Chapter 7 A Name That wasn't Mine

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was the ceiling. It wasn’t my room.

The wood above me was smooth and polished, the color warm, almost golden under the soft light that filled the room.

For a few seconds, I simply lay there, staring, trying to understand why everything felt so wrong.

The bed beneath me was too soft. The air smelled different– clean, with a faint trace of herbs and something unfamiliar I couldn’t name. My body ached, but not in the way I expected.

The pain was dull, distant, like something I had already survived. Then I remembered it all. The fall. The water. Victor’s face as he pushed me.

My chest tightened and I shot upright, dragging in a sharp breath as if I had been drowning all over again. My lungs burned, and for a moment I could almost feel the water still inside them.

But there was no water. There was no mountain or darkness. Just a quiet room that did not belong to me.

I swung my legs off the bed, my head spinning slightly as my feet touched the floor. Even that felt strange. Before I could make sense of anything, the door creaked open. I turned sharply.

An old man stepped in. He froze the moment his eyes landed on me and we stared at each other for some seconds..Then his face broke.

“Lucian..”

The way he said the name was not cautious. It was not questioning. It was full of relief, disbelief, and something so deep it almost hurt to hear.

He rushed forward before I could react and grabbed my shoulders, his hands trembling as he looked at my face like he was afraid I would disappear if he blinked.

“Lucian… where have you been?” his voice shook. “Do you know how long I– ”

He stopped, his fingers tightening slightly against me, his eyes scanning my face as though searching for something.

“You’re… you’re really here,” he whispered.

I stared at him.

Up close, I could see the details clearly. His hair was ashen, thin at the edges, his face lined with age and hardship. But his eyes.. his eyes were alive. Too alive. They burned with something intense and fragile at the same time.

I swallowed.

“I–”

I wanted to say that I was not Damon but the name hung in my throat. Lucian. He wasn’t talking to me, but the way he looked at me.. it made my chest ache.

For a moment, I saw my own father. The memory hit me without warning– my father’s voice, his laughter, the way he used to look at me like I was already something great. I looked away from the man quickly.

“I don’t…” I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “I don’t remember everything.”

It was the safest thing I could say. The old man’s expression shifted, but not in the way I expected. There was no suspicion. No anger. Only concern.

“Of course,” he murmured, nodding slowly. “Of course you don’t. You’ve been gone too long…”

He let out a shaky breath and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “It’s fine. It’s fine. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

I watched him silently. He believed it. He believed me completely.

My gaze drifted around the room, trying to steady myself. That was when I saw it.

A framed picture sat on a small wooden table near the window. I moved toward it without thinking.

The girl in the picture was striking. Her beauty was raving like a raging fire. It was the type you'd notice without their efforts.

Blonde hair fell past her shoulders in soft waves, her features delicate but sharp in a way that made her stand out. She wasn’t just beautiful, she looked confident, composed, like someone who knew exactly who she was. Her gaze steady and confident.

I frowned slightly.

“Who is she?” I asked.

The old man let out a short laugh behind me.

“What kind of question is that?” he said, shaking his head as though amused. “What’s wrong with you, boy? That’s your sister.”

I turned slowly.

“My sister?”

“Yes,” he replied, still smiling faintly. “Lucy. Have you forgotten her too?”

Lucy. The name settled heavily in my mind.

I looked back at the picture. Nothing. No memory of her. No recognition. Just a stranger.

A cold unease crept up my spine. How much did I not know? I tightened my jaw. This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong.

The man in front of me was not my father. This house was not mine. That girl was not my sister.

And yet I was standing here, being called someone else like it was the most natural thing in the world. His son was probably dead and he suffers from mental illness while I was taking advantage of it. Tears blurred my eyes and my chest began to rise and fall faster.

“I…” I started, then stopped.

The words came before I could stop them.

“My name is Damon.”

The room went still. The old man blinked.

“I don’t know who your son is,” I continued, the pressure in my chest building until I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “I don’t know this place. I don’t know you.”

He stared at me, his expression frozen.

“My father was betrayed,” I said, my voice tightening as the memories forced their way out. “He was killed by someone he trusted. My family– my mother, my brother– they were murdered and it was covered up as suicide.”

My hands clenched at my sides. “I was next,” I added quietly. “I was pushed off a cliff. I should be dead.”

The words hung in the air as silence filled the room. For a moment, I thought and hoped that he would understand. That he would see the truth and still have mercy on me. That he would keep me. But instead, his face changed.

It was not a realization, it was something else. Something broken. Before I could react, his hand struck me across the face.

The impact stunned me. My head snapped to the side, and for a second I just stood there, trying to process what had happened.

Then he grabbed me.

“Lucian!” he shouted, his voice cracking as tears filled his eyes. “What is wrong with you?!”

I looked at him, shocked.

“I’m not—”

“You are my son!” he yelled, his grip tightening.

“Do you hear me? You are my son!”

His voice broke completely then, and he pulled me into a rough embrace, his shoulders shaking as he began to cry.

“I already lost you once,” he whispered. “I won’t lose you again. I won’t…”

I froze. This wasn’t anger. This wasn’t confusion.

This was desperation. Pure, overwhelming desperation. My resistance faltered.

I could feel his hands trembling against my back, the weight of his grief pressing into me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Slowly, my arms dropped to my sides.

If I pushed him now, if I insisted, I didn’t know what would happen. And for the first time since waking up, a different thought crossed my mind. Survival.

I swallowed hard.

“…I’m here,” I said quietly.

The words felt wrong in my mouth. But they worked.

His grip tightened, and I felt him nod against my shoulder.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “That’s it. You’re home, Lucian. You don't have to be scared.”

Home.

The word echoed in my mind, hollow.

After a while, he pulled back, wiping his face with the back of his hand as though trying to compose himself.

“You just need rest,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. “Everything will come back. It always does.”

I didn’t respond. He gave me one last look, long and searching, before turning and walking toward the door.

“I’ll bring you something to eat,” he added, his voice softer now. “Stay here, Lucian.”

The door closed behind him and the silence returned.

I stood there for a long time, unmoving.

Then I turned slowly and looked around the room again.

This wasn’t mine. None of it was. And yet, I was expected to live in it. To belong to it.

My gaze drifted back to the picture of Lucy. My supposed sister. I picked it up, studying her face more closely.

“Who were you?” I muttered under my breath.

No answer came. Only silence.

I set the frame back down and exhaled slowly, trying to steady my thoughts. One thing was clear now. I didn’t just wake up somewhere else. I just stepped into someone else’s life. And it wasn’t a simple one. And I was expected to live it. The man’s reaction had made that obvious. This “Lucian” had disappeared. That alone was a problem.

But there was more. I could feel it. From the way the old man spoke, the way he looked at me. In the weight behind everything he said. Lucian had a past. And whatever that past was, I did not know, and that was scary.

A fai

nt unease settled in my chest. Because that meant one thing. I hadn’t escaped any problem.

I had only stepped into a different kind of danger