let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. “I’m glad you don’t hate it.” He moved to my side, his voice gaining a little confidence. “It’s beautiful when it rains, too. And when it snows. On clear nights, you can see the entire Milky Way…” “It’s very romantic…” I murmured. He instinctively agreed. “It is very roman—” He cut himself off as I turned to face him, a slow, deliberate smile on my face. “…I imagine it would be even more romantic,” I finished for him, my voice a low purr, “when we’re lying in this beautiful cage together, tangled up in the sheets, looking up at all those stars.” The color drained from Aidan’s face, only to be replaced by a furious, spreading blush. I let my smile widen and crooked a finger at him. He hesitated for a second, then obediently bent down, bringing his head closer to mine. I leaned in, my lips brushing against his ear, and pressed a single finger to the center of his chest, right over his heart. “Tell me the truth, my brilliant designer,” I whispered. “When you were building this room, didn’t you imagine that, even once?” 6 I pushed him back onto the bed. The golden bars of the cage surrounded us, trapping us together. A pair of birds who could never fly away. Aidan’s breathing grew heavy, ragged, but he didn’t resist. He lay pliant beneath me, his long, dark lashes trembling against his cheeks. A faint pink flush stained his neck and collarbones. He was utterly delectable. I straddled his hips, leaning down, ready to make my next move, when the shrill ring of my phone shattered the charged atmosphere. Aidan and I both flinched, our brows furrowing in perfect, annoyed unison. I pulled the phone from my pocket and glanced at the screen. Unknown number. I answered it. A drunken, slurring male voice immediately assaulted my ear. “I’m out of money. Send me some, now!” It was Rick. My biological father. A world-class piece of human garbage. This wasn’t the first time he’d called demanding money. Of course, I’d never given him a dime. Just as he’d never given my mother a dime in child support. My standard response was a curt “Go to hell” before hanging up. But this time… I glanced down at Aidan, a new idea taking root. I pressed the speakerphone button. “…Don’t tell me you don’t have it,” Rick’s voice boomed from the phone’s tiny speaker. “You’re at that fancy college. Pick up a few more shifts, eat less. The money’s there. And your brother, he’s smart but his grades aren’t great. He’ll probably only get into community college after this year’s exams. You’re going to have to pay to send him to a good private university. And his living expenses, too. You’re his big sister, it’s your responsibility…” Rick’s voice was naturally coarse and grating; the alcohol only made his loud, belligerent tone worse. I could see Aidan’s expression darkening, his jaw tightening as a storm gathered behind his eyes. But Rick was on a roll. “…And take me off your damn block list! I have to borrow someone else’s phone just to call my own ungrateful daughter!” The words “ungrateful daughter” meant nothing to me. But to Aidan, they were like stones thrown into a calm lake, sending ripples of anger spreading through him. He couldn’t stand to hear anyone say a single bad word about me. In my mind, I lit a small white candle for Rick. He was a dead man walking. Aidan was not the same gentle, timid boy with everyone else as he was with me. 7 Rick, blissfully unaware of the mortal danger he was in, kept digging his own grave. “…Oh, and Esme, you need to change that name back! You’re my daughter, you should have my last name! It’s tradition! Taking your mother’s name… that’s for people with no respect for their ancestors!” It’s almost impressive, how a person can be so wrong, twice, in a single sentence. With that one statement, he had insulted me, and insulted anyone who takes their mother’s surname—which, as it happened, included Aidan. Though Aidan and his mother had a somewhat distant relationship due to their personalities, he was fiercely protective of her. “And ‘Esme,’” Rick sneered. “What kind of garbage name is that? All fancy and weird. What was wrong with the name I picked for you when you were born? Bertha! It’s a good, solid name. Means bright and glorious! It was for your own good, so you’d have something strong to lean on…” I cut him off, my voice cold as ice. “You know, for a fossil, you talk a lot. You should be in a museum, not on the phone, stinking up the airwaves with your backwards thinking. And for the record, Bertha is a perfectly fine name, but it’s not mine.” “You—!” Rick sputtered, enraged. “And if you’re going to be an idiot, at least be an educated one,” I said, my tone dripping with contempt. “Get a book. Or a hobby. Just stop drunk dialing me.” I hung up and immediately blocked the number. … “Not long after I changed my name to Esme, my mom died of stomach cancer.” I was lying in Aidan’s arms, idly playing with his fingers as I spoke. “The day she died, I went down to the river to drown myself. But then, I ended up saving some other kid who was trying to do the same thing…” Aidan’s expression flickered at that. I didn’t notice, my gaze distant. “It’s funny, isn’t it? I wanted to die myself, but the second I saw someone else in the water, my first instinct was to save them…” “Because you’re a good person,” Aidan said softly. “My mom raised me to be,” I replied. He shook his head. “Even the kindest parents can raise a child who isn’t. You’re good because that’s who you are, Esme.” I smiled, tilting my head back to look at him. “I think you see me through rose-colored glasses.” “Do I?” He smiled back, a faint, gentle curve of his lips. “I think I’m just telling the truth.” His eyes softened, the smile reaching them. It was like seeing the first crocus of spring push through the winter snow. And suddenly, I really wanted to kiss him. 8 For the next few days, I lived at Aidan’s villa. It was even more comfortable than I had imagined. When I was writing my thesis, he never disturbed me. The moment I took a break, however, he would appear as if summoned, bearing fruit, or iced coffee, or some other small gift. He was attentive and caring, down to the smallest detail. I received a ‘good morning,’ ‘good afternoon,’ and ‘good night’ text every single day, without fail. One evening, he told me he had to be away for a couple of days on business. He asked if I would have a candlelight dinner with him before he left. I knew his “business” was taking care of Rick, so I readily agreed. But when I saw the bottle of red wine on the table, my appetite vanished. “I don’t drink red wine.” Aidan froze, a bottle opener in his hand. “But I thought… on New Year’s, you…” You drank red wine with your roommates. “I liked it then,” I cut in. “I don’t anymore.” “…Why?” he asked. I didn’t answer. Why don’t you like it anymore? Because… the deep red liquid looked too much like blood. I closed my eyes, and the metallic tang of it filled my senses, making me want to retch. It was all… it was all Aidan’s blood. Seeing that I wasn’t going to explain, Aidan lowered his eyes, hiding the storm of questions I knew was raging within him. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking lost. A wave of tenderness washed over me. I took a slow breath, composing myself, and offered him a small smile. “It’s fine. It’s my issue, don’t worry about it. Could you… could you get me a glass of white wine instead?” He visibly relaxed, a wave of relief washing over his features. “Of course. That’s not a problem at all.” He paused, his gaze meeting mine, his expression earnest and intense. “Anything you need, Esme. I’ll do anything for you.” … After dinner, as night settled over the hills, Aidan prepared to leave, a team of serious-looking men in dark suits waiting for him by the door. As he walked away, I called out to him. “Aidan.” He turned back to look at me. There were a million things I wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t form. In the end, I just smiled. “Be careful. Don’t get hurt.” 9 As soon as Aidan was gone, I started packing a bag of my own. Rick was about to have a very bad day, and there was no way I was going to miss the show. But as I stepped out of the villa, I ran right into Aidan’s mother. She was an incredibly beautiful woman, with a chic, razor-sharp bob that framed a face that was both cold and striking. But more impressive than her looks was her status—a permanent fixture in the top ten of the country’s wealthiest individuals. “Hello,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m Aidan’s mother, Seraphina.” I was momentarily stunned, but recovered quickly and shook her offered hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Esme.” I had a very positive impression of Seraphina. In the other life, after Aidan died saving me, she had been a pillar of support. I was in the hospital, badly injured. My own mother was long dead, and Rick was, characteristically, nowhere to be found. Besides my friends, it was Seraphina who came to visit, who took care of things. She was a woman in her forties who had just lost her only son, yet she never blamed me. She comforted me, worried that the trauma of the accident would leave deep psychological scars. She even hired a therapist for me. She told me that if souls lingered after death, Aidan would be worried about me, and as his mother, the only thing she wanted was for her son to be at peace. Now, in the present, Seraphina’s sharp eyes scanned me from head to toe. Seeing me unharmed, she let out a quiet sigh of relief. “It seems he hasn’t done anything too terrible yet.” The “he,” of course, was Aidan. I found myself defending him instinctively. “He’s been wonderful.” Seraphina looked at me and smiled, a sad, knowing expression. She shook her head gently. “Do you know that for the past two days, he’s been investigating every single detail of your life?” I nodded calmly. “I figured.” He was going after Rick; of course he would dig into our history. The day I put that call on speakerphone, I knew this would happen. In fact, it’s what I had intended. My calm reaction seemed to disconcert her. The smile faded from her lips. “Aidan did the research himself. He didn’t delegate. Just like he designed and built that room in the basement himself. Do you understand what that means?” My expression didn’t change. “It means his possessiveness has reached a dangerous level.” Seraphina gave me a long, searching look. “You’re even smarter than I imagined. And if you know that, then you should also know this—that kind of possessiveness festers. It turns into a desire to destroy.” She paused, her voice softening slightly. “Aidan is my son. I know him. He isn’t normal. He’s a beautiful, brilliant, broken boy. He’s… unwell.” I frowned, about to argue, but she leaned in closer, her voice a low, urgent whisper. “I was once like him. A madwoman, sick with the same disease. I’m telling you this as a warning. He may seem perfect now, but he is not harmless. He is just… controlled. He’s hiding it from you. But one day, that control will break, and he will hurt you, even if it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do. And the fallout… the pain and the pressure that has been building up… it will be more than either of you can bear.” She straightened up, pulling a business card from her slim wallet and handing it to me. It listed a private number. “If the day ever comes that you want to leave him, call me. I will help you.”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "385514", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel