The Enemy's Embrace

MAEVE'S POV

I have always believed that the universe has a cruel sense of humor.

No, scratch that.

Karma -or whatever it is- has a twisted way of doing things.

Like today.

Of all the people to walk into my office today, it is him.

Asher Kingston.

The man who killed my parents.

And got away with no form of repercussions.

Not even a tap on the wrist

I am sitting behind my desk, my fingers loosely gripping my pen as I watch him take a seat across from me.

Asher is... intense

His presence fills the room and not just because of his height or the tailored suit that clings to his broad shoulders.

It's something else.

I can't name it

He settles into the chair like he owns it, crossing one leg over the other, his movements deliberate, almost calculating even as his sharp gray eyes scan the room, flitting over the bookshelves, the framed certificates, the clock ticking softly on the wall.

He's looking for something-control, probably and I let him squirm for a moment longer, keeping my expression neutral.

Finally, he speaks. "Dr. Whitman, thank you for having me." His voice is deep, steady, but there's a hint of tension beneath it.

Whitman is my mother's name.

The name I use to hide. To protect myself.

From him.

He clearly doesn't remember me, though. Not my face. Not my name.

It's almost funny. Almost.

And I can't deny that I love it

I force a polite smile. "It is no issue, Mr. Kingston," I say, the words rolling off my tongue in practiced ease. "I was told this was a delicate issue. How can I help you?"

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the armrests, clearly uncomfortable.

"I have been experiencing... memory gaps," he says, his tone quiet, practiced, as if he is reciting a line he rehearsed on the way here.

"Memory gaps?" I repeat, tilting my head just enough to appear curious.

I am curious though

"Blackouts," he clarifies, his jaw tightening. "I find myself in places I don't remember going to and I don't know how I got there."

The pen in my hand stills for a fraction of a second.

Places?

What kind of places, Asher? My heart pounds, but I don't let it show. "How long has this been happening?"

"Years," he admits, the word coming out as a low growl. "But it has gotten worse recently."

I nod, jotting down a few notes, though my mind is already racing. "Can you describe these places?"

His eyes narrow slightly, his body tensing as if he's guarding a secret. "I don't know... they are random," he says finally. "I don't see a pattern."

"Random?" I press, keeping my tone neutral. "Or do they feel familiar in some way? Mr. Kingston, if you want me to help you, I need you to be very honest with me."

He hesitates, and for a brief moment, I see something flicker in his expression. Doubt? Fear? "There is one place," he says reluctantly. "An estate."

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. I keep my pen moving, my face carefully blank. "Can you tell me more about this house? Why do you think you keep going there?"

"It doesn't matter," he mutters, looking away.

"It does," I counter gently, folding my hands over my notebook. "If we are going to figure this out, we need to start with the details."

His jaw tightens, his hands gripping the armrests. "I don't know anything about it," he snaps. "I have just... been there before. Once. A long time ago."

My pulse quickens. I don't have to ask where. I know the place.

It is my family's house.

The place where my parents were murdered.

Where he murders them.

"Did something happen in that estate?" I ask, keeping my tone steady even though my stomach churns.

"No," he says sharply, then pauses. "At least... I don't think so. I don't know. I can't seem to remember."

"Mr. Kingston," I say softly, "trauma doesn't just happen. Memory gaps don't appear out of nowhere. If you are drawn to that place, it means something. Something happened there. I need you to tell me what it is."

His hands clench into fists. "You don't know what you are talking about," he snaps, his voice rising.

"Actually, I do," I stay calm, my voice steady. "I know that the mind doesn't forget. It buries things. It protects you from things you are not ready to face. But those memories are still there, Mr. Kingston. And if we don't confront them, they will keep confronting you. And you will keep having those memory gaps until you decide to face them head on."

He stands abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor. "This is a mistake," he mutters, turning toward the door.

"Mr. Kingston-"

"I didn't even want to come here," he snaps, his back to me. "My assistant thought this would help. I guess he was wrong."

I take a breath, forcing myself to stay calm. "Mr. Kingston, wait-"

But he is already gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

For a moment, I just sit there, staring at the door, my mind spinning.

The universe isn't just cruel- it's calculating too.

And it has handed me Asher Kingston on a silver platter, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Finally, I pick up my phone, my hands trembling as I dial. It rings once, twice, before my brother's voice comes through the line.

"You won't believe who just walked into my office," I say, my voice low and steady, but laced with something dangerous.

There is a pause, then a low chuckle on the other end as he asks "Who?"

"The one and only Asher Kingston."

The silence that follows speaks volumes.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is laced with the same edge as mine. "We should meet up. I want to hear this in person."