I didn't answer right away.
The voice on the phone had vanished just as fast as it appeared, leaving only static—and questions.
I slid the burner into my pocket, careful not to let him see my hands shake.
He watched me like he could read my pulse. "What did they say?"
I smiled—sweet, fake, deadly. "Wrong number."
His eyes didn't move. "Emery…"
I tilted my head. "Is that really my name, or just what you need me to believe?"
A flicker. Just for a second. His mask slipped.
"I don't lie to you," he said, too softly.
I let the silence answer him.
He showed me to a penthouse that felt more like a museum—glass walls, marble floors, a grand piano no one played. Everything was beautiful, expensive, and cold.
"This is home," he said.
Home.
There were no photos. No warmth. No proof that I'd ever lived here.
I wandered to a mirror in the hallway. My face stared back at me—clear skin, full lips, dark eyes that held a storm.
I pressed my fingers to the glass. "Who are you?" I whispered.
Behind me, he appeared like a shadow.
"You used to love this place," he said. "Especially the view."
I turned. "Then show me proof."
He walked to a drawer, pulled out a velvet box, and placed it in my hand.
Inside: a ring.
Gold band. Blue sapphire. Elegant. Familiar.
My heart skipped.
I touched it, and—
FLASH.
Laughter. Wind. A rooftop.
My hand in his. The ring on my finger.
A whisper in my ear: "You're mine now, forever."
I gasped and dropped the box.
My knees hit the floor.
He reached for me, but I flinched.
"Don't."
His jaw tightened. "You're remembering."
I stood on my own.
Maybe I was.
Or maybe… I was just seeing what he wanted me to see.
Either way, I made a decision.
If he wanted to play games with memory—
I'd play better.