When She Rose From the Ashes

Chapter 120 The Forgotten Memory

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Her reflection still looked like herself, yet not quite. Most of her features remained, but her contours had been subtly refined. At first glance, she was still Natalic. Look longer, and she had become something else entirely.

Before, Natalie’s beauty had been soft, like a lily–delicate and pure. Now, she was a blazing red rose, sharp–edged, dangerous, breathtaking with a kind of defiant allure.

“Is this really me?”

She raised a trembling hand, fingers brushing her new skin.

Baron’s smile deepened. “It’s you. At sixteen, you were already this dazzling, this untamed.”

Sixteen?

Natalie blinked. She wanted to argue–when had she ever been so bold? But then, unbidden, a memory she had long buried broke the surface.

That year, she had gone abroad for a dance competition. For once, away from home, she dared to try a striking makeup look–fierce, smoldering. The effect was stunning. Too stunning. Strangers stared, whispered, followed. What should have been triumph ended in fear.

She remembered the leers, the mocking laughter, and the accusation that her beauty was an invitation. She had cried, ashamed. In that moment she learned–sometimes, beauty itself was treated as a sin.

After that, she swore off heavy makeup. She wore simplicity like armor, and over time, even the memory blurred.

known about it. She had believed it was hers alone to carry. And yet here was Baron, recalling

breath caught. Hadn’t he once said they had met

been then–during that very

raced, searching the fragments of that

alley, heels clattering against stone, her heart pounding after the harassment. She ducked

unseen.

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120 The Forgotten

And then–she stumbled.

A body.

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man sprawled on the ground, blood soaking his chest. His face was smeared, indistinct

he rasped–in

had never seen so much blood, never been this close to death. Her instincts shrieked at her to run, but his grip was

free what little she had–her wallet, her phone–and dropped them beside

want trouble. Here–take this. Call someone. We never

tugged at her leg,

rolling back against the filthy bricks. Only then did she

lurched at the copper stench, the sight of so

he whispered. “Bandage me, and whether I live or die–I’ll swear we

be kidding

He was blackmailing her?