So, originally, I was planning on not starting another fic until I'm done with the first one but the idea just wanted to get out of my head.

This will be dark and that's the main reason why it's M-rated, but I do hope you guys would give it a chance, I have great plans for it... Or I think :P As stated in the summary, it's an AU/AH. Also it will be told from both POVs (Klaus's and Caroline's OBVIOUSLY!). It won't be stated when I shift, but there will be a horizontal line between the two POVs. It won't be hard to tell anyway.

Disclaimer: yada yada yada

Special SPECIAL to my sister who is my super-awesome beta and who gave me the name after I almost banged my head against the wall trying to find one!

Enjoy :D

Prologue: Caroline

Caroline Forbes? Caroline Forbes?

Upon reading the name of the applicant, I have to blink several times to recover from the momentary shock. The shock gradually converted into a heavy feeling of sadness as an old wound threatened to be torn apart, a wound that was never quite healed.

Caroline Forbes.

I sigh. And how can I forget that name? That name is carved across my heart so deeply that no one managed to remove it.

Caroline Forbes.

The name that reminds me of the greatest loss I have ever encountered; a loss that I will regret for the rest of my existence.

Caroline Forbes.

The name screams at me and without thinking it further, I push the buttons on my phone hurriedly.

'Yes, Mr. Mikealson?' the sweet receptionist Amy answers with an ever-present smile in her voice.

'I'd like you to schedule an interview with Miss Caroline Forbes as fast as you possibly can, Amy'

'It's Misses, sir' Amy softly corrects.

I wince. I should just scratch the whole idea, then. What is the use of seeing her now? After all, I would be only torturing myself. But the problem is that I actually quite enjoy tormenting myself, especially when it comes to that breathtakingly beautiful blonde.

'Right' I mutter 'Please do schedule her for an interview' I insist.

'As you wish, sir' Amy cheerfully says before hanging up.

I rest back in my seat, shutting my eyes close as a rush of unlikable memories force themselves into my mind.

Chapter one: Extinguished Fire

My hands are shaking. I am terrified. Hastily I run my thumbs over the keyboard, glancing repeatedly over my shoulder as though a ghost of a certain someone would pop out in front of me at any given moment. I have to keep reminding myself that he will not be here until quite some time. When the torturing process is finally over I hit send and breathe a quick sigh of relief that is short lived. I jump in my place when the phone rings.

Glancing at the clock, I pick up the phone.

An hour exactly, I think. I am too afraid to talk that my voice would expose me.

'Hello' I say, pretending that I am not completely and utterly unaware of whom the caller is.

'Hey, Care, it's me' his thick voice comes from the other end light.

I know it's you. It's always you.

'What are you doing, babe?' he interrogates lightly. I pretend that I'm a fool, as always. I pretend that I do not know that his question holds all those hidden meanings behind it.

What are you doing? Are you fucking someone already since I'm gone? Are you alone? Did you dare to invite anyone in? Are you by any chance disobeying my not-so-embedded threats?

'Nothing in specific' comes my casual reply 'I am about to start making dinner, though. Want anything in specific?' I offer.

Keep him pleased, and he will leave you alone, my brain chimes in.

'I am not interested in dinner' he says playfully 'I am only interested in dessert' he whispers with that low tone I once thought was sexy.

I know exactly what he means, and just the thought threatens to force my lunch out of my stomach.

Shuddering from head to toe I answer as though my excitement has reached its limits 'Well, that could be arranged' I play along. It is quite pathetic how I've become such an expert in this game we are playing. Whenever I am with him I'm on autopilot. I know exactly what to say, when to say it and how to say it.

He chuckles at the other end 'Now I can't wait to see you' he whispers again.

'You know I'll be waiting for you' I say dropping my voice into the seductive whisper he loves so much, instead of what I really want to say. More like, I wish to never lay eyes on you. I wish that you get hit by a truck and die so I can just be free again.

I bite my lower lip, suppressing an angry growl.

Soon it'll all be over.

If only the time before it all blows over does not look so frightening.

He hangs up and I spend the next few minutes shaking my head frankly. That is exactly what I don't want to think about. I have thought about my safety for far too long and the stakes are high either ways, but there is only so much I can take, there's only so long I can stay chained to that dreadful, dark future where I'll die and no one will discover my body until it rots.

Quickly, I make my way back to the ancient desktop, clearing my browsing history and shutting it off, removing all signs of my supposed crime. There is no way Tyler can find out what I have just done, but the unnerving feeling keeps hovering above me, stubbornly present, so ominous and dreadful that I keep looking all over the small house the entire day, as though waiting for his sickeningly disgusting face to appear out of nowhere and tell me that he knows what I've done.

As I make dinner, roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables, I go through my plan over and over again. The plan is not even remotely perfect, in fact it has tons of loop holes that it can go wrong at any given time, but I am taking it easy. Step by step until I can actually find my escape. Or he finds out, and just that possibility makes my stomach turn with fear. I shake off the idea.

My first step is: get some money. If I have no money, I can do nothing. I'll get some money if by any chance any magazine would be remotely interested in hiring me. I applied for a bunch of opened spots, but the chances were highly unlikely, especially with my insistence on working from home, any other way would be completely impossible for me to work.

I make sure that the chicken's skin is nice and red on all sides before turning the oven off. That's how Tyler likes it and if it's not cooked to his liking… well, it's just a very bad idea.

The inevitable hour comes when I have to take a shower, get dressed as though I'm about to have a nice dinner with the love of my life and look presentable for my demanding husband. I am used to this routine. I've been living my life according to the routine he set for me for a year now. Of course, it took me rather some time to grow accustomed to what he wanted, how he wanted it, and when he wanted it, not to mention an awful lot of pain along with every mistake I made. Still, I am incredibly nervous today. I have to keep reminding myself that he cannot possibly find out what I have just done if my attitude does not give it away.

It doesn't make me feel the slightest bit better, though.

I hear the key turning in the lock, and my stomach turns in harmony with it. I rise to my feet instantly, meeting him halfway through the hallway with a very well-trained smile intact to my lips, the same smile I use to hide everything.

'Hey, babe' he says, taking off his jacket.

'Hi, honey!' I cheerfully greet him 'How was your day?'

'It just got better' he grins, approaching me and crashing his lips to mine harshly. I am repelled by his kiss but I pretend that I like it, just like I pretend a lot of things, a lot of things that are much hard to pretend. It was difficult at first, but after knowing what would happen to me if I did not pretend it grew increasingly easier, easier to the point that all I can do is pretend, all I know is how to pretend.

'What did you make us for dinner, babe?' he asks, grabbing my ass and pulling me closer to him.

'Roasted chicken' I answer, smiling widely. Despite myself, I search for signs of his pre-rage attitude. After two years, I know exactly when he is about to through me across the room (this is not figuratively speaking). I am so used to him finding out every single move I make that it is rather surreal for me to grasp the idea that he does not know what I have done during the day. At any moment, I will see his brows furrowing, his hand pushing me away before striking me across my face where his blow will leave a mark that won't disappear until a couple of weeks. But his face does not change. He crushes his lips to mine in a longer kiss, his hands roaming my body impatiently. My default defense mechanism is to roll with it, numbing my senses as he pleasures himself, and reminding myself that it will be over soon… it will be over soon.

He finally releases me. I sigh ruefully, whipping my mouth with my hand as soon as he turns towards the kitchen where the table is already set.

'You should go wash-up first' I lightly tell him; so desperately wanting to give myself a much-needed break from seeing his face, and weirdly he complies for my unspoken wish. He darts off to the bathroom, leaving me crouched, one hand over my stomach, the other clutching the edge of the counter harshly until my knuckles turned white. Relief washes over me. It is only when I actually saw him that the idea hit me. He cannot know about what I just did, and there is no need to worry about it. It is the next step that I should be worried about hiding it.

I inhale deeply. This I will think of some other time.

I hear his footsteps back to the kitchen and, like a programmed robot, re-plaster my smile across my face as I extract the chicken from the oven.

'Smells good' he says, sitting at the table.

The meal goes on as mundane as any other meal. He talks about his day. I nod and smile robotically. It seems like I have been doing everything robotically for quite some time now. I have become somewhat emotionless that it kind of frightens me when I think about it. My acts are either driven by fear or out of habit. Like a survival instinct, even though it is sometimes hard to remember what it is that I want to survive for. He asks about my day I say 'fine, honey. No news. Just cleaned the house, read a little and made dinner. All is great' as if he does not know that already. As if he did not spend the whole day calling me every hour. He finishes off his food and leaves the table. I barely touch mine, because the thought of what is going to happen next makes it impossible for me to eat. I pick-up the dishes and place them in the dishwasher, cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. I hear him turn on the TV in the living room, and I know that this is my signal to follow him.

I sit next to him as he flips through the channels with his arm casually, but firmly, thrown over my shoulders, tucking me very close to him, tucking me too close to him. When he finally decides that TV is not interesting, he rises to his feet and, as usual, I'm expected to follow. As though whether I want to sleep or watch TV or even do anything that is not related to him is not even remotely an option. It does not matter; it's been long since I have stopped to see what I care about or what I want. It does not matter, because doing what he says gets me through the day without having blood coming out of my ears (again, not figuratively speaking).

What happens in our bedroom has nothing to do with anything that I could ever enjoy. He has his fun as I moan and sigh under him, pretending that I like it while in fact, all I want to do is vomit. There's this constant fear that at some point I will not be able to bear the idea of him smashing himself into me; that I won't bear the feeling of his hands on my body, or his lips caressing whatever skin he can reach. I am afraid that at some point I will no longer be able to hold it back and just vomit as soon as he starts ripping my clothes off. He does not even bother to stop and see if I am actually in the mood for having sex with him or not, he does not even bother to try and pleasure me, although I doubt he can ever do that. Just the sight of him makes me sick.

It will be over soon, is all the comfort I can give myself to suppress a cry of pain as he violently thrusts inside me. That is all I can do until someday I might be able to get myself out of this hell-whole.

The possibility is the only thing that keeps me going.

. . .

The next morning is as gloomy as my thoughts. The sun has refused to shine and clouds crowd in the thundering sky, threatening to pour their fury at any given moment.

I sigh staring out the window, thinking of how long will I keep this ridiculous act? How long will I have to endure all the torment my life turned into? Two years, two whole years I have let myself go through hell and back because of the idiotic mistake of rushing into Tyler's arms. I rushed into his arms and turned down an opportunity that might have been the best thing to ever happen to me. Not a day goes by without me thinking of how my life would have been had I listened to the worried utters of my friends. Not a day goes by without me thinking of how my life would have been had I given him a chance. But it doesn't matter anymore.

Always remember, Caroline, that he was the one who ruined everything not you.

This is how it goes every morning, I wonder, I regret, then I pick myself up and smile as Tyler comes out of the shower to have breakfast.

When Tyler leaves, I breathe ruefully. I will not have to see him until a few hours. Though it's little relief, it's a relief nonetheless. I enjoy it, because it is the only relief I can get.

The phone rings as I flip through applications for work I can do sitting at home.

'Miss. Forbes?' a sweet voice asks with a hint of smile when I answer the phone

'Yes, this is she' I reply, smiling. It is so rare to hear a voice that is not Tyler's. So rare that I almost forgot how nice it is to talk to someone and have them listen to me.

'We would like you to come for an interview'

I am happy. I am happier than I have been in quite some time that I almost forget the dilemma of leaving home. Almost. I take the address and she schedules me for an interview the next day at ten A.M.

How the hell are you gonna leave, Caroline, without Tyler finding out?

I am a professional. My brain scoffs at the idea immediately. I am not a professional. Not when it comes to certain blue-eyed blonde. I am the farthest thing from professional. I am a selfish bastard who wants to see her as much as possible. So I will hire her even if her résumé is not suitable; because I am that selfish, because I miss her that much.

The clock ticks slowly, deliberately tormenting me. Only half an hour is left before the appointed interview but it feels like there's half a century before I can see her walking through the door.

I wonder if she has changed. I hope she didn't. Three years passed since I have laid my eyes on her. Three years since I touched her, since I kissed her, since I watched her walk away.

I sigh.

Wanting so desperately to stop the raging storm in my mind, I flip through the files on my desk aimlessly, attempting to do anything but think of Caroline, her smile, her eyes, the way she glows with life and joy, the way she bites her lower lip whenever someone complements her, the way she bats her eyelashes and gets what she wants by doing so, the way my whole world revolved around her even when she did not know, the way she stole my heart that it did not belong to anyone else since my eyes locked with hers that night, the way I will never regret anything as much as I regret letting her go.

I bang the desk with my clenched fist.

I am supposed to stop thinking about her, Goddammit!

The phone rings.

'Sir, Mrs. Forbes is here!' Amy cheerfully informs me.

I glance at the clock which indicates that Caroline was as precise with her appointments as I remember her to be, and try not to wince when she calls her "Mrs. Forbes".

'Bring her in' I say, hardly containing my enthusiasm.

'Right away, sir' Amy says.

I turn around in my chair that its back is what greets her first. I want to surprise her in my own absurd way; other than the fact that I used to do that every time she walked in to see me before.

My heart clenches in my chest. How ridiculously foolish of me to think that I can possibly keep the flood of memories away when I insisted on seeing her, and preplanned to hire her.

I hear the door opening and the sound of heels clanking against the marble floor. My heart is racing, of excitement or sheer nervousness I do not know. The fact that her reaction could differ to a thousand one did not hit until this moment, and I can feel my stomach in knots, something that I never admitted happened to me every time she was around.

'Umm excuse me?' her voice calls after me politely.

I close my eyes, exhaling. I missed her sweet voice far more than I lead on. Without further torture I turn around flashing a grin that I am sure disappears as soon as my eyes lay on her.

Where's Caroline for heaven's sake? Is the only thought that my mind can form.

I try to keep a straight face, and a smile breaks its way into my face. I know my smile is well concealing, but I also know that my eyes always betray me, reflecting what I feel when it comes to her.

I try to keep a straight face as my chest tightens. The longer I look at her, the greater my pain grows. She is so thin, sickly thin, that her face is pale and her cheek bones are sharply standing out. She is so thin that her grey jacket and the white shirt she wore underneath barely hung to her body; that despite their incredibly small size they are too wide for her unbelievably thin body. My mind immediately flashes to how she looked the first night I saw her, the sexy red dress she wore that showed her luscious figure, the way she snapped her fingers at me when I took my time contemplating her curves… I blink the memories away.

I wish she only looks thin. My eyes wander over her stunned features and I can feel the corners of my mouth slowly dropping despite my attempts to keep the smile. However, it is incredibly difficult to smile when horror takes over my mind at the sight of the extinguished fire in her baby-blue eyes. The spark is gone, as though the fire was turned off by water. The joyfulness, the boldness, the dreaminess in her eyes is all gone. Only cold, almost frightened eyes look back at me. There are dark circles around her eyes. I can tell that she tried to hide them with make-up but I can easily see them. Caroline, the bubbly, lively, beautiful, strong woman has dark circles around her eyes. The only thing that had not changed about her is the golden locks.

I stop trying to smile. I know that she does not believe it, and I cannot keep my emotions contained any longer.

Her expression, however, turns from pure and utter shock into a happy, almost grateful, one.

'Nik!' she exclaims with a smile that looks genuine, but does not alight the spark in her eyes like her smile used to do.

'It's been a long time, Caroline' I say quietly with a smile of my own.

'Far too long!' she says, and strides towards the desk as I come around it to meet her halfway.

I am hesitant as to whether I should hug her or not, but she saves me the effort and throws her arms around my neck in what seems-to-be nothing but a friendly hug. I hardly contain myself from sighing contently when her sweet scent invades my senses. She still smells of Honey and roses. Holding her in my arms, I shut my eyes to savor the moment, and my grip tightens around her involuntarily. For a second, I feel like nothing has changed, I feel like the past three years have never occurred, like I have never let her go. The feeling of holding her again, of her blonde curls brushing my cheek softly, is so heavenly that I cannot bring myself to break apart from her. I wish I could just hold her like that until nothing else exists and all fades, until the very last second of my life. I ask for nothing but to keep her in my arms… Nothing.

However, she breaks the hug and a shooting pain is all I feel as she steps a little backwards.

'How have you been, love?' I smirk, doing my best to hide how tormenting it is to have her so close to me without holding her.

I'm a greedy bastard!

'You still call me that even after all this time passed?' she rolls her eyes.

She is trying, I can tell, to convince me that she has not changed, that everything was still the same, and for the life of me I do not know why she thinks it's important for her to act. Caroline was never much of an actress. Like an opened book she was. Honest, to the point of brutality occasionally; something that I always appreciated about her. I do not know why she is trying to say "I am still the same" when clearly it is not the case. Is she trying to fool me, or herself?

'Of course, love, time does not change habits' I wink at her 'Sometimes not even feelings' I whisper, stepping closer until only inches separate us.

I know that she is married; I know that we have not spoken a single word in what seems to be an eternity, I know a million reasons why I should not have said that, but I do not know why I said that. I can hardly contain myself. All I want to do is grab her and kiss her so hard, kiss her until I forget that anything ever happened, until we both forget that we were separated for three years. In a moment, as my eyes lock with hers like that first night I saw her, I see the same desire reflected in her eyes, and despite myself I look down at her pink lips. They are so inviting, so alluring. I remember how soft they felt against mine once and a tingling sensation on my lips is aroused. I want to lean in and kiss her. I do not care that she is married. I do not care that she is supposed to be applying for a job. I do not care that I have not seen her in so long. I do not care that I was the one to ruin everything in the first place. I just want to kiss her. And I can see the doubt in her eyes. I can almost guarantee that she wants me to lean in and crash my lips on hers.

When I finally build up the courage to close the remaining gap between our lips, she drops her gaze to the ground, licking her upper lip without saying a word.

'Please,' I clear my throat, stepping back 'take a seat' I motion to the leather chair in front of my desk.

She silently complies.

As the interview moves on with the casual questions, my frustration reaches its limits. No matter how tormenting I thought our encounter would be, I never thought that it would reach the point of the heart-wrenching ache with each word she utters and each smile she volunteers. It is even more anguishing to see how much she has changed, like someone or something has sucked the life out of her. Even her laughter does not ring through the entire room, nor give that contagious feel. When Caroline used to laugh, there was no choice but to share her laughter.

It's all gone.

A part of me is curious about what happened to her, curious to the point of agonizingly pondering options and possibilities of what happened to her. Another does not want to ask questions, the part that urges me to rise to my feet, go round my desk and hold her in my arms, to try my best to remove the effect of whatever happened to her, to just embrace her until everything else fades and until her blue eyes light up again. I would ask no questions, I would demand no explanations; I would simply be there for her, whether she wants to sob, or just rest her head on my shoulder.

But I do neither.

With all my might I try to be professional. Even though I know I have already hired her, I try to see where the path of her career headed, and I am shocked to realize that she had not worked in nearly two years, that she left her job before she could finish training. I say I do not care for past experience, and she seems relieved. But things get complicated when she declares that she can only work from home. I want to ask her why, and my eyes reflect that. Even more, I'm stunned by her wish to have an alias instead of her own name on the column, especially when the column is simply cooking recipes; something I never imagined Caroline would be doing.

'For personal reasons' she vaguely, but firmly, says. I know better than to ask further questions.

I agree. She promises to e-mail us the article of her column every week, and I promise to send her a not-so-decent paycheck at the start of each month. We sign the contract and I congratulate her for joining the company.

For the smallest fraction of a moment, after we sign the contract, I see her eyes light up like the way they used to, I see a smile that reaches her eyes, but it's not long enough for me to believe that nothing has changed.

'Rebekah will be delighted to hear from you. She is back from England' I casually tell her as she begins to leave.

She stops dead in her tracks and looks at me so softly. For a moment I think that her eyes form tears, but she quickly smiles.

'When did she get back?' She asks enthusiastically

'A couple of months ago' I say simply 'I can give you her number if you like'

Caroline nods frantically, her smile widening. My own smile widens as I give her the number, for I am glad that I made her smile so joyfully.

She leaves the office as quickly as she arrived. It is only then that I realize how my sole purpose for hiring her was so that I could see her every day, and that by our contract that wish will stay unfulfilled.

Another realization hits me as I stare at the contract, my eyebrows slowly pulling together in a frown.

Why is she still using her maiden name?

What do you guys think? Good or not? Please tell me your thoughts :D