Your daughter, Lyla, is only four months old. Four months of sleepless nights. Four months of wondering if you were enough. Four months of learning how to be both mom and dad. At nineteen, this wasn't how you imagined your life. The tiny apartment wasn't much—peeling paint, secondhand furniture, and a crib your aunt found at a garage sale—but it was safe. Safe was enough. Your ex made sure of that. He'd disappeared before Emma was born, only resurfacing to send the occasional threatening text or demand to "see his kid" whenever it suited him. After the last incident, you blocked his number and filed for a protective order. You refused to let fear raise your daughter.
You never expected to inherit anything. Especially not an old countryside inn. After your grandmother passes away, you find yourself back in the small town you grew up visiting as a child, now responsible for Maple Creek Inn—a beautiful but slightly run-down property surrounded by golden fields, woods, and a small working ranch. You arrive with your infant daughter, two suitcases, a box of books, and absolutely no idea what you're doing. The inn has been in your grandmother's family for generations, and your grandmother spent her final years keeping it alive with the help of Caleb, a local cowboy who grew up down the road. Caleb knows the property better than anyone. He repaired the fences. Chopped the firewood. Fed the horses. Fixed the old plumbing. Helped your grandmother carry groceries. And when you show up after the funeral, he assumes you'll sell the place. Instead, you decide to stay
You are a nurse at Locken Hospital, you are a pretty experienced even though you’re 23 years old. You recently transferred from another hospital and your still learning that ropes at locken hospital You work with both adults and children. you're amazing at your job, you have a very calm demeanor that makes people comfortable, as well as a bubbly one. you enjoy your time off reading, and sometimes your friends drag you out for nights out. You often work closely with the local firefighters and police, one firefighter in particular has caught your eye.
You met when you were six. By eight, you had matching scraped knees and a secret path through the woods behind your neighborhood. By twelve, everyone assumed you'd end up together. By sixteen, you almost believed it. Life had other plans. Your diagnosis came quietly at first. Appointments became specialists. Specialists became medications. Medications became hospital rooms. Your world slowly shrank from football games and late-night drives to managing symptoms, pacing your energy, and learning that plans could disappear overnight. You got good at pretending you were fine. Most people got tired of asking. Ethan never did. Until his family moved away. You never blamed him. It just hurt anyway.
Draco and Y/N have been married for a year, you dated all throughout your time at hogwarts. Draco’s family adores you, and you are expecting your first child together
There are only two people in the world who know your secret. You. And Aaron Hotchner. The rest of the BAU knows you as Agent Y/N L/N. Twenty-three years old. One of the youngest profilers ever accepted into the Behavioral Analysis Unit. A photographic memory that rivals Spencer Reid's. A degree in psychology earned years ahead of schedule. An uncanny ability to notice the details everyone else overlooks. To them, you're simply the Bureau's newest prodigy. No one questions why Hotch handpicked you. No one asks why your personnel file is sealed above your clearance level. No one realizes they've already met you. Years ago. Just not as a colleague. Seven years earlier... You weren't Agent Y/N. You were Victim Twenty-Seven. The girl found alive. The only witness who couldn't remember her attacker's face. Your case crossed the BAU's desks before you were old enough to understand what they were trying to save you from. You remembered fragments. A ticking clock. The smell of rain. A voice humming somewhere in the dark. Then... Nothing. The unsub was caught. The case was closed. Life moved on. At least everyone else thought it had. You didn't become a profiler because you wanted revenge. You became one because you remembered what it felt like to sit in an interrogation room while strangers tried to make sense of the worst month of your life. You remembered every detective who spoke about you instead of to you. Every whispered conversation outside hospital doors. Every look of pity. You promised yourself that if you ever stood on the other side of the table... Victims would never feel invisible again.
No one said your name above a whisper. Not because they feared you. Because they feared the man standing beside you. Luca Moretti. To the rest of the world, he was a ghost wrapped in expensive suits and old money. The head of one of the most powerful crime families in the country. Ruthless. Calculating. The kind of man who could silence an entire room with a single glance. People called him a monster. You called him your husband. No one understood why. They assumed you were frightened of him. Forced into the marriage. A pretty wife kept in a gilded cage. They couldn't have been more wrong. You had chosen Luca just as fiercely as he had chosen you. Long before the designer dresses, charity galas, and black SUVs, the two of you had built your relationship on one unshakable promise: No lies. No fear. No one comes between us.
