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❧ why have a master plan when you can ruin everyone else's master plan? ❧

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The morning sunlight poured through the tall windows of the Salvatore boarding house, casting long, golden shadows across the polished floors. Damon leaned lazily against the doorframe of the library, his fingers wrapped around a glass of bourbon. He took a slow sip, his sharp eyes following Stefan as his brother moved with deliberate care, sorting through a stack of old books, his movements methodical as always.

Stefan had always been a creature of ritual. Every morning, he buried himself in tasks, grounding himself in the mundane to keep the chaos of their world at bay. Damon, of course, found it all amusing.

"You're awfully quiet this morning," Damon remarked, his voice casual but laced with curiosity. "Not that I mind the silence."

Stefan barely looked up from his books, his hands moving steadily. "Just trying to get ahead of things," he replied, his voice even. "What's on your mind?"

Damon set his glass down on a nearby table, the faint clink breaking the stillness. His expression shifted, a flicker of something more serious crossing his features. "I met someone last night."

Stefan didn't react at first, his focus still on the stack of books. "You meet people every night, Damon. Try to narrow it down."

Damon chuckled, but there was an edge to it. "This girl...Amalie."

That single name changed everything. Stefan froze, his hand hovering over the books, tension flooding through him. Slowly, he set the book in his hand down, his fingers curling against the wood of the table as if it might anchor him. His back straightened, and he remained still, as if the very air around him had thickened.

"Amalie?" Stefan repeated slowly, his voice catching in his throat. The name hung in the air like a ghost.

Damon caught the shift immediately, his smirk fading into something more curious, his eyes narrowing as he studied Stefan's reaction. "Yeah," he said, his tone sharper now. "Amalie. You know her?"

Stefan turned, his eyes distant, confusion written plainly on his face. "I...I knew her," he murmured, the words heavy with a pain he thought he had buried. "A long time ago."

Now Damon was fully engaged, his interest piqued. He hadn't expected this level of reaction from Stefan—there was something haunted in the way his brother said her name, a shadow that had clearly followed him for years. Damon straightened up, folding his arms as he took a step forward, his tone probing.

"Okay, I'll bite. What's the story, brother?" Damon's voice dropped lower, more pointed. "Because the way you're looking right now...it's like you've seen a ghost."

Stefan's gaze dropped to the floor, his mind already spinning back to a time he'd tried so hard to forget. "I thought she was dead," he said quietly, the weight of the admission clear in his voice.

Damon's eyebrows shot up. He hadn't expected that. "Dead? As in...you made her dead?"

Stefan swallowed hard, his memories flooding back in vivid detail. That night. The sound of her heartbeat, so fragile in his hands. The way he'd lost control. "I killed her," he said, his voice thick with regret. "Or, at least, I thought I did."

Damon tilted his head, surprised but intrigued by this unexpected revelation. He leaned against the back of a chair, watching his brother carefully. "Well, well. Now this is interested. You killed her...by accident?"

Stefan nodded slowly, the guilt gnawing at him like it had for decades. "I hadn't fed on human blood in years. I thought I had it under control." He paused, his jaw tightening as the memory clawed at him. " But that night...something snapped. I couldn't stop."

Damon listened, his usual smirk fading as he realized just how much this memory had tortured Stefan. There was a gravity to his brother's words that told Damon this wasn't just another dark chapter in Stefan's long history of regret.

"So, what?" Damon asked, his voice quieter now, though his curiosity remained sharp. "You thought she was dead, and you just...left her?"

Stefan's eyes darkened, his shoulders tense with the burden he had carried all these years. "I didn't have a choice. She wasn't breathing. I thought I'd..." He exhaled a shaky breath. "I thought I'd killed her."

For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the quiet hum of tension. Damon processed this, a slow realization settling in. If Stefan had left her for dead...and she was back now...

"Are you sure it's her?" Damon asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

Stefan's mind was spinning. Could it be her? After all this time? The Amalie he had left behind that night—broken, lifeless—was she really still alive? "I don't know," he admitted, his voice tight with confusion. "It could be someone else. But...Amalie isn't really a common name."

Damon nodded, a glint of amusement creeping back into his eyes. "Yeah, you don't exactly meet two Amalies in one lifetime."

Stefan turned away, pacing across the room, his mind racing. "If it's her...how did she survive?"

Damon's smirk returned, the glimmer of knowing arrogance in his eyes. "Vampire blood, maybe? Did you give her any?"

Stefan shook his head, frustration tightening his chest. "No. I never gave her my blood."

Damon's expression shifted slightly, his intrigue deepening. "Well, someone did." He took a slow sip from his glass, then casually added, "Katherine, maybe?"

Stefan's head snapped up at that, his eyes narrowing as the pieces began to fall into place. "Katherine? What does Amalie have to do with her?"

Damon shrugged, his tone light but cutting. "Seems like she's Katherine's new pet project. They're in cahoots, from what I can tell. Whatever game Katherine's playing, Amalie's part of it."

Stefan's heart sank, the weight of it all pressing down on him. If Amalie had turned because of him—if she had been thrown into this world of darkness and death because of his lack of control—and now she was entangled with Katherine...

He had spent so long trying to forget that night, to bury the guilt. But now, the past was staring him in his face, demanding to be acknowledged.

Damon watched the emotions play across Stefan's face, his tone turning almost sympathetic. "Looks like your past is coming back to haunt you."

###

The sun was high in the sky, casting warm, golden light over Mystic Falls as the townspeople gathered to restore the new public park. The chatter of volunteers and the rhythmic pounding of hammers filled the air, but Stefan barely noticed. His movements were automatic —lifting wooden boards, carrying them to where they were needed—but his mind was elsewhere, consumed by the revelation Damon had dropped on him earlier.

Amalie was alive.

It had gnawed at him all morning, and no amount of work or distraction could shake the weight of it. Stefan had spent years trying to bury the memory of that night, the guilt that clawed at his insides. He thought she was gone forever, lost to his uncontrollable hunger.

But then he saw her.

Amalie appeared just beyond the park's boundary, walking along the path with an air of quiet confidence. The sunlight glinted off her dark hair, which spilled loosely over her shoulders, and she moved with an ease that Stefan hadn't expected. She seemed so different from the girl he remembered—stronger, sharper—but there was no mistaking her.

Stefan froze, the world around him fading into the background. For a moment, it felt like time itself had stopped.

It's her. It's really her.

Without thinking, Stefan dropped the boards he was carrying, his breath catching in his throat. He wove through the crowd, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to reach her. He had to understand.

"Amalie!" He called out, his voice strained with disbelief as he jogged toward her.

Amalie slowed at the sound of her name, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. She didn't stop walking, though. She let Stefan come to her, the calmness in her demeanor only heightened the tension building inside him.

"H-How are you here?" Stefan stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Amalie turned to face him, her eyes gleaming with quiet amusement as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I think it's pretty obvious," she said, her tone light but edged with something cold.

Stefan shook his head, still trying to make sense of it all. "No...I never gave you my blood. It shouldn't be possible..." he muttered, his thoughts racing. The memory of that night—the blood, the terror in her eyes, the way her body had gone limp in his arms—it was all rushing back, flooding his senses. He had been so sure he had drained her dry.

And then it clicked. The realization hit him like a cold blade. "Katherine." The name slipped out of his mouth like a curse.

Amalie's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and cruelty. "Yep."

Stefan's stomach churned. Of course. Katherine. It was always Katherine. She must have been the one to give Amalie her blood, to twist the outcome of that horrible night into something darker. His guilt deepened, turning into a sickening knot in his chest.

"So, you're on her side?" Stefan said, his voice tight, as if he was still trying to grasp the situation.

Amalie's smile faltered, her amusement turning into something more guarded. She uncrossed her arms. "I'm not on anyone's side, Stefan."

Stefan's confusion grew. This wasn't the Amalie he remembered. The girl he had known—gentle, trusting—was gone. This version of her was harder, colder, as if the world had chipped away at her soul. "Then why are you with her?" He asked, his voice filled with disbelief. He couldn't fathom why she would align herself with Katherine of all people, after everything she had done.

Amalie's eyes hardened, and she tilted her head slightly, as if she were explaining something that should have been obvious. "Her side just has the most benefits right now." There was no emotion in her voice, no regret. Just practicality.

Stefan's heart sank. The girl who had once trusted him, who had believed in him, was standing in front of him like a stranger. "You don't understand," he said, desperation creeping into his voice. "I never wanted this for you. I—"

"You didn't have a choice," Amalie cut in sharply, her voice as cold as ice. Her smile returned, but it was hard now, distant. "Trust me, Stefan, I figured that out a long time ago."

Stefan swallowed hard, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. "I thought I killed you," he whispered, his voice cracking under the strain of the memory.

"You did," Amalie replied, her tone cruelly casual. "But lucky me, Katherine was there to pick up the pieces."

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. Katherine had turned her, saved her in the cruelest way possible, and twisted what Stefan had broken into something darker. The horror of it sank deeper into Stefan's bones.

"I never wanted to hurt you," Stefan said, his voice thick with regret. His eyes searched hers, hoping for some flicker of understanding, some sign that the girl he had known still existed.

But Amalie didn't soften. Her expression stayed cold, her eyes unyielding. "Maybe not," she said, her voice laced with bitterness. "But you did. And you can't change that fact."

Stefan took a step forward, his voice dropping as he tried to reach her, to break through the wall she had built around herself. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to be on her side."

Amalie raised an eyebrow, her smile twisting into something mocking. "I told you, Stefan. I'm not on anyone's side. I'm looking out for myself, and if that means working with Katherine right now, then so be it. "

Stefan could feel the distance between them growing with every word she spoke. This wasn't the Amalie he had known. She had changed—hardened by her transformation, by Katherine's manipulation, by the world she had been thrust into. But he couldn't blame her. He had been the one to set it all in motion.

"Does she know you're here?" Stefan asked, his voice, his mind already turning to the inevitable confrontation that would come.

Amalie's smile turned sly, almost amused by the question. "Of course. Katherine always knows more than she lets on."

Stefan's jaw tightened, but he didn't push further. He didn't have the strength to fight both Amalie and Katherine right now. There was too much to understand, too much that needed unraveling. He needed time. Time to figure out how to fix this—if it could even be fixed.

"I'm not the same person you left behind, Stefan," Amalie said softly, her words laced with finality. With that, she turned and walked away, her presence still lingering in the air like a ghost. Stefan watched her disappear down the path, his heart heavy with the weight of his past and the guilt that had followed him for so long.

She was back, but she wasn't the girl he had known. And now, it was clear that Amalie had become part of the tangled web that was closing in on them all.

###

Elena stood at the pavilion, the smell of fresh paint filling the air as she carefully brushed the faded pillars with slow, precise strokes. The rhythmic movement of the brush was comforting, a small reprieve from the chaos that had become her life—Stefan, Damon, Katherine. But even as she focused on the task in front of her, a sense of unease lingered just beneath the surface, a tension she couldn't shake.

She was alone for now, the woods surrounding the park quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. That silence, however, was broken when she felt a presence behind her. It wasn't a warm or familiar presence—it was cold, unsettling, like a shadow creeping up on her.

Elena's grip on the paintbrush tightened, and she didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Amalie.

She exhaled slowly, trying to steady her nerves as she set the brush down on the edge of the paint can. "What do you want?" She asked, her voice sharp with frustration.

Amalie's soft chuckle drifted through the air, low and mocking. "I see you and Stefan are on the rocks," she observed casually, stepping closer until she was standing beside Elena, her eyes glinting with amusement as she surveyed the half-painted pillar. "Nice work, by the way. You missed a spot."

Elena turned to face her, her gaze narrowing. "Are you going to report that back to Katherine?"

Amalie shrugged, leaning lazily against a nearby pillar, her posture relaxed. "Katherine doesn't need a play-by-play of your love life. She already knows more than you think." Her lips curled into a faint smile, one that was impossible to read. "Besides, your relationship drama? It's not my concern."

Elena tensed at that. Amalie seemed to take pleasure in her discomfort, like she was savoring the tension. "Then what is your concern?" Elena shot back, trying to keep her voice steady, though irritation bled through.

Amalie's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with something darker and colder. "Let's just say I like seeing Stefan squirm. Misery looks good on him."

Elena felt a surge of anger rising in her chest, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "Why do you want him to be miserable?" She demanded, her voice sharper now, edged with something more dangerous.

"I have my reasons," she said, her tone light but with an edge that made it clear she wasn't here to explain herself.

Elena took a step closer, refusing to back down. "What are those reasons?" She asked, her voice low and steady, though she could feel the tension building in the space between them.

Amalie raised an eyebrow, her expression almost amused by Elena's persistence. "None that I'd tell you," she said simply, tilting her head slightly as she watched Elena's reaction.

Elena exhaled sharply, trying to keep her frustration in check. Amalie wasn't like the other threats she had faced in Mystic Falls—there was something about her that felt more personal, more deliberate. She wasn't here to simply wreak havoc or play mind games. There was something deeper driving her, and Elena didn't know what it was yet.

"What do you want from me, then?" Elena asked, her voice quieter but no less firm. She was trying to understand, to see past the smirks and cryptic comments. Amalie was working with Katherine, sure, but she wasn't Katherine. And despite everything telling her not to, Elena couldn't shake the feeling that Amalie had her own agenda.

Amalie's eyes softened slightly, her smile fading as she regarded Elena with a more thoughtful expression. "I want to be friends," she said, the sincerity in her voice catching Elena off guard.

Elena blinked, her skepticism flaring. "Friends?" She repeated, her tone incredulous. "You're working with Katherine. Why would I ever trust you?"

Amalie tilted her head, her eyes never leaving Elena's. "I never said you had to trust me," she replied evenly. "But we're not enemies either, are we? I'm not here to hurt you, Elena. I'm not here to tear your life apart."

Elena's defenses remained up, but something about Amalie's tone—calm, almost mater-of-fact—made her pause. There was no trace of the venom or cruelty she had come to expect from someone working with Katherine. Instead, Amalie seemed oddly. ..genuine.

But that didn't mean she wasn't dangerous.

"Then why bother?" Elena pressed, still wary, her arms crossing protectively over her chest.

Amalie's smile returned, but it was softer now, almost wistful. "Because, Elena, sometimes the best way to understand someone is to get close to them." She let her words linger, watching Elena carefully, as if gauging her reaction. " Maybe you and I have more in common than you realize."

Elena scoffed, shaking her head. "I doubt that."

"Do you?" Amalie raised an eyebrow, stepping just a little closer. "You've been pulled into Stefan's world, just like I was. But you don't know the full story—not yet."

Elena's heart skipped a beat at that. "What do you mean?" She asked cautiously, her mind racing. There was something in Amalie's voice, a note of knowing that sent a ripple of unease through her.

Amalie's smile widened, but she didn't answer directly. "You think you know Stefan? You've seen his darker side, sure. But trust me, there are things he hasn't told you. Things you deserve to know."

Elena's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Stefan. It was a sore spot, one that Amalie clearly knew how to push. "Like what?"

Amalie's smile widened, but she didn't answer. Instead, she took a step closer to Elena, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "I know what you're going through—not from experience, obviously. But you' re torn between what's right and what's real. Between who you love and who you think you should love."

Elena swallowed, her defenses rising. She didn't like where this conversation was heading, didn't like how easily Amalie seemed to see through