CHAPTER 4 - SUPRESSED MEMORY

I heard the doctor's words clearly in my head. Prioritize the organ extraction over the donor's resuscitation.

I tried to force my eyes open. I wanted to yell at them. I wanted to push the mask off my face and run out of the freezing room. But my body refused to obey my commands. The chemical gas filled my lungs and pulled me down into a deep sleep.

I did not find peace in that sleep. The anesthesia triggered something in me I couldn't understand. I didn't know if it was a dream or reality. I was torn. 

It brought back the memories I had kept hidden for five years.

First came the noise. I heard the loud screech of tires skidding on wet asphalt. I heard the crunch of metal folding inward. I heard the shattering of window glass.

I was sitting in the back seat of a sedan. I felt the seatbelt dig hard into my collarbone. Rain lashed against the windows, and the wind howled outside.

"Arabella, hold on," my father shouted from the driver's seat. He turned the steering wheel hard to the right.

I looked up through the windshield. A black truck had rammed into the side of our car. The truck pushed us toward the metal guardrail on the edge of the road. The driver of the truck did not slow down.

"Dad, what is happening?" I screamed. I grabbed the door handle, but it was locked. I pulled on it again, yet it would not open.

My mother was sitting in the passenger seat. She reached back and grabbed my hand. Her fingers felt cold and clammy.

"Close your eyes, Arabella," my mother instructed. Her voice shook with fear. "Put your head down and do not look up."

The car hit the guardrail and flipped. I spun upside down. My head hit the side window hard. My head hurt, and my vision blurred into dark shapes.

When the car finally stopped moving, I was hanging upside down by my seatbelt. The strong smell of gasoline filled the air. Cold rain dripped through the broken windows and soaked my clothes.

I turned my head slowly. My father was bleeding from a large cut on his forehead. He reached out with shaking hands and unbuckled his seatbelt. He fell hard against the crushed roof of the car.

"Dad," I whispered. My throat felt raw from screaming.

He crawled toward the back seat. He reached through the gap between the seats and touched my face. His hands were covered in glass and blood.

"Listen to me, Arabella," he said. His breathing was very shallow, and he coughed repeatedly. "You have to survive this night."

"We all have to survive," I cried. I could not unbuckle my own seatbelt, nor could I pull the strap loose.

"He did this," my father coughed again. Blood pooled at the corner of his mouth. He looked at my mother, who was unconscious in the front seat. "Vincent did this."

Vincent.

I recognized the name immediately. He was my uncle. He was my father's older brother. Vincent wanted control of our family business, so he was willing to kill us to get it.

I remembered everything. I was Arabella Laurent. I was the heir to the Laurent Empire. My family possessed wealth and power that rivaled the Bellini family. We were enemies.

Footsteps crunched on the broken glass outside the car. Someone crouched down next to my father's shattered window.

I looked through the rain and saw a young man. He wore a dark coat. He had dark hair and sharp features. It was Raphael. He was twenty-three years old back then, but his demeanor was just as serious as it is today.

"Laurent," Raphael said. He looked at my father. "Your brother sent his men. My security detail intercepted them, but we were too late to save your driver."

"Bellini," my father gasped. He reached out and grabbed Raphael's coat sleeve. "Vincent wants my daughter dead. He wants the company for himself."

"I know," Raphael answered. He looked past my father and made eye contact with me. I was terrified, and I was bleeding.

"Hide her," my father pleaded. He tightened his grip on Raphael's sleeve. "Take Arabella. Do not let Vincent find her. Promise me you will keep her hidden."

Raphael stared at my father for a long minute. The rain soaked his hair and ran down his face.

"I will hide her," Raphael agreed. "I will make sure Vincent never knows she survived tonight."

"Swear it," my father demanded. His voice grew weaker, and his grip loosened.

"I swear it on my family name," Raphael promised.

The memory ended, and the bright surgical lights shined through my eyelids.

I gasped for air. The breathing tube was gone from my throat. My lungs burned as I inhaled the sterile hospital air.

"She is waking up," a nurse announced nearby.

I opened my eyes. I was lying in a bed in the recovery ward. The ceiling was stark white. A heart monitor beeped a steady, annoying rhythm next to my head.

My left side hurt. The pain felt hot and sharp. I reached down and felt the thick bandages taped over my abdomen. They had taken my kidney. They had cut me open while I was asleep and unaware.

But the physical pain meant nothing compared to the pain in my chest.

Raphael knew.

He knew who I was from the very first day. He knew I was a Laurent, a real one. He knew my uncle murdered my father. 

He knew my family and his family were rivals.

For five years, he watched me cry over my lost memories. For five years, he let me believe I was a nobody who owed him my life. 

He kept me locked inside his house. He played the role of a cold savior just to hide me from Vincent.

He used my gratitude against me. He let me sign away my body parts for his stepsister. He let me believe I was worthless. I gave him my absolute loyalty, yet he gave me lies. I knew I had to leave, for my life depended on it.

I sat up on the bed. The cut in my side burned, but I ignored it. I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress. My bare feet touched the cold linoleum floor.

"Mrs. Bellini, you need to lie down," the nurse said. She rushed over and put her hands on my shoulders. "You just had major surgery. You cannot move."

"Do not touch me," I told her. My voice was raspy but firm.

The nurse stepped back. She looked surprised by my tone. I had always been quiet and obedient, so she did not expect me to push back. I was not that weak girl anymore.

I looked around the room. My small duffel bag sat on a chair in the corner. My phone was inside it.

"Where is my husband?" I asked the nurse. I stared right at her.

"Mr. Bellini is in the other wing," the nurse replied. She pointed toward the closed door. "He is sitting with Gabriella. Her surgery was a success, and he refuses to leave her side."

He was sitting with the woman who hated me. He was comforting her while I woke up alone. The realization settled in my stomach.

I walked over to the chair. Every step caused a pulling sensation in my stitches. I unzipped the bag and pulled out my phone. I unlocked the screen and opened the keypad.

I typed in a phone number I had not dialed in five years. My fingers remembered the digits without hesitation. I pressed the call button and held the phone to my ear.

It rang twice.

"Hello?" a woman answered.

"Bianca," I said.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. I heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Arabella?" Bianca whispered. Her voice shook. "Is that you?"

"I remember," I told her. I looked at the closed door of my recovery room and calculated my next move. "I remember who I am. Bring the helicopter to the hospital roof. I need you to get me out of here before he comes back."