7. The Uninvited Visit

Gabby spent the rest of the day buried in her office. She poured over quarterly reports, fundraising projections, and patient profiles. Each file felt like a fragment of a stranger's life. The names and faces of the children on the corkboard became her only anchors to this reality. She found herself trying to memorize them, to connect with the person she used to be. The irony of it all was overwhelming. Adryan had accused her of faking her amnesia, but now she was forced to fake an entire life.

As evening fell, the office grew quiet. She was about to pack up when the door opened.

"Working late?" Adryan's voice was calm, but his presence filled the room with the familiar, suffocating tension. He stood in the doorway, his tie loosened, the top button of his shirt undone. He looked less like a politician and more like a weary man.

Gabby's heart leaped, but she kept her face carefully neutral. She hadn't seen him since her walk of shame this morning. "I have a lot to catch up on," she said, gesturing vaguely at the piles of paper.

Adryan walked in and glanced around the office, his eyes scanning the colorful drawings and the photos of the children. His gaze landed on the plaque beneath the painting. He read it, a look of confusion crossing his face for a split second before it was replaced by his usual stoicism. "Gabriella Halim," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I haven't hear that name in years."

He then looked at the corkboard, his eyes moving from one photo to the next. She’s actually here. And she's actually looking at these files, Adryan thought, a cynical part of him still trying to find the trick. He had come here for several reasons. First, her performance with Steinbart had been a shock. He needed to understand if she was a renewed threat or a potential, albeit unpredictable, asset. Secondly, the lingering memory of last night's 'mistake' clawed at his professional composure. He needed to put that behind him, to assert control, and remind himself—and her—that she was still the woman he resented. He didn’t believe her amnesia for a second; he saw it as her latest, most elaborate manipulation.

"I'm surprised you're actually here," he said, turning back to her, his voice carefully neutral. "I think you hated this office”

Gabby felt a pang of resentment. "The old me is gone. The new me is trying to do my job, something you seem to think I can't do."

"I think you can't be trusted," he corrected coldly. "I told you why you started this foundation. It was a political tool. The perfect image for a rising politician's wife."

Gabby stood up, her jaw tightening. "Maybe that's why you thought I started it. But after spending a day here, I think it's more than that." She gestured to the room. "These are real people, Adryan. These kids aren't props for a political campaign."

Adryan stared at her, his expression unreadable. He had expected her to storm out or cry, not to stand her ground with such quiet conviction.

"Chloe," Gabby said, her voice softer. "She's four. She loves butterflies. A woman that i knew later she was a doctor, wants me to meet her before I write a speech for the gala."

Adryan's eyes flickered. He knew about Chloe. He received weekly reports on all of the foundation's high-profile cases. But he had never expected Gabby to actually know the details.

"This seems to be a bigger part of my life than you thought it was," Gabby said, a hint of defiance in her tone.

Adryan sighed and walked over to her desk, leaning against it. "Fine. You want to understand this? I'll help you." He picked up the file labeled "Gala Speech" and flipped through it. "You're a brilliant fundraiser, Gabby. You know how to work a room and convince people. You were a natural."

He looked at her, and for a moment, the cold wall between them seemed to crack. "You were the one who had the idea to use the Gala to announce my presidential campaign run. This was your legacy, Gabriella. Your chance to build your own power."

Gabby stared at him, bewildered. She had built this? Her past self was not just a flighty socialite; she was an architect of power. The thought both terrified and intrigued her.

"So," Adryan said, a small, genuine smirk on his face, "what's the first step, boss? You're the director, after all. Or do I need to explain your own job to you again?" He pushed himself off the desk. "Ready to head back home together?" It was a habitual question, one he’d asked countless times to the old Gabby, who always expected him to drive her.

Gabby paused, a small smile playing on her lips. "No, thank you," she said, picking up her car keys from the desk. "I drove myself here. With the Audi A7."

Adryan blinked. His smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of genuine fluster. He hadn't expected that. The old Gabby would have leaped at the chance to be chauffeured, especially by him. The new Gabby was... independent. And that, he realized, was even more unsettling.

He watched as she strode past him, her head held high, a woman in charge of her own decisions. The war of wits was evolving into a new, more dangerous game of partnership, and he was quickly learning that his opponent had changed the rules.

After she leaves, he's left standing in her office, surrounded by the remnants of a life he never understood. He smells her perfume, a lingering reminder of their complex encounter. The sound of the car’s engine starting and the tires crunching on the gravel outside is a final, echoing confirmation of his loss of control. He came here to assert his dominance and leave her feeling small, but she’s the one who left him feeling off balance and disoriented.

Gabby’s car crunched on the gravel driveway as she pulled into the garage, the digital clock on the dashboard reading a late hour. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally. The weight of her past life, the responsibilities, the names, the unspoken expectations— felt heavier than any backpack from her college days. She walked into the quiet mansion, the silence feeling less like a refuge and more like an empty echo chamber.

She expected to find the house dark and empty, as it usually was at this hour. But as she rounded the corner into the living room, she saw him. Adryan was sitting on the sofa, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, staring into the fireplace. The flames danced across his face, softening his usually harsh features.

Gabby frowned in her heart she said, ‘How did he come so fast?’

He looked up as she entered, his eyes scanning her tired expression. He didn't ask where she'd been. He knew.

"You fine?" he asked, his voice low, a rare note of something other than coldness in it.

Gabby sighed, letting her shoulders slump. "You have no idea." She walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a glass of water. "It's... a lot."

"It's what you wanted," Adryan said, taking a sip of his drink. He was testing her, waiting for the defensive retort, the angry accusation.

But Gabby was too tired for games. She took a long drink of water, the cold liquid a shock to her system. "That's what you think," she replied honestly, not with an edge, but with a weary resignation. "After today, I don't know what I wanted. Or who I was." She sat in the armchair opposite him, the light from the fire illuminating her face. "Those kids, Adryan... they're real. I looked at their files. I saw their photos. I'm the one who put them there."

Adryan stared into his glass, a muscle in his jaw tightening. He had expected her to come back with a list of demands or a new game, not with this fragile honesty.

"It's a lot to ask someone to pretend to be a person they don't remember," Gabby continued, her voice quiet. "I'm supposed to be this 'angel of hope,' but I have no idea who I'm talking about."

Adryan looked at her, and for the first time, he saw something other than a calculated act. He saw genuine vulnerability and fear. His own cynicism faltered. He set his glass down on the table with a soft click.

"The gala is next week," he said, his voice now flat, but practical. "You'll have to get ready."

"I know," Gabby said. "I have a speech to write. I don't even know what to say."

Adryan leaned forward, a surprising sense of purpose in his posture. "I can help with that."

Gabby's head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock. "You? I thought you hated me."

"I'm a politician, Gabriella. I know how to write a speech." He looked at her, his gaze intense. "And if you're going to use this foundation to promote my career, you're going to do it right. I won't have my name attached to a disaster."

Gabby didn't say anything, but the unspoken truce hung in the air. He wasn't offering help out of kindness. He was offering it as a business partner. And for the first time, Gabby felt like she was a part of something, even if it was just a partnership built on cold, pragmatic self-interest.

She watched as he stood, the firelight casting a long shadow behind him. "Get some rest," he said, his voice returning to its normal, formal tone. "We start tomorrow." He turned to leave, but stopped at the door.

"Just so you know," he said, without turning around, " in this situation, i think you are not that bad,”

And then he was gone, leaving Gabby alone with the firelight, his words, and a past that was becoming more and more a mystery.