Chapter 4 Fractured Memories

Three days have passed since Selene's "evaluation," and the mansion has settled into an uneasy quiet. Gabriel has been avoiding me, spending long hours locked in his office or away at the Institute. But his absence has given me time to advance my plans—particularly the manipulation of his increasingly fragile grasp on reality.

This morning, I'm reading in the garden when Mrs. Chen approaches with a letter.

"For you," she says curtly, handing me the cream-colored envelope.

I examine it curiously. "Who would be writing to me?"

She shrugs, already turning to leave. "It arrived with Dr. Sterling's mail."

Once alone, I open the envelope to find a single sheet of expensive stationery. The handwriting is familiar—my own, carefully disguised over several practice attempts. It contains just one line: "Remember the roses at twilight? E."

I tuck it into my book just as Gabriel appears at the garden entrance. He looks haggard, with dark circles under his eyes and a slight tremor in his hands that he tries to hide by keeping them in his pockets.

"Good morning," I greet him. "You were gone before dawn."

"Emergency at the Institute," he says vaguely, settling into the chair opposite mine. "Selene has been... difficult since her visit."

"I'm sorry to hear that." I mark my place in my book, deliberately leaving the letter partially visible.

His gaze catches on it. "What's that?"

"Oh, just some mail Mrs. Chen brought me." I try to close the book, but Gabriel is faster, plucking the letter from its pages.

His face pales as he reads the single line. "Who sent this?"

"I don't know. There's no return address." I watch him carefully. "Who is 'E'? Is it the Eliza you mentioned in your sleep?"

"I never mentioned anyone named Eliza," he snaps, but his voice lacks conviction. He crumples the letter in his fist. "This is inappropriate. I'll speak to Mrs. Chen about screening your mail more carefully."

"Gabriel," I say softly, reaching for his hand, "you've been so stressed lately. Perhaps you should talk about whatever's troubling you."

He pulls away. "Nothing's troubling me except Selene's power play and your... your increasing fixation on this imaginary person."

"But the letter—"

"Is clearly some kind of prank. Probably Selene's doing." He stands abruptly. "I have work to do. We'll have dinner at seven."

As he stalks away, I hide a smile. The seed of doubt grows stronger.

Later that afternoon, I'm in my room when there's a soft knock at the door. It's not Gabriel's usual authoritative rap, nor Mrs. Chen's brisk tap.

"Come in," I call, curious.

To my surprise, it's Jeremy, Gabriel's young groundskeeper—a quiet man who usually avoids the main house. He enters hesitantly, cap in hands.

"Miss Vivienne," he says nervously, "Dr. Sterling asked me to bring you these books from the library."

He places a stack of volumes on my desk, but as he turns to leave, he pauses. "Miss, can I ask you something?"

I nod encouragingly.

"The roses in the east garden—Dr. Sterling told me to dig them all up yesterday. Said they brought back bad memories." Jeremy twists his cap anxiously. "Thing is, those roses were special. Imported from some fancy place years ago. He used to tend them himself, before..."

"Before what, Jeremy?"

"Before you came," he finishes quietly. "There was a woman who loved those roses. Used to meet him there at sunset. The staff weren't supposed to know, but..."

My heart races with excitement, though I keep my expression neutral. This is an unexpected gift—a real memory I can twist to my purposes.

"Do you know who she was?" I ask gently.

Jeremy shakes his head. "Never saw her clearly. But she had hair like yours. And after she... after she was gone, that's when Dr. Sterling changed. Got harder. Colder."

I lean forward. "Jeremy, when was this? How long ago?"

"Six years, maybe? Just before you arrived." He straightens suddenly, as if remembering himself. "I shouldn't be talking about this. Dr. Sterling would be furious."

"It'll be our secret," I assure him. "Thank you for the books."

After he leaves, I sit in silent contemplation. There was a woman before me—someone real, someone Gabriel had feelings for. The roses, the twilight meetings... I had invented "Eliza" as a tool to torment Gabriel, but perhaps I had accidentally stumbled close to a truth.

That evening at dinner, I decide to probe further.

"I've been having strange dreams," I mention casually as Gabriel serves wine—a privilege he's recently granted me, perhaps as a reward for my performance during Selene's evaluation.

"What kind of dreams?" he asks, distracted.

"About roses. A garden at sunset. There's a woman waiting there, but I can't see her face clearly." I take a sip of wine, watching him over the rim of my glass. "Do you think dreams can be memories? Or maybe memories from someone else's life?"

The decanter slips in Gabriel's hand, splashing red wine across the white tablecloth. He doesn't seem to notice.

"Dreams are just the brain's way of processing information," he says mechanically. "They rarely have literal meaning."

"This felt different. Like I was remembering something that actually happened." I pause deliberately. "The woman was waiting for someone. She seemed... happy. Expectant. And there was a name in my dream. Elizabeth."

Gabriel stands so abruptly that his chair topples backward. "Enough! I won't have dinner ruined with this nonsense!"

"I'm sorry," I say, dropping my eyes. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought... since you're my doctor... I should tell you about my dreams."

His breathing is ragged, hands braced against the table. For a moment, I wonder if I've pushed too far too fast. Then, unexpectedly, he sinks back into his chair, suddenly looking older and infinitely more vulnerable.

"There was someone," he says quietly. "Before you."

I remain perfectly still, afraid the slightest movement might break this moment of unprecedented candor.

"Her name was Elizabeth Winters. She was a colleague—brilliant, compassionate. We were... close." His eyes take on a distant quality. "She loved the rose garden. Said it reminded her of her childhood home in England."

"What happened to her?" I whisper.

Pain contorts his features. "She died. A car accident on the coastal highway."

"I'm so sorry, Gabriel."

He looks at me then, really looks at me, as if seeing me clearly for the first time. "Sometimes, when the light hits you a certain way... you remind me of her. It's why I—" He stops abruptly.

"It's why you what?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head, the moment of vulnerability passing. "It's late. You should rest."

But later that night, as I lie in bed planning my next move, my door opens silently. Gabriel stands in the threshold, a strange expression on his face.

"I couldn't sleep," he says, voice rough. "May I come in?"

I sit up, nodding. This is unprecedented—he's never sought me out in my bedroom before.

He sits on the edge of my bed, keeping a careful distance. In the dim light from the hallway, I can see he's been drinking.

"I need to show you something," he says finally. "Tomorrow. I think... I think it might help both of us."

"What is it?"

"Memories," he replies cryptically. "Real ones, not the fantasies I've been feeding you. Or the ones you've been creating."

My pulse quickens. Has he seen through my manipulations? But his next words reassure me.

"I've been unfair to you, Vivienne. Keeping the truth about your past from you, telling you that your memories were delusions... it was wrong."

"What truth?" I ask, genuinely curious now.

He reaches out hesitantly, his fingers lightly touching my cheek. The gesture is so unexpected, so uncharacteristically gentle, that I nearly flinch.

"The truth about us," he says softly. "About how we met. About... before."

His proximity is disconcerting. Despite everything—my hatred, my plans for revenge—I find myself responding to his touch, leaning into it slightly. It's a calculated move, I tell myself. Part of the game.

"Will you trust me?" he asks, his voice barely audible. "Just for tomorrow?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. This turn of events is unexpected but potentially useful. Whatever "truth" Gabriel thinks he's going to reveal, I can incorporate it into my ongoing manipulation of his psyche.

He leans closer, his forehead nearly touching mine. "I've been so lost, Vivienne. These past weeks, these... episodes. I'm not sure what's real anymore."

"I know the feeling," I whisper, and for once, I'm not lying. The line between my performance and my genuine reactions to him has begun to blur in ways that unsettle me.

"There's something between us," he continues, his breath warm against my face. "Something I've denied, fought against. But seeing you with Selene, the way you defended me..."

And then, shockingly, his lips brush against mine—tentative, questioning. For an instant, I'm too surprised to react. Then, remembering my role, I return the kiss softly, feeling him shudder in response.

When he pulls back, his eyes are bright with unshed tears. "I don't deserve forgiveness for what I've done to you. But I want to make it right."

"How?" I ask, genuinely curious where this unexpected vulnerability will lead.

"By showing you the truth. All of it. Even the parts that damn me."

He rises then, moving toward the door. At the threshold, he pauses. "Five years ago, I made a terrible mistake, Vivienne. I thought I could replace what I'd lost. But you were never a replacement. You were... something else entirely."

After he leaves, I remain sitting in the darkness, mind racing. This development changes everything and nothing. Gabriel is cracking open in ways I hadn't anticipated, offering me access to vulnerabilities I didn't know existed. Yet the fundamental truth remains: he imprisoned me, controlled me, tried to reshape me into someone else.

Tomorrow, he'll show me his "truth"—likely some carefully edited version of events that casts him in a sympathetic light. I'll play along, appear moved by his honesty, perhaps even deepen our physical connection if it serves my purpose.

But underneath it all, my resolve remains unshaken. If anything, this new emotional territory makes my revenge sweeter. To make Gabriel Sterling not just doubt his sanity but give his heart to the architect of his destruction—that would be a victory beyond my original ambitions.

As I finally lie back down, I try to ignore the uncomfortable realization that his kiss affected me more than it should have. That despite everything, there's a part of me—small but persistent—that responds to his pain, his loneliness, his broken edges that match my own.

That part must be silenced. There can be no genuine connection between prisoner and jailer, victim and abuser. What grows between us now is a twisted simulacrum of intimacy, rooted in manipulation and watered with lies.

And yet, as sleep finally claims me, it's the memory of his lips on mine that follows me into dreams, not the satisfaction of seeing him unravel.