The next morning, Ariana found the mansion silent again—like it always had been.
She wandered, drawn by curiosity and the growing ache in her chest. Every corner whispered questions she had no answers for.
How did I get here?
Why don't I remember loving him?
And… did I really love him at all?
Her footsteps echoed through the halls until she paused outside a locked door. Adrian's study.
She tested the handle. Unlocked.
A small rebellion stirred in her chest. He was keeping secrets—she could feel it. Maybe this was how she'd find the truth.
She stepped inside.
The room smelled like old books, cedar, and the faintest trace of his cologne. Her fingers trailed along the desk as she searched through drawers—receipts, reports, nothing interesting—until she opened the last drawer on the right.
A folder. Labeled: "Marriage Agreement."
Her heart hammered as she pulled it out. Inside were a few pages, neatly typed, and at the bottom…
Her signature.
She skimmed the first line:
"This contract confirms the terms of marriage between Mr. Adrian Blackwood and Ms. Ariana Cole, to remain legally married for a period of no less than one year…"
Her breath caught.
A contractual marriage?
There were clauses:
• No public scandal.
• Shared residence required.
• Inheritance locked unless both parties fulfill terms.
She read faster, hands shaking. At the very bottom:
"Breaking the agreement results in forfeiture of all claims."
Suddenly, a jolt of pain hit her temple. Her knees buckled.
A flash.
Rain pouring.
Her voice screaming.
A man shouting her name—"Ariana!"
And then… black.
She collapsed to the floor, panting, tears pricking at her eyes.
Someone had lied to her. Or everyone had.
"Looking for something?"
Her head snapped up.
Adrian stood at the door, arms crossed, eyes cold and unreadable.
She scrambled to her feet, the contract clutched in her hand. "What is this?" she demanded. "Was this marriage… fake?"
He didn't flinch. "It was an agreement. Nothing more."
Her voice cracked. "But we were smiling in that photo—laughing. That didn't look fake."
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "People pretend all the time, Ariana. You're not the innocent one here."
Her breath caught. "What do you mean?"
He looked away. "You married me for revenge. Don't act like you don't remember that."
Revenge? That word felt wrong in her mouth. Foreign.
She shook her head. "I don't believe you."
"Then don't," he said, voice hard. "But stay out of my study. You don't want to dig up things better left buried."
He turned to go, then paused in the doorway.
"And if you're smart… stop looking for answers you won't like."
That night, as Ariana sat on the bed with the contract beside her, she unfolded something else she had found in the drawer:
A torn letter.
The handwriting was rushed. Desperate. Only the last line was fully visible:
"Don't let her find out the truth. If she remembers, it's over.
— Evelyn"
Ariana froze.
Evelyn.
The name exploded in her brain like a spark.
And for the first time since waking up, she remembered something:
A woman in red…
A rooftop…
And a voice saying:
"You'll never be his. You're just a placeholder."
Her hand gripped the sheets, chest heaving.
Whatever had happened… whatever she was part of… it wasn't over.