Small Stories!

The Weight of Freedom #16

A year had passed since Eva, once known as Adaline, had severed the ties to the tumultuous life she had led under the mafia's shadow. The decision to leave it all behind had not been easy, but it had been necessary. In the quiet, faraway corner of the world she had chosen, she found something that had been absent for years: peace. The air was different here, calmer—more forgiving.

Every day she worked at the little restaurant, the laughter of patrons, the clink of silverware, and the gentle hum of soft music reminded her that this life, though modest, was her own. It wasn't glamorous, and it certainly wasn't free of struggles, but it was real. It was hers. And that simple truth had been the most freeing thing she could imagine. The tired faces of regulars, the warmth of the kitchen, and the smell of fresh bread rising in the oven had become the rhythm of her new life. And somehow, it felt like home.

But tonight, as she locked up and stepped into the cool night air, there was something in the atmosphere—a shift, a chill—that unsettled her. The streets were quieter than usual, the usual hum of evening life replaced by an eerie stillness. Eva didn't recognize the unease that crept along her spine at first, but the hairs on her neck stood on end. She shrugged it off, blaming the exhaustion of the day, and let the rhythmic sound of her heels on the cobblestones ease her mind.

Her small apartment was only a short walk away, nestled on a quiet street where the lights of the city barely touched. It had been the perfect retreat from her past, the perfect hideaway from the life she had fled. As she reached her front door, however, her pace faltered.

The door was ajar.

Eva froze, her pulse quickening. She was certain she had locked it before she left. That small, ritualistic task had become her fortress against the world. But now, standing in front of her open door, she felt an unwelcome surge of dread.

Something was wrong. Her heart raced, and her instincts screamed at her to run, to turn and disappear into the night. But instead, she pushed forward, each step heavier than the last. She reached for the door, her fingers trembling as she pushed it open.

The sight that greeted her stole the breath from her lungs.

In the dim light of her apartment, Addam—no, it wasn't Addam anymore, it was something darker—was sitting casually on her sofa, his figure lounging in the way that made him so unforgettable. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, an unfamiliar drink in his hand. He was a ghost from her past, and he'd found her—again.

Eva stood frozen in the doorway, her mind struggling to process the scene. Addam's dark eyes locked onto hers, and a slow, knowing grin spread across his lips. "Long time no see, Eva," he said, his voice smooth as silk but edged with something sharp. "Or should I say Adaline, my love."

The sound of her old name made her stomach twist. She hadn't heard it in so long. It felt foreign, yet so painfully familiar, like a distant ache she had worked so hard to bury. "Wha—what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to sound composed.

Addam's grin widened, the kind of smile that made her heart stutter. He stood fluidly, moving toward her with the confidence of a man who knew how to command a room. Every step he took was deliberate, as though he were reclaiming territory that was never truly his to lose. "I'm here to bring you back home, love," he said, his voice dropping to a low, seductive murmur.

Eva's heart skipped a beat. She could feel her pulse in her throat, in her ears. Fear and longing swirled within her, but she stayed rooted to the spot, her feet as though cemented to the floor. She could run, but she couldn't look away from him, not from the man who had once held her heart—who still held a piece of it, despite everything.