Novels by Tommy

Adrian’s POVWhen I wake, the world smells like bleach and silence.The light is wrong—too white, too soft. Not morning sunlight. The faint hum of machines fills the air. The ceiling is lower, the walls too clean, too empty.This isn’t the hospital room I remember.I push myself up slowly, my head heavy, throat dry as if I’ve been asleep for days.“Good morning, Mr. Wolfe.”A nurse stands at the foot of the bed. She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her nametag reads Clara.“Where am I?” I ask.“You’re safe,” she says gently. “This is a private recovery facility your mother arranged. You had some confusion at the hospital, so she thought you’d be more comfortable here.”My chest tightens. “Confusion?”She nods. “You’ve been mixing up names and memories. Completely normal after trauma.”“And the hospital? Why was I moved?”She glances at her clipboard. “For privacy. The media was starting to get curious.”Her tone sounds rehearsed, too smooth to be true.I try to remember the last

Noah’s POVFor a second, I think I misheard him.“No one touches him.”Adrian said it like a command — calm, cold, controlled — the way he used to talk to board members when they crossed him.But his eyes gave him away. Fear and confusion tangled there, as if he were protecting something he didn’t yet understand.Victoria froze. For once, her perfect composure cracked.“Adrian, you don’t know what you’re saying.”He stepped forward, positioning himself between me and the guards.“I said no one touches him.”The men hesitated, glancing at each other. No one ever defies Victoria Wolfe. Not even her sons.“Adrian…” Her voice sharpened, warning laced in it.“I’m tired,” he interrupted. “Take them out.”For a moment, I thought she’d push back. Then she exhaled slowly, the mask sliding back into place.“Very well. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”She turned on her heel and left, the guards following her through the door.Silence flooded the garden.I stared at him, heart pounding. “You did

Adrian’s POV“You shouldn’t have come.”That’s what I told him, but even I didn’t believe it.Now his voice keeps echoing in my head like a song I can’t forget: You loved me. You still do. You just don’t remember how.Every word sits heavy in my chest.It’s been two days since they dragged him out of my room. I should feel relief — that’s what my mother expected — but all I feel is noise. Memories that don’t exist. Emotions that don’t belong to the life I remember.I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the photo he left — the one of us by the lake.I’ve tried to throw it away three times. Each time, my hand froze.He’s sitting beside me in the picture, smiling wide, head resting on my shoulder.I look… happy. Not the practiced kind of smile I wear at galas or board meetings.This one is real. Unfamiliar.I don’t recognize the version of me in that photo.The door opens. My mother steps in, her perfume arriving before she does — strong, expensive, suffocating.“Still staring at that

Noah’s POV“Leave my son alone.”Victoria Wolfe’s voice still echoes in my ears long after the security guard shuts the hospital doors behind me. The night air is cold, wet from the earlier storm, and the sound of my name—my married name—feels like a wound.I stand there for a long moment, staring at the glass doors, half-expecting Adrian to come after me.He doesn’t.He never does.The rain starts again—light but steady—soaking through my jacket. My car’s parked a few blocks away, but I don’t move. I just stand there, replaying his words.“Who the hell are you?”That look on his face will haunt me.I thought I was ready for anything when the doctors called. They said Adrian had been in a crash—that he was alive but disoriented. I ran to the hospital still wearing my paint-stained shirt, hands shaking so badly I almost couldn’t sign the visitor’s form.But I wasn’t ready for this.For him to forget me.For him to look at me like I was a stranger trying to ruin his life.I finally drag

Adrian’s POV“Who the hell are you?”The words slip out before I can stop them. My throat burns, voice hoarse, the sterile scent of antiseptic thick in the air. I blink through the haze of white light, trying to piece together where I am.A hospital room. Machines hum softly beside me, a dull beep marking my pulse. My body aches like I’ve been hit by something hard—because apparently, I have. My car. The crash. That much I remember.But the man standing at the foot of my bed, I don’t.He stares at me like I’ve just broken him. His eyes are wide, chest trembling as if he’s holding back a sob. There’s something fragile about him—too human for the cold, glass world I know.“It’s me,” he says quietly. “Noah.”The name hits like static. Familiar, almost, but it slips through my mind like water through fingers. I frown. “Noah…?”His lips twitch into a nervous, broken smile. “Your husband.”The room stills.For a moment, I think I misheard. Husband? That’s impossible. I’ve never—“Is this so