Three: Flashback

Oliver Knight's POV

The hospital room was bathed in harsh, fluorescent light, casting a stark contrast against the deepening evening outside. I tightened the bandage on Mr. Whitaker's arm, my movements precise and efficient. He was an older man, his face etched with lines that told stories of years spent toiling in the fields. There was a familiarity in his gaze, the kind that spoke of trust earned over generations.

"Your family's always been there for us, Dr. Knight," he said, his voice gravelly with age. "My father used to say your father was the best there was... and his father before him. Must be in the blood, huh?"

A flicker of amusement crossed my mind, but I kept my expression neutral. The truth was far too complex for such simple pleasantries. I gave a curt nod.

"It's important to maintain that legacy," I replied, my tone even. "Your health is what matters."

He chuckled softly, the sound filled with warmth that felt foreign in this sterile environment. I finished my work, allowing him a moment to rest as I gathered my thoughts. The irony of his words hung in the air like an unwelcome guest, reminding me of the centuries that had passed.

Generations of Knights, all with the same name, the same face. All of them, me.

With a final nod to Mr. Whitaker, I left the room, my footsteps echoing down the deserted corridor. The hospital was quiet now, the day's bustle having faded into the stillness of night. As I stepped outside, the cool air greeted me, a stark contrast to the oppressive warmth within. I welcomed it, letting it cleanse the remnants of the day from my mind.

The drive back to the mansion was uneventful, the darkened streets a familiar sight. The town had changed over the years, yet it remained the same in all the ways that mattered. But as I approached the mansion, its imposing silhouette against the night sky, I couldn't shake the sense of something stirring, something waiting.

Home. But even there, peace was elusive.

Here's the second part of the chapter in Oliver's POV, focusing on his interaction with his best friend and assistant, Benny.

The heavy oak doors of the mansion groaned as I pushed them open, their familiar creak echoing through the grand foyer. The air inside was cool, almost chilling, and carried the faint scent of aged wood and old books. It was a welcome relief from the hospital, though the solitude it offered was no real comfort.

I shrugged off my coat and hung it on the nearby stand, loosening my tie as I walked further inside. The mansion was quiet, as it always was, the kind of silence that could swallow a man whole if he wasn't careful. But then, it was never truly silent for long.

"You're back early," came a voice from the hallway.

I turned to see Benjamin Stark, or Benny as he insisted everyone call him, strolling toward me with a casual grin plastered across his face. He was my assistant, though in truth, he was far more than that. Benny had a way of worming his way into everything, including my life.

"Benny," I acknowledged, keeping my tone neutral. His presence was a constant reminder that solitude was never truly attainable.

"Don't sound so thrilled," Benny said, clapping a hand on my shoulder as he walked past me into the living room. "You'd think you'd be happier to see the guy who keeps this place from turning into a mausoleum."

I shot him a sidelong glance as I followed. "It's a mausoleum because you've filled it with unnecessary clutter."

He laughed, dropping into one of the leather armchairs by the fireplace, stretching out as if the mansion was his. In many ways, it was. "Someone's gotta bring life to this place, Ollie. Otherwise, you'll rot in here like an old relic."

I raised an eyebrow at the nickname. "Oliver," I corrected.

He waved me off. "Ollie sounds friendlier. Speaking of which, when was the last time you did something friendly? And don't say tending to patients because that doesn't count."

I sighed, leaning against the mantle. Benny had a way of digging under my skin, finding cracks I didn't know were there, and pressing until I felt something. It was an admirable, if irritating, skill.

"Not everyone measures life in the number of social interactions, Benny," I replied dryly. "Some of us prefer quiet."

"Quiet isn't living, Ollie. It's existing. And last I checked, you've been existing for far too long."

I gave him a pointed look, but he simply grinned wider, unbothered by my attempts to shut down the conversation.

"You need to get out," Benny declared, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world. "Go on a date. Find someone to talk to who isn't bleeding all over your examination table."

My eyes narrowed slightly. "A date? I have no interest in entertaining the whims of—"

"Not negotiable," Benny interrupted, sitting up in his chair with that same infuriating grin. "You're going, whether you like it or not. Otherwise, you're going to turn into one of those grumpy old men who yell at kids to stay off their lawn. And you don't even have a lawn."

I resisted the urge to glare, knowing it would only fuel his enthusiasm. But Benny was relentless. It was part of what made him useful, even if it made him insufferable.

"You're wasting your time," I said flatly, pushing off the mantle and heading for the door. But Benny was already on his feet, cutting off my escape with the kind of determination that made it clear he wasn't letting this go.

"Consider it a favor to me," he said, his tone shifting to something more earnest, more serious. "One night, Ollie. That's all I'm asking. What's the worst that could happen?"

I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the concern buried beneath the humor. It was a rare thing for Benny to show that side of himself. Maybe that was why it worked.

I sighed, feeling the weight of the centuries pressing down on me, heavier than usual. "One night," I conceded. "But if it goes poorly, you're the one explaining to whoever ends up in the ER."

Benny grinned triumphantly, as if he'd won some great victory. "Deal. I'll pick you up at seven. And Ollie?"

I paused, halfway out the door.

"Try not to glare at her the whole time. It's bad for first impressions."

I didn't bother with a reply, but I could feel Benny's satisfied smirk following me as I made my way upstairs. The mansion was quiet once more, but the silence felt different now, filled with the weight of what was to come.

One night. What was the worst that could happen?

The night had settled in by the time Benny's car rolled to a stop outside the restaurant. It was one of the more upscale places in Ravenswood, the kind of place that catered to the town's wealthier residents. The building itself was old, steeped in history, and renovated to maintain its original charm. It was the kind of place that made Benny's insistence on dragging me here even more irritating.

I stepped out of the car, adjusting my suit jacket, as Benny leaned out the window, still grinning like a madman. "Remember, Ollie—"

"Don't kill anyone. I remember," I cut him off, already turning toward the entrance.

"And try to have fun!" he called after me, his laughter trailing behind as he drove off, leaving me standing at the entrance of the restaurant.

Fun. The word felt foreign on my tongue. I hadn't had what most people would call "fun" in longer than I cared to admit. But tonight wasn't about fun; it was about getting Benny off my back and fulfilling my end of the bargain.

The maître d' greeted me with a polite nod and led me to a table near the back of the restaurant, away from the main crowd. The lighting was dim, casting shadows across the room, and the quiet murmur of conversation provided a low, steady hum that was almost soothing. Almost.

I took a seat, scanning the room out of habit, noting the other patrons. Nothing seemed out of place, though I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. It was an itch at the back of my mind, one that refused to be ignored.

Benny's voice echoed in my head, telling me to relax, to not ruin the evening before it even began. But that was easier said than done.

After a few minutes, the chair across from me shifted, and I looked up to see her. My date.

She was beautiful, there was no denying that. Tall, elegant, with an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance. Her dress clung to her frame in all the right places, and her dark hair was swept back, revealing a graceful neck adorned with an expensive necklace. She moved with the ease of someone who was used to being admired, and as she took her seat, her eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that was almost unsettling.

"Oliver Knight," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "I've heard a lot about you."

I inclined my head slightly. "I hope it's been favorable."

She smiled, a hint of something predatory in her gaze. "Mostly."

We exchanged the usual pleasantries, though I found myself answering her questions with more brevity than usual. She didn't seem to mind, filling the silences with stories of her own—anecdotes about her travels, her work, the people she'd met. I listened, but my mind was elsewhere, the itch growing stronger with each passing moment.

She reached across the table at one point, her fingers brushing against mine as she spoke. "You're not much of a talker, are you?"

I pulled my hand back, not bothering to hide the coolness in my tone. "I prefer to listen."

Her smile faltered for just a second before she recovered, her charm never wavering. "Then I suppose I'll just have to keep you entertained."

She kept talking, her voice a low purr, but I found myself growing more distant with each passing second. I could sense something in the air, something that tugged at my senses, something that made it difficult to focus on the woman in front of me.

Eventually, she excused herself, claiming she needed to freshen up. As she walked away, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. The itch was back, stronger now, pulling my attention away from the date I had no real interest in.

My eyes wandered, scanning the room again, and that's when I saw her.

She was sitting two tables away, her attention focused on the man across from her. There was something familiar about her, something that made my chest tighten in a way I hadn't felt in years. Her dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders, and even from this distance, I could see the softness of her features, the delicate curve of her neck, the way her lips moved as she spoke.

But it was her eyes that caught me. Even though she wasn't looking at me, I felt like I knew those eyes, like they were a part of me. A memory stirred in the depths of my mind, something old and forgotten, something that felt like a dream.

And then, as if she sensed my gaze, she looked up.

Our eyes met, and the world around us seemed to fall away. Everything else—the noise of the restaurant, the people around us, even the very air—faded into nothingness. It was just her and me, locked in a moment that felt both eternal and fleeting.

A flash of memory hit me, sharp and vivid: her laughter, bright and joyful, as she spun around in a sunlit field, her arms outstretched toward me. Her voice, calling my name with so much love it made my heart ache. The warmth of her embrace, the softness of her lips against mine.

And then, just as quickly as it came, the memory was gone, leaving me breathless and confused. Who was she? Why did she feel so familiar?

I wanted to look away, to break the connection, but I couldn't. There was something in her gaze that held me captive, something that I couldn't explain, something that made me feel alive in a way I hadn't in centuries.

But it wasn't just the memory that made my heart race. It was something else, something deeper, something I couldn't name. Longing, desire, and something darker, something that bordered on fear.

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled me back to the present, and I tore my eyes away from her just as my date returned to the table. But even as she sat down and resumed her conversation, I couldn't shake the image of the woman from my mind, couldn't stop the way my thoughts kept drifting back to her.

Whoever she was, she was more than just a stranger. She was a key to something buried deep within me, something I needed to uncover. And I knew, in that moment, that this was only the beginning.