Tell me pretty lies, Look me in the face
Tell me that you love me, Even if it's fake
— Idfc by blackbear
"Stanford!" called Garrett.
I stopped halfway up the stairs. "What do you want? I'm in a rush."
"Checked the mail today, and found this. Your name's addressed at the back." He walked up to me and handed over a red envelope.
"Thanks," I said drily.
"Oh, and Jordan came by earlier asking where you were."
"What did he need?" He could've called me directly.
Garrett shrugged. "Not sure. I told him you were out with Summer, and might not be back until tomorrow. He just said thanks, then left."
"Well," I waved the envelope dismissively, "thanks for this."
"No probs, man."
I sprinted up the remaining stairs, taking two at a time. I ripped the envelope open as I walked down the hallway to my room, pulling out a paper that read: She knows.
Rage clutched at my chest.
The Marchioness was a few steps ahead of us, controlling the strings and mechanics of the game she was playing. She didn't want us dead yet — I was certain about that part. She was toying with us, testing us, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
Entering my room, I rushed over to the bookshelf to grab the pink diary.
● ● ●
"Summer?" I called as soon as I opened her door.
I scanned the mess in her room, opened yearbooks scattered on the floor, a purple box toppled upside down on her bed with papers everywhere. I could hear the shower running and the faint sound of music playing in her bathroom. My eyes searched for the red envelope, but found nothing. She probably hid it.
I placed the diary down and headed to the bathroom.
"Summer?" I called, knocking.
"I'm almost done!" she shouted.
I opened the door and slipped inside, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed. Summer switched off the shower and stepped out, grabbing her towel from the rack.
"You could've waited outside," she scoffed.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
She wrapped the towel around her body. "I'm fine, Gray."
"The yearbooks and those papers—"
"I received the yearbooks earlier," she cut me off with a shrug, "so I decided to look into them again."
She attempted to walk past me, but I quickly blocked her path.
"Summer, talk to me."
"I'm fine."
I stepped forward, not stopping my advance until she was backed up against the wall. Then I caged her between my arms. She stared up at me with an inscrutable gaze as she gripped her towel, the anger radiating off her.
"Talk to me," I demanded.
She frowned. "I told you, I'm fine."
"You're lying."
"I'm not lying, Gray," she sneered. "There's nothing to tell you."
"I know when you're lying, Shortcake."
"No, you don't," she barked back, hitting me on the chest. "You don't know anything about me!"
I grabbed both her hands and pinned them above her head, causing the towel to drop to the floor. She was still glaring at me, her chest heaving as she took in deep breaths. I had never been good at opening up, but she climbed every damn wall I had built and swam through the murky waters of who I was. It fucking hurt to see her shut down like this.
"You can fool everyone else, but not me," I remarked, leaning down until our breaths mingled. "What's eating away at you?"
Her lips trembled as tears welled in her eyes. The change of emotions happened quickly, like a trigger had been set off. The control she held just moments ago vanished without a trace, and there was nothing left but the inkling of wistfulness and apprehension.
She was looking at me as if she was seeing me again for the first time after years.
She knew.
Releasing my hold on her wrists, she instantly brought her mouth to mine. I could taste the saltiness of her tears as she kissed me with fervor, and I grabbed her face in my hands and deepened the kiss, hoping to convey the assurance that everything was going to be alright. That her finding out about our past was a step forward to capturing an unknown enemy. I kissed her tears away, silently promising that all of this would end soon.
"Come here," I whispered, pulling her to my chest.
"Gray Stanford, why can't I remember you?" she thought aloud, releasing an exasperated exhale. "I'm so tired of this. How many more skeletons are there for me to unearth? How deep am I supposed to dig before all of this ends?"
I sighed heavily. "I'm so sorry, baby."
We remained still for a few minutes, holding each other tight. Summer had stopped crying, but her breathing was labored. She hadn't had the time to take a breather since she found out about our parents. That was the thing about secrets cloaked in darkness; once you started digging for them, there was no certainty that you would ever resurface.
Summer wiggled away from my arms and picked up her towel from the floor. I stepped back as she grabbed a fresh one from the shelf and wrapped it around her.
"I need to get dressed," she said, glancing briefly at the door.
My eyebrows pulled together. "You're asking me to go out?"
"I mean, you can stay here. My clothes are out there."
A coy smile spread across her face as she walked past me and out of the bathroom. I followed her out and moved to the other side of the room, slapping her ass on the way. A whine escaped her lips, and I flashed her a devious smirk. She mumbled a variety of curses as she pulled open her drawer.
I gathered all the yearbooks and dropped them on her desk before moving over to her bed. Grabbing one of the papers, I realized it was a letter.
"My mother left me a box of letters before she died," said Summer, flopping on the bed. "She told me to come to Brickfields to find the truth because apparently, it holds an essential piece to my childhood, and now I know it does."
Her eyes caught onto the diary on her nightstand. She reluctantly grabbed it and flipped through the pages, stopping at the scribble written in Hangul.
I'm going to South Korea with brother Gugu and his father. It's going to be a nice vacation.
She pulled out the picture of us and stared at it.
"Why can't I remember anything?" she questioned.
"Dissociative Amnesia," I answered, and she raised her head to look at me. "I can't recall any memory of you either," I added quietly.
She stared at me with agonized eyes, adding more to the ache in my chest. Then she turned to look outside the windows. Moments passed that seemed like hours, and I waited for her patiently while arranging the letters.
"What happened?" she asked finally.
I sat beside her on the bed and took her hand in mine, squeezing lightly. "We were kidnapped when we were kids. I was ten, and you were nine when it happened."
"My mom repeatedly wrote that I keep an open mind in her letters," she muttered, the disappointment thick in her voice. "But I can't help feeling like I was being played all along. There is nothing about our childhood."
"I know that this is all confusing. I'm as confused as you are. The reason why I'm hell bent on finding the Marchioness is because I believe she's linked to our past. I have been searching for answers since I found out about this, but I can't find anything. There's absolutely no information out there."
"That's because my mother had it wiped out," she blurted out unthinkingly. Then her eyebrows crumpled. "That's because my mother had it wiped out," she repeated.
"What do you mean she had it wiped out?" I questioned.
"She changed her name and had all her legal documents altered so she could live a sheltered life," she pointed out, her eyes widening. "She changed my background to fit a normal reality. To hide my identity from everyone else, and from myself."
"My father did say I wasn't meant to find out about it."
"But the Marchioness wants us to remember," she fished under her pillow and pulled out the red envelope. "This is from her, isn't it?" she assumed.
I nodded. "She's been sending letters to Aila and me. I received one the day I learned the bartender was dead, and tonight."
Her eyes dropped to the envelope, then she handed it to me. "There's a photo of us inside, and a quote at the back."
I took the photo out from the envelope and flipped it over. I shouldn't be shaken up by a mere quote about vengeance as I had expected it. But something inside me felt frayed and raw. I could feel a memory probing at the back of my head, begging to be known.
More. There was more to what happened.
In hindsight, this proved the first theory of the Marchioness being someone who was linked to our past. And she was out for blood — our blood.
Summer placed a hand above mine, and I inhaled a deep breath, allowing myself to relax a bit. She kept her head down as she fiddled with my fingers.
"I'm leaving in two months, Gray," she said.
"So the rumors were true," I muttered, tipping her chin up with my finger. "HJ Corporation will be introducing the heir to all their assets."
She let out a deep breath. "I'll be assuming my position as the CEO."
"What's your plan?"
"I don't know yet," she smiled half a smile. "Once I get inaugurated, I'll have to leave. I have to undergo hands-on training in the company for at least eight to ten months before fully taking over my duties."
"You don't want it," I surmised, tracing her jaw with my finger.
"I'm..." she trailed off, meeting my gaze. "Conflicted."
I flashed her a crooked smile, trying to lift her out of her sudden dejection. She tried to smile back, but it was unconvincing. I pressed a kiss on her forehead, which caused her to sigh.
"Let's worry about catching this Marchioness first," I said.
A spark crossed her eyes. "What do you have in mind?"
I raised the photograph, and Summer's eyes darted back and forth in confusion between the picture and me.
"Even the tiniest knowledge about your enemy can do wonders in gaining the upper hand," I said.
Her lips parted slightly, forming a small circle in understanding.
"You want to lure her out."