Chapter 8: Dreams and Diversions
Calla’s Pov
I was back at Eldergate Cliffs, the wind whipping through my hair as Alaric’s arms wrapped around me from behind. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of amber and rose, and for a moment, everything was perfect.
“I could stay like this forever,” I murmured, leaning back against his chest.
“Forever isn’t long enough,” he whispered against my ear, his voice warm with laughter. “I want a thousand forevers with you, Calla. A thousand lifetimes.”
I turned in his arms, drinking in his face—the gentle blue-gray eyes, the soft smile that made my heart skip beats. When he cupped my face in his hands, his touch was reverent, worshipful.
“Promise me,” I whispered. “Promise me you’ll never leave.”
“Never,” he said, sealing the vow with a kiss that tasted like salt air and endless possibilities. “I’m yours, Calla West. Always and forever.”
But even as he spoke, he was fading, becoming translucent in my arms. I reached for him desperately, but my fingers passed through empty air.
“Alaric!”
I jolted awake, his name still on my lips, tears streaming down my cheeks. The dream had been so vivid, so achingly real, that for a moment I’d forgotten where I was. Who I’d become. The ghost-touch of his hands lingered on my skin, making the empty bed beside me feel like a chasm.
For long minutes I lay there, letting the dream’s sweetness wash over me before reality could intrude. When was the last time I’d dreamed of Alaric with such clarity? Usually, my medication made my sleep dreamless, empty. The ghost of his voice still echoed in my ears—I’m yours, always and forever—like a benediction I no longer deserved.
Maybe Dr. Hayes’s adjustments weren’t working as well as he’d hoped.
After a long shower and careful attention to my appearance—habits that had become second nature in this house of hidden cameras—I made my way downstairs. The dining room was softly lit, candles flickering on the polished mahogany table where Adrian sat reading something on his tablet. Everything was arranged with museum-perfect precision, but I noticed how the staff moved around us like shadows, never quite meeting my eyes when they served our courses.
Adrian looked up as I entered, silver eyes tracking my movement with that familiar intensity.
“There’s my beautiful wife.” He rose to pull out my chair, ever the perfect gentleman. “You look lovely tonight.”
“Thank you.” I settled into my seat, hyperaware of his proximity as he pushed in my chair. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re never late,” he said, returning to his own seat. “You’re exactly on time for everything that matters.”
The casual possessiveness in his tone should have bothered me more than it did. Instead, I found myself almost warmed by it—another sign that whatever Dr. Hayes was giving me was working far too well.
“How was your day?” Adrian asked as the staff began serving dinner—perfectly prepared salmon with roasted vegetables, wine selected to complement every bite.
“Restful,” I said carefully. “Though I had vivid dreams.”
His fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Oh? What kind of dreams?”
I took a sip of wine, buying myself time. How much should I reveal? How much would tip him off that his careful conditioning might be slipping?
“I dreamed about Alaric,” I said finally, watching his face for any reaction.
Adrian set down his fork with deliberate calm, but I caught the slight tightening around his eyes. “I see. And what was this dream about?”
“Just… memories. The cliffs where we used to walk. Things we said to each other.” I kept my voice neutral, clinical. “It felt so real.”
“Dreams often do,” he replied smoothly, though something darker flickered beneath his controlled expression. “Especially when we’re processing grief and change. Dr. Hayes mentioned this might happen as your treatment progresses.”
Of course he did.
“Adrian,” I said carefully, “can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
I met his silver gaze directly. “Do you miss him? Miss Alaric?”
For just a moment, his mask slipped. Pain flashed across his features—raw, bitter, complicated—before he smoothed it away. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because he was your brother. Because you grew up together, shared everything.” I leaned forward slightly. “It would be natural to miss him.”
“Alaric and I had a… complicated relationship,” Adrian said after a long pause, his jaw tight. “We were very different people.”
“But you must have loved him.”
His laugh was sharp, humorless. “Love is complicated too. Sometimes the people we love most are the ones who—” He stopped abruptly, his hands clenching into fists on the table.
There was pain there, real and raw beneath his controlled exterior. Jealousy, grief, anger—a tangle of emotions he usually kept locked away.
“Do you think…” I hesitated, then plunged ahead. “Do you think there’s any possibility he could still be alive?”
Adrian went very still. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with sudden tension.
“What makes you ask that?”
“Nothing specific. Just… sometimes I feel like I would know if he was really gone. Like I would feel it somehow.”
“Calla.” His voice was gentle but firm, though his knuckles were white where he gripped his wine glass. “Alaric is dead. I know it’s painful to accept, but clinging to impossible hopes is only hurting you more.”
“But what if—”
“There is no ‘what if.’” He leaned forward, capturing my hand in his. “I understand the temptation to create fantasies where he survived, where this all has a different ending. But that path leads to madness.”
His grip tightened slightly, just enough to make his point.
“You need to move forward, not backward. These dreams, these questions about the past—they’re hindering your treatment, preventing you from healing.”
My lips wanted to agree, to give him the compliance he craved. Of course, Adrian. You’re right. I’ll stop asking. But something deeper in me—my bones, my blood, my very soul—screamed in silent rebellion. This wasn’t healing. This was erasure.
“I know, but—”
“No buts,” he said, bringing my hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles. “I need you to focus on the present. On us. On building something real instead of chasing ghosts.”
The tenderness in his gesture warred with the steel in his voice, leaving me confused and off-balance.
“I’m trying,” I said softly, though my bones ached with the lie.
“I know you are.” His expression softened. “And to help with that, I have something to tell you. Something to look forward to instead of dwelling on what’s behind us.”
“What?”
“There are several events coming up—galas, charity functions, social gatherings where we’ll need to appear as a couple.” His thumb stroked across my knuckles. “I think it’s time for you to start taking your place as Mrs. Adrian Thorne. To show the world how happy we are together.”
The prospect should have terrified me. Instead, I found myself almost intrigued by the idea of stepping out of this gilded cage, even briefly. My medicated mind latched onto the possibility of escape, however temporary.
“What kind of events?”
“The Rosegate Medical Pavilion charity auction next week. The Mayor’s Spring Gala the week after. Various corporate functions.” He smiled, and for once it seemed genuine. “I want to show you off, Calla. I want everyone to see what a lucky man I am.”
Something warm unfurled in my chest at his words—pride, pleasure, the intoxicating feeling of being desired and treasured. My heart said yes, but my bones whispered run.
“That sounds…” I paused, surprised by my own reaction. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Does it?” His smile widened. “We’ll need to get you some new gowns, of course. Something that shows off how radiant you’ve become.”
Radiant. Is that what I’d become? Or was that just another word for successfully medicated?
“I’d like that,” I heard myself say, even as something deeper in me mourned the easy compliance in my voice.
“Perfect.” Adrian lifted my hand again, this time pressing a kiss to my palm that sent unexpected heat racing up my arm. “No more dreams about the past, then. Only dreams about our future.”
As he held my gaze across the candlelit table, I found myself nodding. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to stop looking backward and start embracing what was right in front of me.
Even if part of me whispered that I was losing something vital in the process.
Even if Alaric’s voice from my dream still echoed in my ears, calling my name like a prayer I was no longer allowed to answer.
Even if my bones screamed that this surrender was just another kind of death.