Page 4

The guard leads me to the room, his presence impassive as he holds the door open for me. It feels like a stage, like I’m the only one who doesn’t know the script.

I step inside, my breath catching slightly.

I can’t help it. My eyes trace the room, wide.

I’m stunned by its opulence. The walls are painted in deep jewel tones, and the furniture—luxurious, polished—gleams like it’s waiting to be admired.

A massive, four-poster bed dominates the space, draped in rich fabrics that shimmer faintly in the soft light.

There’s a large vanity in one corner, mirrors everywhere, reflecting the space back on itself in a dizzying effect.

Ornate curtains hang from the tall windows, heavy and indulgent, matching the drapes at the bed’s foot.

The floor is smooth, gleaming beneath my bare feet. It’s beautiful. But it’s too much.

I approach the wardrobe, the only space left for me to find some sense of normalcy. The wood is dark and rich, and I slide the doors open with hesitation.

Inside, hanging neatly, are rows of clothing—but they’re nothing like what I expected.

The dresses are all drab, modest, and unremarkable.

A dark grey gown catches my eye first, heavy and simple with long sleeves and an almost shapeless cut.

There’s no waistline, just a straight drop from neck to hem.

The fabric looks thick and coarse, like something a servant might wear, not a woman who has everything.

Next, a brown wool dress with a high collar. It’s sturdy, almost stiff. A greenish-brown skirt with a matching jacket. Plain. Functional. Not a trace of color. No silk, no lace, no embroidery.

What is this?

The guard’s still standing there, silent. He’s not moving, not even breathing.

I look at him. He’s not going to make this easy, is he?

“Get out,” I snap, my voice sharp and cracking, but clear. “I need some space. Now.”

The guard doesn’t flinch. He just nods once, stepping back toward the door without a word.

I strip, and I just stand there, naked, in the middle of a room that doesn’t feel like mine, holding on to my own temper like a string too taut to snap.

Once the door clicks shut behind him, I step away from the wardrobe, walking toward the mirror on the wall. The mirror. The one that reflects me in all my discomfort, my bare skin.

The woman who’s staring back at me isn’t the one I expected. She’s taller than I remember. Lither than I imagined. Shapely, but it feels like I don’t know her.

I stand still, eyes locked on the reflection. There’s a softness to my body that feels…unfamiliar. My curves feel foreign, like someone else’s. The way my hips curve out beneath my waist, the small dip of my stomach. It’s all me, but it isn’t.

I place a hand over my chest, feeling the rise and fall of my breath.

It’s controlled—but then my hand drifts down.

Over my ribs. My fingers brushing soft scars, faded now, like a history that won’t fade away completely.

Knife marks. Faint but there. I remember nothing of how they got there, but the scars don’t belong to someone like me.

I move lower, almost too slowly. There’s a birthmark on my shoulder. Small. Almost like it was meant to be there. It’s the only thing that feels familiar on my skin.

Then I see it. My wrist. My left wrist. A tattoo.

A rose winding around a dagger, ink faded, but still visible. A little ragged from time, but still there. I stare at it longer than I want to. I don’t know why I have it. I don’t know who put it there, but something in me feels drawn to it. Like it’s the only constant in all this confusion.

My thoughts are moving too fast.

Why was I in the hospital in the first place?

What happened?

I gasp, a rush of air escaping my lungs.

I can’t breathe. I don’t understand any of this.

I’m tired.

I need a moment. I need a break from all this noise in my head.

I walk back to the closet, still naked, still unsure of my own skin. I reach for a nightgown—simple, soft, the material cool to the touch. It slides over my head easily, like it’s made to fit me, like it was always meant for me to wear.

I crawl into bed.

The sheets are soft. So soft.

I pull the blanket up around my shoulders, but it doesn’t block the storm of thoughts inside my head. I close my eyes, but it doesn’t help. My mind still races.

^^^^

I wake up in pitch darkness, the sheets cool against my skin as I stretch and let out a big, yawning sigh. For the first time since I woke up in the hospital, I actually feel refreshed. Like I’ve had some real sleep—not the kind where you just blink and time skips ahead in chunks.

My stomach growls, loud and demanding. I glare at it as if it can be silenced with a death stare.

“Alright, alright,” I mutter to myself, pushing the covers off. “I’ll take a bath and go look for food.”

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. As I stand, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look…well, I look a bit like a wreck—bedhead, the nightgown barely clinging to my frame, and disheveled. But I’m alive, right? At least that’s something.

With a sharp roll of my eyes, I pull the bathrobe off the hook beside the door. My fingers work the fabric loose when—click. The door swings open.

And there he is.

Serevin.

The look on his face is priceless.

I can see it in his eyes—shock. Stunned silence. His eyes dart away almost immediately, like he’s trying to ignore the fact that I’m standing there, naked as the day I was born.

And you know what? I can’t help it. I laugh.

He doesn’t turn back. He just keeps his back slightly turned, his hand resting on the doorframe. “Put on some clothes,” he says, voice tight. “I came to show you around the house.”

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest, bored. “Aren’t I your wife? You’ve seen it all already.”

His jaw tightens. There’s an awkward silence as he stands there, hands clenching at his sides.

I chuckle. “You don’t have to be all shy about it. It’s not like I’ve got a secret stash of charms or anything. I’m just...me.”

He doesn’t answer. He only looks away, clearly not enjoying the situation. His discomfort is too good.

I grab the night robe off the hook and slide it over my shoulders, tying it loosely.

“Why bother?” I scoff, looking him over. “Aren’t you busy hanging out with that girl?”

He shifts, his expression faltering slightly. “She is Emilia.”

I let out a little snort at my own words, watching him try to control his response.

“Don’t I have a phone?” I add, glancing around. “I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to have one, right?”

There’s a long pause. Serevin doesn’t even flinch.

I soften my tone, the edge in my voice suddenly quieter, almost vulnerable. “Are you really in the Mafia? Am I part of the Mafia too? I…I can’t recall anything. If we’re married, why don’t we share a room? Why aren’t there wedding pictures of us?”

Serevin doesn’t respond. His gaze shifts, avoiding mine. “I think I’ll show you around tomorrow.”

I roll my eyes, hands on my hips. “Whatever floats your boat,” I say with a smirk. “I’m off to take a bath, though—unless you want to join, hubby.”

I watch his eyes tighten as he turns toward the vanity. He sets the wedding ring down on the counter, the one I threw away at the hospital, and walks toward the door.

He doesn’t say a word. Not a single word.

The door clicks shut behind him.

I pout, staring at the door. “He’s no fun.”

I walk to the bathtub.

The water hisses as I adjust the temperature, my fingers trailing through the stream. The scent of bath oils fills the room—lavender and something else, something calming. I slide into the tub slowly, feeling the warm water swallow me whole. It’s almost too comfortable.

I settle back against the edge, letting the water rise over my body. The warmth seeps into me, and I close my eyes for a second, trying to forget that I’m still a stranger to myself. Trying to ignore the confusion, the sickness that swirls inside me.

I don’t even know who I am.

My mind runs faster than I want it to. Thoughts tumble over each other, too loud.

Why was I in the hospital?

What happened to me?

Do I have friends? Why don’t I have a phone?

My hands wander over the surface of the water, fingers trailing in the ripples. What if Serevin is lying to me? What if he’s not telling me everything?

The thoughts come fast, and my stomach turns in knots. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep wondering.

I shake my head and laugh at myself, trying to quiet the noise in my head. “Whatever. You don’t even know your own name,” I whisper.

I sink deeper into the water, my head resting against the side of the tub. Relax. Just relax. I let the steam settle in my lungs, closing my eyes again.

The soft warmth lulls me into a sense of comfort. The coziness of it all wraps around me, like I’m being swaddled in someone else’s life.

^^^^

I follow Serevin around the house with a mixture of boredom and disbelief.

He points to rooms, explaining their function, their history, like I’m supposed to be impressed.

I try to pay attention, but I can’t stop yawning every few seconds.

I’m too tired, and quite frankly, I couldn’t care less about what each wing of this mansion is called.

It all looks the same—too pristine, too perfect.

I might as well be in a museum with no exit.

I drag my feet slightly as we make our way toward the kitchen. Finally, something that smells good.

The scent of chicken hits me before we even walk through the door. I breathe in deeply, letting the rich aroma seep into my senses. My stomach growls in protest, so loud I’m sure Serevin heard it. I’m starving, and this food? This food smells like heaven.

Without hesitation, I dart forward into the kitchen, practically half-running toward the chef who’s preparing a huge roast on the counter.

“Can I have some?” I ask, my voice high and desperate, pleading. “Please, oh please, oh please?”

The chef looks at me like I’ve just asked him for a billion dollars, eyes wide with surprise. Serevin stands a few feet away, watching me, an odd expression on his face.

He nods, and just like that, the chef quickly plates me a generous portion of chicken.

I sit down at the table, not bothering to be ladylike, and immediately dig in. The first bite—crispy skin, tender meat—makes me sigh. It’s delicious.

I don’t care that I’m eating with my mouth full. I don’t care about manners. The chicken is everything. I shovel another bite in.

“I love chicken,” I say, grinning between mouthfuls. “Seriously, I could eat chicken every day.”

Serevin stands across the table from me, his eyes narrowed slightly as he watches me devour my meal. I can feel his gaze, but I’m too busy enjoying the food to care.

Just as I finish my first plate, I hear footsteps behind me. I turn and spot a tall, stunning man walking in, dressed sharply in a suit. His eyes lock onto me immediately.

He freezes in shock, like he’s seen a wild animal in the middle of the kitchen instead of a woman eating chicken. His disbelief is obvious as he stares at me.

I chew, swallow, and then look up at him. “Hi, handsome,” I say with a cheeky grin, eyeing him from head to toe. “How are you?”

He’s still standing there, gaping at me, too stunned to respond. He swallows and looks at Serevin, who lets out a long sigh.

“Wait in my office, Cassian," Serevin says flatly, his voice cool and dismissive.

I shoot gorgeous Cassian a wink, watching him leave the room with an unimpressed look on my face. I turn back to Serevin with a shrug.

“Is he like your bestie or something?” I ask, the question dripping with sarcasm. “Can I have him? I like him better than you.”

Serevin’s eyes flick to my hand—specifically, the wedding ring on my finger. I can see it now, the way he glances at it. He doesn't say anything. The silence speaks for him.

I can’t help but let out a nervous chuckle. “Sorry, I forgot we were married. But whatever. You cheat, don’t you? I can look outside, too. You don’t seem to want me.”

Serevin doesn’t flinch at my words. His gaze remains steady on me, like he’s already heard all my complaints a thousand times. He doesn’t even bat an eye.

Before he can answer, Emilia walks in, loud and obnoxious as usual. She practically bounces into the room with that fake sweetness in her smile.

“He doesn’t cheat,” she says, sitting down at the table beside Serevin. “He’s stupidly loyal.”

I stare at her, eyes narrowed. She’s way too perky. Too eager. Too…young. I have no clue who she is, but something about her rubs me the wrong way. I feel like I’ve known her forever. But I can’t place why.

I focus on my chicken, taking another bite, not responding.

I chew slowly, then look up at her. “Hmph,” I say, the sound dismissive.

Emilia leans in closer to Serevin, her hand brushing his arm, and I swear I see her eyes glitter with something I don’t like.

“If she gets fat and ugly,” Emilia says with an edge in her voice, “you can have me.”

I throw a half-eaten chicken bone at her. Hard. It’s an automatic reaction. It hits her right on the chest, and she screams in surprise. She turns to me, her face contorted in disgust.

“What is wrong with you?” she snaps, hands on her hips.

I don’t flinch. I look at her calmly, chewing with great delight. “I’m having a meal with my husband. Walk away before I rip your eyes out of their sockets.”

Emilia’s mouth drops open. She looks at Serevin, but he doesn’t respond. His eyes are still fixed on me, and she knows it. She knows she’s being ignored.

She stands abruptly and storms out, leaving me to finish my chicken in peace.