Chapter 157 Altering Ryan's Memory
The moment Amelia's arms closed around him and her voice brushed his ear, Ryan froze. Even in the haze of his episode, something in those words snagged at him.
Sister…?
She felt the flicker of hesitation, the fractional slackening in his grip. Amelia moved instantly, her hand slicing cleanly against the back of his neck in a sharp, precise blow. Ryan's tall frame staggered, his strength evaporating as if a cord had been cut, and he collapsed.
Amelia caught him before he hit the floor, guiding his weight onto the bed with deliberate care. The room was still a wreck—upturned furniture, shattered glass—an outward reflection of the chaos that churned inside him.
Only now did Amelia truly understand why Ryan's name in the entertainment industry was often followed by accusations. Cold. Arrogant. Looking down on everyone. Frivolous. Careless. She had heard it all.
But she saw deeper. This distance was not disdain; it was armor. He feared himself—feared the moment he might lose control—and feared even more the damage he could inflict on someone else. Better to be hated than to risk hurting anyone.
She exhaled softly.
Her palm came to rest against his temple.
She had once used her soul's strength to step into Michael's dreams. Michael's mind was resilient, a fortress built over a decade of nightly battles with nightmares. Even drowning in terror, he could distinguish reality from memory. With him, her role had been to stand beside him, to offer presence and comfort.
Ryan was different.
His childhood was a wound that had never closed—memories of being kidnapped and imprisoned, of killing a trafficker with his own hands, of being drenched in blood. They had lodged inside him like poison, feeding fear that never left.
So this time, Amelia did not enter a dream. She stepped directly into his memory.
When her eyes opened again, she was standing in a bustling amusement park.
The air was thick with the sugary scent of cotton candy and fried dough. Laughter tangled with the shrieks of children on rides. Parents in clothes from another decade held their children's hands, guiding them toward the next attraction. Kids clutched snacks in one hand and tugged their parents forward with the other.
Amelia spotted him quickly—a boy named Rex, sitting neatly on a bench beside the carousel. His sweatshirt bore a cartoon dinosaur, his skin pale, his eyes bright with unguarded light. He was staring intently in one direction.
Following his gaze, Amelia saw it—young Ryan, watching the family's servant queue for cotton candy. His eyes shimmered with anticipation. That pink cloud on a stick was a promise of sweetness… a promise that, moments later, would be destroyed so completely he would never touch the stuff again.
Amelia's breath tightened.
Her attention shifted to the swing set near the carousel. Behind it stood a woman in a red dress, heavyset, her gaze locked on Rex with predatory precision.
She was a hunter waiting for her moment.
When the carousel stopped and the crowd began to spill out in a rush, the woman moved. She stepped forward, ready to snatch the boy.
She never made it.
A hand seized her hair from behind, yanking her head back so hard her breath caught.
"Trafficker… worthless."
The words were cold, flat, spoken inches from her ear.
She had no time to scream before a palm clamped over her mouth, dragging her into a corner hidden from the crowd.
Her eyes widened as she saw Amelia standing there, expression unreadable. Then pain exploded in her abdomen—a kick, hard and merciless, drove the air from her lungs. It felt like something inside her had ruptured. She folded to the ground, unable to make a sound.
Amelia did not pause. Her heel came down on the woman's hand, the pressure sharp and deliberate, as if she meant to grind the bones to dust.
"How many mothers have lost their children because of you?"
"People like you… in this life, the next, and the one after, you will never deserve to be a mother."
The woman's eyes went wide, her face blanching, as if she had seen something beyond human.
Amelia's answer was another, heavier step.
It was only a memory, not reality. No matter how hard she struck, it could not undo the past. But it could give her a sliver of peace.
She did not waste more time.
Minutes later, Ryan was still on the bench, eyes fixed on the cotton candy stand.
Suddenly, a stick of cotton candy appeared before him—pink spun sugar shaped into the petals of a sunflower.
Ryan blinked, his gaze lifting to find a girl in a baseball cap and mask.
"This is…?" His voice was cautious.
"I'm the daughter of the cotton candy vendor," Amelia said with a smile. "I thought you looked sweet, so I wanted to give you one."
"Really?" The boy's eyes lit up.
"Really." She held it out to him.
"Thank you!" His grin was unrestrained, but after a moment he added, "I can't take it without paying. My family is over there in line—I'll have her bring you money."
"No need. It's a gift."
She hesitated, then said quietly, "If you want to thank me, could you agree to one thing?"
"One thing?" Young Ryan tilted his head, curiosity in his clear gaze. "What do you want me to do?"
For reasons she could not name, watching him ask that question made Amelia's throat tighten.
She bent down, ruffling his hair gently. "Promise me… no matter what happens now or in the future, you'll choose to be happy."