Chapter 5 – The First Real Fracture

INDIE

The photo stayed under my pillow all night, the words on the back burning into my thoughts every time I closed my eyes. 

Soon this will all be over. 

Three weeks before the accident. 

Written in Jesper’s careful handwriting like it was nothing more than a reminder.

By the time the sky started turning gray, I had already decided one thing: the crash wasn’t random. 

Someone had wanted me out of the way. And the two people who smiled at my hospital bed were the ones with the most to gain.

I forced myself to get up, shower, and put on the clothes the staff had left for me. If I was going to keep pretending, I needed to look like someone still recovering—not someone who had just found a threat written in her ex’s handwriting.

When I stepped into the hallway, Tristan was already downstairs.

He stood near the kitchen island with a cup of black coffee, scrolling through something on his phone. The moment he heard me, his eyes lifted. He studied my face longer than usual.

“You’re up early,” he said.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He set the phone down. “Did something happen?”

I kept my expression carefully blank. “Just restless. The doctor said that might happen.”

Tristan didn’t look convinced. His gaze lingered on me for another second before he nodded toward the counter. 

“Sit and eat something. You barely touched dinner last night.”

I sat down and forced a few bites of toast while he watched me in silence. 

It wasn’t the cold distance from before. 

This felt sharper. Like he was cataloguing every small change in my face.

“You’re quieter than usual,” he said eventually.

I looked up. “What am I usually like, then? I forgot—you’re my boyfriend, after all. You should be happy that I’m here, but it doesn’t seem like you are.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened. “I’m glad you’re alive, and I prefer honesty.”

The words hung between us. For a moment, I almost told him about the photo. 

But the second I opened my mouth, the memory of Jesper’s calm smile in the hospital stopped me. 

If Tristan was still protecting him in any way, I needed more than a single piece of paper.

So I stayed silent.

Tristan watched me for another long second, then pushed away from the counter. “I got a call this morning. Stay in the house. If you need anything, tell the staff.”

He left without waiting for a reply.

The day moved slowly.

I tried to keep myself busy—walking through the quieter parts of the house, sitting by the window, pretending to rest. 

But every time I closed my eyes, I saw that date on the back of the photo. Three weeks. Enough time to plan something. 

But I wonder whether this is just a coincidence, or if something was being planned behind my back long before I even realized it.

By late afternoon, the tension under my skin had turned into something sharper.

I was in the living room when Tristan returned. He didn’t go straight to his office like usual. 

Instead, he stopped in the doorway and looked at me for a long moment, as if checking whether I was still the same person he had left that morning.

“Oh, so you’re here—what exactly are you thinking about? Your face says it all.” he said.

“How am I supposed to think about anything if I don’t remember it?”

“Stop pretending, Indie.” He walked closer, stopping a few feet away. “Something shifted last night. I can see it.”

I forced a small, tired smile. “Maybe I’m just starting to realize If my boyfriend doesn't want me here—if I’m truly a burden to you—I can leave.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t call me a liar, but the look he gave me said he wasn’t buying it.

Before either of us could say more, his phone rang.

Tristan glanced at the screen. His expression hardened.

“Jesper,” he muttered.

He answered, but instead of walking away, he tapped the screen once and set the phone on the table between us. 

The call switched to the speaker. He didn’t look at me for permission. He simply left the line open and stepped back, arms crossed.

Jesper’s voice came through, easy and relaxed.

“How’s the arrangement working out?” he asked. “Is she still playing nice?”

My blood ran cold.

Tristan’s reply was ice. “She’s not your problem anymore.”

Jesper laughed softly, like the whole thing amused him. 

“Come on. Don’t get protective. You’re doing me a favor. Just keep her comfortable until she stops asking questions. Liora and I are still cleaning up a few things on our end.”

Tristan’s hand curled into a fist at his side. “What things?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Jesper said lightly. 

“Just make sure she doesn’t remember more than she should. You’ve always been good at controlling situations.”

The line went quiet for a second.

Then Tristan spoke, voice low and dangerous. “This conversation is over.”

He ended the call.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the city beyond the glass. 

Tristan stared at the phone like he wanted to crush it. When he finally looked up at me, the cold restraint he usually wore was gone. What replaced it was raw, barely controlled anger.

“Whatever they did to you,” he said, “I want the full truth. And I want it now.”

I met his eyes.

The weight of the photo under my pillow, the sound of Jesper’s amused voice, the way Tristan had left the call open on purpose—all of it collided at once.

I could have kept pretending. I could have stayed safe behind the amnesia mask a little longer.

Instead, I let the first piece of it fall.

“Then you should know,” I said quietly, “I never lost my memory.”