I stared at the man who said I was his wife, and for the first time since I woke up in this stranger's world… I felt a sliver of something warm. Not trust. Not comfort. Just the softest flicker of familiarity—like my heart remembered something my mind didn't.
He sat beside me on the edge of the velvet couch, his eyes darker than the storm outside, yet his voice was low. Gentle.
"Did you sleep at all last night?" he asked, like he already knew the answer.
I didn't reply. I didn't need to.
The silence between us crackled—not hostile, not cold. Just thick with everything unspoken. Fear. Anger. Want. Uncertainty.
Then he did something unexpected.
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
The brush of his fingers against my skin sent a shiver down my spine. Not from fear… but from the sudden realization that my body reacted to him before my mind caught up.
"I used to do that," he murmured.
I blinked. "What?"
"You'd get annoyed when your hair fell in your face. I'd push it back. Sometimes just to annoy you. Other times because I liked the excuse to touch you."
My lips parted, and I hated how a small part of me wanted to believe him. How my heart skipped like it recognized the rhythm of his voice.
I looked away.
"You keep saying things like that," I whispered, "but I don't remember any of them."
He didn't flinch. "Then I'll remind you. One moment at a time."
Later that afternoon, I found myself alone in the garden behind the estate.
The sun was high, but the wind still carried a chill that made the roses tremble. I needed air. Space. Anything that wasn't him.
I walked along the stone path until I reached the edge of the property—iron gates, thorny hedges, and guards with stone faces. Freedom was a beautiful illusion.
"Trying to escape again?"
I turned sharply, expecting him.
But it wasn't him.
It was a man I hadn't seen before—lean, tall, dressed in casual black with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. There was something off about him. Something cold beneath the charm.
"I wasn't trying to escape," I said slowly.
He stepped closer.
"Relax. I'm not your prison warden." He extended a hand. "Name's Lorne. Old friend of Luca's."
Luca. That was his name. The man who called himself my husband.
I didn't shake Lorne's hand.
Instead, I asked, "Did you know me before?"
Lorne's smile widened. "You could say that."
Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist.
He looked me up and down, like he was assessing a weapon rather than a woman. "You look different. Softer."
I took a step back. "Do you know what happened to me?"
Lorne tilted his head. "What Luca told you—do you believe him?"
I froze.
That question wasn't casual. It was bait.
"I… I don't know," I said.
"Good." He smiled, but his eyes said something else. "You shouldn't."
Soft Lies, Sharp Smiles (part two)
I didn't like the way Lorne looked at me. Not because it was aggressive—but because it wasn't.
It was calculated.
Like he was waiting to see what kind of pawn I would become.
"What do you mean I shouldn't believe him?" I asked, forcing my voice to stay calm. "You're his friend."
Lorne chuckled under his breath. "Luca doesn't have friends. He has weapons. Allies. Debt collectors. I'm none of those anymore."
"You're saying I shouldn't trust him?"
"I'm saying," he stepped closer again, lowering his voice, "that there are two versions of every truth in this house. Luca's… and yours. But you've forgotten yours, haven't you?"
A lump formed in my throat.
"I—" I started to respond, but something behind Lorne caught my eye.
Luca.
Standing at the far end of the path, jaw clenched, dark eyes locked on us like a silent warning.
Lorne saw him too, and that smug smile returned.
"I should go," he said lightly. "But we'll talk again. Memory or not, there are things you need to remember—before it's too late."
He turned and walked off, whistling like nothing had happened.
I stood there, rooted to the stones, heart racing.
Luca approached me, slow and measured, like a storm trying to stay calm.
"What did he say to you?" His voice was cool, but his fists were clenched.
I didn't answer right away.
"He said he knew me," I replied, eyes searching his face. "From before."
Luca didn't blink. "He's dangerous. Stay away from him."
"Why? Because he knows the truth?"
The air between us turned to ice.
Luca didn't yell. He didn't even move. But the shift in his energy was enough to make my breath catch.
"I am the truth," he said, his voice like a blade. "Everything else is just noise."
"And what if I want to hear the noise?" I asked quietly. "What if I want to know what he knows?"
His eyes darkened.
He stepped forward, slowly, and cupped my jaw gently but firmly, forcing me to look at him.
"You want to know what you were before?" he whispered, voice low and possessive. "You were mine. Every part of you."
His thumb brushed my lip.
"You wore my ring. Slept in my bed. Screamed my name. You loved me so much, you would've killed for me."
My heart thundered in my chest. I couldn't breathe.
"Then why did I run?" I whispered.
Luca's eyes flickered—for just a second. A crack in the armor.
"You didn't run," he said, voice tight. "You were taken."
You didn't run. You were taken."
The words echoed inside me like a dropped glass shattering on cold marble. I couldn't look away from him, couldn't blink, couldn't breathe.
"What do you mean I was taken?" I whispered. "By who?"
Luca's jaw tightened. "That's not important right now."
"It is to me!" My voice rose, trembling with confusion and panic. "Someone took me from you? From my life? Why haven't I heard this before?"
"Because you weren't ready to know," he said, voice edged with control. "And because even now, you don't know who to trust."
"And I'm supposed to just trust you?" I snapped. "When everything you say sounds like a puzzle I'll never solve?"
He stepped closer, so close I could feel the heat of his breath.
"No," he said. "You're supposed to feel it. Like you used to."
Something cracked in his voice when he said that. Not weakness—but desperation. A quiet plea buried beneath all his dominance.
Then, just as I was about to speak, it happened again.
A flash.
A sharp burst of pain behind my eyes. My knees buckled, and I grabbed the iron gate beside me.
My vision blurred—and then I saw it.
Not now. Not here. But then.
FLASH MEMORY
I was in a room full of shadows. Dim light. Cold tile. Someone screamed. It wasn't me.
I was strapped to a chair.
No—tied.
A man stood in front of me, wearing gloves. Not Luca.
"I told you not to love him," he growled. "But you didn't listen."
He raised his hand.
Gunshots.
Blood.
Then… nothing.
"Hey, hey—Vel."
Luca's voice broke through the memory. My eyes blinked open. I was on the ground. His arms were around me.
I was shaking.
"What did you see?" he asked, staring down at me like the answer could destroy him.
I couldn't speak. My mouth was dry. My chest hurt.
"Was it him?" Luca demanded, his voice low and furious. "Did you remember his face?"
I nodded slowly. "I think I was in a basement… or a warehouse. I was tied up. Someone hit me."
Luca's eyes turned to steel.
"I swear," he said under his breath, "if he ever touches you again, I'll—"
He stopped himself.
I looked up at him, heart still pounding. "Who was he?"
Luca hesitated. Just for a breath. Then he stood up, lifting me gently with him.
"We should get you inside."
"No," I said. "Don't protect me from this. Tell me the truth."
He studied me for a long, long moment.
Finally, he said, "His name is Asher."
My blood ran cold.
"He used to be your friend. Before he tried to destroy you… and everything we built."