Chapter 65 Under the spell
He frowned, rubbing his temple unconsciously. “Maybe. I don’t remember any pain, just confusion. A flash of light, a sound, and then nothing.”
Sienna studied him, her expression thoughtful and gentle. “Dante if you want the truth, it’s time to stop running from it.”
He looked at her. There was no judgment in her eyes, just quiet strength. The kind that steadied him. The kind that made him feel safe.
“What are you suggesting?” he asked finally.
She hesitated, then said, “Hypnosis. My friend, Clara Menet, she’s a psychiatrist. She can help you find what your mind buried that night.”
Dante was silent for a long moment. The word hypnosis made him tense, but the calmness in her voice soothed him.
“Would it hurt?” he asked, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.
Sienna smiled softly. “Not in the way you think. But it might open memories you’ve locked away for a reason.”
He looked away, then back at her. “If you believe it’s what I need, I’ll do it.”
Her heart softened at that not because of the trust, but because he said if she believed. He trusted her.
Sienna picked up her phone, thumb hovering over the screen. “Then I’ll call her.”
Dante watched her, still standing by the counter, the smell of burnt batter hanging in the air. He had no idea what waited on the other side of those memories but for the first time, he wanted to face them. Because she’d be there.
She scrolled through her contacts, found the name she was looking for, and pressed call.
Her voice was steady as she said, “Clara? It’s me. I need your help. Can you come to Monaco?”
Dante leaned against the counter, eyes fixed on her on the small, determined tilt of her chin, the way her hair fell into her face as she talked.
He thought of the night at the gala, how the world had turned its claws on her and realized that somehow, despite everything, she was still here.
Still standing beside him.
And that scared him more than anything else because people who loved him always left.
When she hung up, she looked up at him and smiled softly. “She’s coming tomorrow.”
He nodded slowly, forcing a smile. “Good.”
But inside, a quiet storm was building not of fear, but of anticipation. Whatever truth waited in those memories, it was about to surface. And this time, there would be no going back.
The next day, Sienna stood by the window of the villa, her hands wrapped around a mug of untouched tea. The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, leaving the sky pale and restless. Her reflection in the glass looked as tired as she felt her eyes swollen, lips pressed tight.
Today, Clara was coming. And somehow, Sienna wasn’t sure who she was more worried for Dante or herself.
She turned at the sound of the doorbell. Her heart jumped.
Dante stood in the hallway behind her, wearing a simple black shirt and slacks, freshly shaven but with that familiar heaviness in his eyes. He didn’t speak, only gave a slight nod before opening the door.
Clara Menet stepped in gracefully, looking calm and confident. She looked every bit the professional psychiatrist she was, her dark hair was tied in a low bun, beige coat over a navy dress, heels that didn’t make a sound on the marble floor.
Her eyes softened when they landed on Sienna. “It’s been too long,” she said with a small smile.
Sienna exhaled, stepping forward. “You came fast.”
“I left as soon as you called,” Clara replied, her tone warm but focused. Then her gaze moved to Dante. “Mr. Varon.”
“Dante,” he corrected quietly, extending a hand.
She shook it. Her grip was firm. “Dante, then. I’ve read your file.”
He smirked faintly. “That makes you one of us.”
Sienna felt her heart tighten at the edge in his tone. She wanted to smooth it away, to make this easier, but Clara gave her a subtle nod, a silent message to let him feel what he needs to.
They moved to the living room, which Clara quickly transformed into a small therapy space. She asked simple questions at first about his recovery, his nightmares, the flashbacks he mentioned. Dante answered each one with growing irritation, his fingers tapping his knee, a sign he was fighting the need to shut down.
Sienna sat beside him, close enough that their arms brushed. She didn’t say much. She just stayed close to him.
Finally, Clara said softly, “You’ve been running from this night for a long time. Today, we won’t chase the pain. We’ll let it find you.”
Dante’s jaw flexed. “And what if I don’t want it to?”
Clara met his gaze. “Then it will keep coming anyway. Until you do.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then gave a single nod. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
The room dimmed. Curtains drawn.
The ticking clock faded. The only light in the room came from a small lamp behind Clara’s chair.
Dante sat back on the couch, his breathing slow and uneven. Sienna sat on the floor near him, watching. Her palms were damp. She had seen hypnosis before, but never with someone she loved.
Clara’s voice began steadily, rhythmic, low. “Breathe in and out. In and out. Every sound you hear brings you closer to calmness.”
At first, Dante resisted, his body became stiff, jaw tight. But then something shifted. His shoulders dropped. His lips parted slightly. His breathing slowed.
“Good,” Clara murmured. “Now, we’re going to walk backward in time. Back to that night.”
Sienna’s pulse quickened. She wanted to reach out, to stop it, but Clara raised a hand slightly.
Dante’s fingers twitched. His voice, when it came, was rough like a man speaking through a dream. “I see lights. Bright lights. My hands are on the wheel.”
Clara leaned forward. “You’re driving?”
“Yes.” he paused. His brow furrowed. “But someone’s shouting my name from outside the car.”
Sienna’s breath caught.
Dante’s hands clenched into fists on his knees. “There’s noise. Tires screeching. Luca’s voice, he’s yelling telling me to stop.” His breathing hitched. “There’s someone else in the passenger seat. I can’t see the person's face.”
Sienna glanced at Clara, but Clara didn’t move. Her focus was razor-sharp.
“Do you recognize the voice?” Clara asked softly.
“No.” Dante’s forehead creased. “Wait, yes. A woman. She’s crying. Saying it’s my fault. That I shouldn’t have come.”
Sienna’s chest tightened. Her eyes filled.
Dante’s voice grew uneven. “I can’t see clearly there’s rain. Lights flashing. Luca’s standing near the track, waving his arms. He looks terrified.” His breathing quickened. “Then, a crash. I feel pain. I hear someone scream.”
He gasped suddenly, jerking upright, eyes wide open. His chest heaved as though he’d just run miles.
Sienna was beside him in an instant. “Dante! It’s okay, you’re here, it’s over.”
He blinked, disoriented, his pupils wide. He looked around, then at her but it was like he wasn’t really seeing her.
“I saw something,” he murmured. “I just… I don’t know what it means.”
His hands trembled slightly. Sienna grabbed them, holding tight. “You don’t have to understand right now. You remembered something and that’s a good start.”
He swallowed hard, his throat working. “There was someone else in the car. A woman. I heard her. But her face, it’s gone. I can't recognize her face.”
Clara sat quietly for a moment, then leaned forward. Her tone was gentle but probing. “Do you remember what she said?”
Dante shook his head. “Only that I shouldn’t have come. That someone would kill me for it.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Sienna’s fingers went cold.
He leaned back again, staring blankly ahead. His voice dropped to a whisper. “It felt so real. Like I was there again. But when I try to see her face, it’s like my mind blocks it.”
Sienna squeezed his hand. “You did good, Dante. That’s enough for today.”
But Clara didn’t move. Her gaze lingered on him, thoughtful. “He’s holding something back,” she said softly.
Sienna frowned. “He’s just tired. It was intense.”
Clara shook her head slightly. “Not consciously. His mind is protecting him from something or someone.”
Dante looked at her sharply. “What does that mean?”
Clara hesitated, choosing her words. “Sometimes, when a memory involves a person who caused deep emotional conflict, the brain buries not just the event but the face. The identity.”
Dante frowned. “So I’m protecting, who? Myself?”
“Maybe,” Clara said quietly. “Or someone you loved.”
The room seemed to shrink. Sienna felt her stomach twist.
She looked from Clara to Dante. “Who could it be?” she asked softly.