Sleep finally came in fragments.
Not dreams—
memories brushing the edge of consciousness like warnings.
By morning, the city felt louder.
Not with chaos this time, but with consequence.
Riyan was already dressed when I woke, tie loose, phone pressed to his ear, posture sharp with purpose.
"Yes," he said. "Bring him in. No press. No delays."
He ended the call and turned to me.
"They found him," he said. "The man who called you."
My heart skipped. "The second watcher?"
"Yes," Riyan replied. "Former executive security. Not officially connected to the family anymore."
"An independent contractor," I whispered.
Riyan nodded. "Who signed every silence order."
---
They brought him in at noon.
A secure government building.
Windowless room.
One table. Three chairs.
I sat between Riyan and the lawyer, my hands folded tightly in my lap.
The door opened.
The man who walked in looked… ordinary.
Late fifties.
Grey hair.
Calm eyes.
Not a monster.
That was the terrifying part.
He sat down slowly and looked straight at me.
"You remember now," he said quietly. "That complicates things."
My spine stiffened. "You drugged me."
"No," he corrected calmly. "I authorized it."
Riyan's chair scraped sharply against the floor as he leaned forward.
"You signed the order," Riyan said coldly. "Not my mother."
The man smiled faintly.
"She approved it," he said. "But I designed it."
My stomach churned.
"You altered my memory," I said. "You decided what parts of my life I was allowed to keep."
"Yes," he replied without shame. "Because witnesses are unpredictable."
The lawyer spoke for the first time.
"You're admitting to criminal medical coercion and obstruction of justice."
The man shrugged slightly.
"I'm admitting to doing my job."
Riyan's voice dropped dangerously low.
"Your job was to erase people."
"No," the man said. "My job was to protect power structures. People were… collateral."
I felt something inside me harden.
"You didn't erase me," I said steadily. "You failed."
His eyes flickered.
"You surprised me," he admitted. "You weren't supposed to recover memory without re-exposure."
Riyan went still.
"Re-exposure?" he repeated.
The man finally leaned back.
"Yes," he said. "Memory suppression like yours isn't permanent. It's conditional."
My pulse roared in my ears.
"Explain," the lawyer demanded.
"If the subject re-enters the emotional and physical environment of the trauma," he said calmly, "the memory returns."
Riyan's jaw clenched.
"You married her," the man continued, looking at Riyan. "Brought her back into the house. Surrounded her with the same faces. The same fear."
My breath caught painfully.
"You reversed the process," he said. "Without realizing it."
Silence slammed into the room.
Riyan looked at me like he'd been punched.
"I brought it back," he whispered.
"No," I said immediately. "You brought me back."
The man watched us, calculating.
"You've said enough," the lawyer snapped. "This confession is on record."
The man shrugged again.
"You wanted the truth," he said calmly. "Now you have it."
As he was escorted out, he paused at the door.
"You think this ends with me?" he asked quietly. "There are systems older than your grief."
The door closed.
The room exhaled.
---
Later, in the car, Riyan stared straight ahead.
"I put you in danger again," he said hoarsely.
"You also put me in a position to remember," I replied. "To stop being controlled."
He turned to me then.
"And I will spend the rest of my life making sure no one ever decides who you're allowed to be again."
I believed him.
Because the silence had been signed.
The lie had been authorized.
But the truth—
The truth had survived every attempt to erase it.
And now, it had names.
Faces.
Confessions.
And a witness who would never forget again.