The room fell into silence again.
Outside the tall windows, the night air carried the distant sound of wind through the trees surrounding the Hamilton estate.
Elena’s heart was pounding faster now, not because of the scars themselves, but because of the memories beginning to surface.
She stepped closer to him.
“May I see it again?” she asked gently.
Liam hesitated.
For years, revealing his scars had always led to the same reaction—shock, discomfort, pity, or quiet disgust.
But Elena’s eyes held none of those things.
There was only curiosity… and something else he couldn’t quite name.
Slowly, he lifted the fabric again.
The burn scars stretched from his knees down to his ankles, uneven and raw even after so many years of healing.
Elena stared at the crescent-shaped mark again, and suddenly the memory struck her like a flash of lightning.
A fire.
Smoke filling the air.
A small wooden house collapsing under flames.
And a boy.
A boy who had dragged her out through a burning doorway when she was only eight years old.
Elena covered her mouth with her hand as tears rushed into her eyes.
“You…” she whispered.
Liam looked startled.
“What?”
“You were there,” she said, her voice trembling. “The fire in Maple Street… thirteen years ago.”
Liam’s eyes widened slowly.
“How do you know about that?”
Elena felt her chest tighten as the memory returned completely now.
Her childhood home had caught fire late one winter night.
Her mother had collapsed from smoke before they could escape.
Neighbors had tried to help, but the flames had already spread too quickly.
Then a boy from the neighboring house had rushed inside without hesitation.
He had found Elena trapped behind a fallen cabinet.
He had pulled her outside… but not before the flames burned his legs when part of the ceiling collapsed.
“You saved me,” Elena said, tears running freely down her face now.
Liam stared at her as if he were seeing a ghost.
“That girl… that was you?”
