Page 160 of Fractured Devotion
Reyes nods. “It was never about controlling the clinic. It was about engineering the perfect clinical subject.”
“And then watching her grow into the system that built her.”
“We have to tell her,” Reyes says again.
I nod.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I need to sit in this room and mourn a little, though not for her.
But for the little girl she never got to be.
Chapter 47 – Celeste - False Memory
The ache behind my eyes has become a familiar companion, pulsing in rhythm with every blink and every breath. It’s been days since Alec stepped into my office, Reyes lingering behind him like a shadow, their faces pale and solemn.
They spoke in hushed voices, laying bare truths I’d give anything to dismiss as lies. But they had proof—files, recordings, and videos too horrific to be fabrications.
I’ve spent days unraveling in silence, threading memories through logic like beads on a wire. I haven’t slept properly. I just drifted through uneasy fragments of rest, chased awake by echoes of a child’s screams—my own. The apartment feels smaller, the walls pressing closer each hour, as if the memories I’m uncovering have started to fill every empty space.
Tonight, the silence is deafening. I sit cross-legged in front of the terminal, its blue glow painting my fingers in eerie shades. I keep replaying the footage, as though repetition might force the broken puzzle pieces of my past into something coherent. But each viewing only deepens the fissures and adds another layer of doubt.
I shut the screen off, my eyes stinging with strain, and push myself to stand. My knees protest, but I ignore them. The room sways slightly, disorienting, before settling back into grim reality. I need clarity, a fresh perspective. Someone who was there, someone who knows more than they’ve let on.
I need Irene, my estranged aunt, the woman who once raised me after my mother’s death. She vanished from my life years ago, leaving behind silence and unanswered questions. She had always been elusive, hiding truths behind carefully constructed walls. Now, those walls must come down.
It takes effort to steady my hands as I type her number into the device. It’s late, but I don’t care. She forfeited the right to peaceful nights the moment she decided secrets were more valuable than blood.
She answers on the third ring, her voice thick with sleep and irritation. “Celeste? It’s nearly midnight.”
“We need to talk,” I say plainly, my voice flat, all emotion carefully stripped away.
There’s a brief hesitation, and then, with audible resignation, she replies, “You finally remember.”
“Enough to know you’ve lied to me my whole life.”
Irene exhales wearily. “Come over. It’s not safe to discuss this over the phone.”
“Safety stopped mattering when I found out my past was a manufactured lie,” I say, bitterness cutting my tongue like glass. “I’ll be there.”
I waste no time, grabbing only my coat and keys and leaving immediately despite the late hour. Irene lives on the outskirts of town, nearly an hour’s drive through winding roads that feel like endless threads of uncertainty.
Missing work tomorrow isn’t even a consideration. I need answers now, as well as clarity, before my sanity fractures completely.
The roads blur beneath my headlights, winding like dark ribbons of uncertainty. Rain slicks the pavement, distorting streetlights into watery ghosts. My mind races faster than the engine, each question more terrifying than the last. How deep does the manipulation go? And how much does Irene truly know?
Finally arriving, I park outside Irene’s modest house, which is now dimly lit like a subtle invitation to confront my nightmares. My heartbeat quickens as I approach her doorstep, my hand hovering briefly before knocking firmly.
The door opens swiftly, Irene’s tired eyes meeting mine with sorrowful understanding. She steps aside silently, the air heavy with tension as I enter. Her home is unchanged—lavender scented, filled with antique furniture and fragile memories.
We settle across from each other in her familiar study, the silence stretching thin until she finally speaks. “I never wanted you to find out like this, Celeste.”
“Why not tell me earlier?” My voice trembles, betraying the anger beneath.
“Because you wouldn’t have believed me,” she says calmly. “You never trusted my warnings and advice. They made sure of it.”
“Who are ‘they’?” My hands clench tightly. “What do they want from me?”
