Chapter 3 The Mark Beneath The Skin

Liana woke with a start.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, soaked in sweat, though the room was cool and silent. The sheets clung to her legs, twisted from tossing. She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead, trying to catch her breath.

The dream still pulsed in her mind.

A man in fire. A woman begging. A silver ring dropped into blood.

She had never seen those images before... and yet, they felt familiar. Too familiar.

She climbed out of bed and stumbled to the mirror above the dresser. Her reflection looked worse than she expected - sunken eyes, pale skin, hair tangled around her shoulders. But something else caught her attention.

She leaned in closer.

Just below her collarbone, to the left, was a small birthmark. A crescent shape, barely visible unless you looked closely. She'd had it her whole life.

Only... in the dream, the woman had the exact same mark.

She backed away from the mirror, shaken.

What was happening to her?

---

The door clicked open before she could gather her thoughts.

Damian stood there, dressed in a black button-down shirt and dark gray slacks. His presence filled the doorway like a thundercloud.

"You're awake."

"Barely," she muttered, hugging her arms.

"You'll want to be fully conscious for today," he said, stepping aside. "Come."

She didn't move.

"I don't take orders."

He didn't flinch. "You do now."

"I'm not afraid of you," she lied.

His eyes met hers-unblinking, unreadable.

"Good," he said after a moment. "Fear would ruin the lesson."

---

He led her down a long corridor lined with ancient portraits. Their painted eyes followed her as she walked, every step echoing through the marble floor like a warning. At the far end was a door made of dark oak and iron.

He opened it.

The room inside was nothing like the rest of the house. It wasn't modern or cold. It was... old. Stone walls. A fireplace with fading embers. A long table covered in books, documents, and something wrapped in red velvet.

"Sit," Damian said.

She didn't move.

He waited. Calm, patient.

Eventually, curiosity betrayed her. She sat.

He pulled a chair across from her and unwrapped the velvet cloth on the table. Inside was a single object:

A dagger.

Or rather... an artifact. Silver, curved, inscribed with markings that pulsed faintly under the dim light. The metal looked ancient-and alive.

"What is that?" she whispered.

"An answer."

"To what?"

Damian didn't reply. He reached into the table drawer and pulled out a thin file. He placed it before her.

Her name was on it.

"Liana Elena Cruz," he said, opening it. "Born in Mexico City. Mother: Mariela Cruz. Father: Unknown. You lived in foster care after your mother's death."

"Why are you telling me this?" she demanded, throat tight.

"Because you're not who you think you are."

She froze.

"You were never supposed to live a normal life," he continued. "Not after what your bloodline did."

"My bloodline?"

He placed a photograph on the table.

It was old-sepia-toned. A woman who looked exactly like her, in a dress from another era, standing beside a man whose face was blurred by time. But the mark on her collarbone-the crescent moon-was clear.

Liana stared.

"No. That's not me."

"Her name was Elena Cruz. She lived a hundred and twenty years ago. She betrayed the Blackthorn family. My family."

"That's-impossible."

He slid the dagger closer.

"She took something from us," he said quietly. "Something sacred. Her blood opened a door. And yours will close it."

"What are you talking about? Are you insane?"

Damian leaned closer.

"You don't have to believe in fate," he said, "but fate believes in you."

---

Liana stood abruptly, the chair scraping back.

"This is crazy. You think I'm some... reincarnation of a woman who hurt your ancestors? That's why you bought me?"

He stood too, slowly.

"I didn't buy you for revenge alone," he said. "I bought you because you are the key. You carry her soul, her blood, and her power."

"I don't believe in any of this," she snapped.

"You will."

"How do you even know I'm the one?"

He looked at her, then nodded toward her shoulder.

"The mark. The dagger reacted to it the night you arrived."

Liana staggered back. "You tested me?"

He didn't deny it.

"You'll understand soon. There are pieces of your memory hidden. Dreams, instincts, pain you've never explained. The truth is buried in your blood."

Her voice dropped, hoarse with disbelief. "And what are you going to do with me?"

Damian's gaze softened just a little - just enough to confuse her.

"I don't want to hurt you, Liana," he said. "I just want what was stolen."

"And if I refuse?"

His eyes darkened. "Then fate will decide... and fate is rarely kind."

---

That night, Liana sat alone again in her room, the dagger's shape burned into her memory.

The dream returned, clearer this time.

The woman who looked like her stood at the edge of a cliff, holding the dagger in her hand. A man - Damian's face, but younger - stood behind her, reaching out.

"I'm sorry," the woman whispered in the dream, tears on her cheeks. "This is the only way."

She dropped the dagger.

The sea below swallowed it.

The dream faded.

Liana gasped awake.

Her heart whispered a terrifying truth:

Maybe she did believe in fate after all.