Chapter 7 - Rage Of A Father  

Bastian's breath was ragged, his heart hammering in his chest like a war drum. His hands trembled as they hovered over Anastasia's waist, his lips still tingling from the kiss they had just shared. A kiss that felt too damn familiar, too right. And yet… he didn't know her. Not in the way he should.

He took a sharp step back, breaking the moment, the heat. "I—I'm sorry," he stammered, raking a hand through his hair. "I don't know what came over me."

Anastasia let out a soft, disappointed sigh, her fingers curling slightly as if resisting the urge to reach for him again. "Bastian, it's okay," she said gently, stepping closer. "I want this."

His stomach twisted at her words. Want? How could she want something from him when he didn't even remember what they were? Who they were? He stared at her, searching, desperate for something—anything—that would make this feel less like a dream and more like reality.

"I don't understand," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't even remember you. And our…" He stopped himself, swallowing hard.

Her eyes softened, though there was something raw in them. Something painful. "Our baby," she finished for him.

The words slammed into him like a physical blow. His entire body stiffened, and he flinched as though she had struck him. Our Baby. They were having a child. He took a step back, needing space, air—something to ground him.

Seeing his struggle, Anastasia spoke again, her voice steady but gentle. "How about we get to know each other again?" she offered. "So you won't feel so uncomfortable."

He looked at her, really looked at her this time. She wasn't pleading, wasn't forcing anything onto him—just offering. A chance. A new beginning.

His lips parted, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he gave her a small, genuine smile. "Yeah… I'd like that."

It was then that something caught his eye—a shimmer against her wrist. His gaze locked onto it, and before he could stop himself, he reached out and took her hand. He turned it over, inspecting the delicate bracelet wrapped around her wrist.

He read the inscription aloud. "'Forever and Always, Bastian.'"

His name. On her wrist. On a gift he had given her.

His breath hitched. "I gave this to you?"

Anastasia nodded, excitement flashing in her eyes. "On my 18th birthday," she said softly. "That was the night we admitted how we felt about each other."

A strange warmth bloomed in his chest. He could almost see it—his fingers fastening the bracelet around her wrist, the way she must have smiled. But the memory remained just out of reach, like a dream fading upon waking.

"Where?" he asked, his voice thick with curiosity.

She hesitated. "The Drake Hotel."

His stomach dropped. The Drake. The rooftop. The fall.

His face darkened, and she saw it immediately. "Bastian, we had more good days there than bad days," she said quickly, sensing his shift.

But he caught onto something else entirely. "More than one bad day?" he asked sharply, eyes narrowing. "What else happened there?"

Anastasia hesitated again, but finally, she nodded. "The day you said you were leaving," she murmured. "For good."

The words sent a fresh jolt of panic through him. "I left you?" His voice was barely controlled, the idea making him feel physically ill. "I left you and our child?"

"There was a reason," she assured him, but he could hear the pain in her voice. "It wasn't your choice, Bastian."

His head was spinning. "Then whose choice was it?"

She took a deep breath, her eyes darkening with something he couldn't quite place. "Gabriel."

His jaw clenched. "What does he have to do with this?"

Anastasia hesitated. "Bastian, now isn't—"

"Tell me." His voice was dangerously low, edged with something lethal.

She dropped her gaze, and he stepped forward, gripping her chin gently, forcing her to look at him. "Tell me, Anastasia."

A flicker of pain crossed her face. And then she said it.

"Gabriel threatened you. Said if you didn't leave with him… our child wouldn't see the light of day."

The room went silent. The air thickened.

Bastian's hands dropped from her face as he took a single, staggering step back. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out everything else. His entire body went rigid, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.

He felt… rage. A fury so absolute, so consuming, that his hands curled into fists before he even realized it.

"He threatened the life of our child?" he asked, his voice eerily calm.

Anastasia could only nod.

His teeth clenched so hard that his jaw ached. His wings twitched, itching to unfurl, to tear through the skies and hunt down the archangel who had dared threaten his unborn kin and stole everything from him.

He exhaled sharply, forcing control back into his limbs. Then, with a steady resolve, he lifted his gaze back to Anastasia's, his eyes burning with an unshakable fire.

"I want to remember."

She blinked at him. "Bastian—"

"I want to remember everything," he said, voice firm, unwavering. "Starting tonight."