Lie To Me In Diamonds

CHAPTER EIGHT: PIECES OF BEFORE

2 Years Ago

Beep. Beep. Beep

Nadia was having a splitting headache, her vision blurred as she struggled to open her eyes, the light from the room making her eyes teary and extremely blurry. She closed them and relaxed further, trying again to get where she was.

Pain seemed to nibble on every part of her body, she groaned, it felt like a truck had run over her. She opened her eyes again, slowly this time and realized why she kept inhaling the strong scent of antiseptic. She took in her surrounding, only able to move her neck, the white walls, tall and soothing to her pain.

She thought hard, trying to remember what happened to bring her here, she wondered what this kind of place was called

Hos…pi…tal …. Hospital??

What exactly was she doing in the hospital, her brain was in a frenzy, different white bandages were all over her, the machine in the room kept beeping and beeping increasing her headache.

And she could swear that if her hand could move, she would turn it off. But the pain was overwhelming. Too much.

The door open and a male doctor walked into the room, his face neutral, a white file in his hand.

“Where am I? How did I get here” the words came out slower than Nadia’s thought it would.

“Ms. Reyes, you were involved in an accident, a fatal one, it’s a miracle that you are alive”

Her eyes widened, unable to believe what she just heard, tears formed in her eyes, if she really had an accident, why couldn’t she recall it? Why couldn’t she recall the events that happened

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The doctor set the white file down on the rolling tray. The sound was too loud.

“Ms. Reyes. Nadia. Look at me.” His voice was calm, practiced. The kind of calm they use when they’re about to tell you something that will break you. “You were in a car accident two nights ago. Multiple fractures, concussion, internal bruising. You’re stable now. You’re going to be fine.”

Nadia blinked through the tears and the blur. Fine. That word didn’t fit in the room with her.

“The scans show trauma to your temporal and frontal lobes,” he continued, flipping a page he didn’t need to read. “It’s called post-traumatic amnesia with retrograde memory loss. Your brain took a hit. So it did what brains do to protect you. It cut access to memories around the event. Days, maybe weeks. For some people it comes back. For others… pieces stay missing.”

“No.” The word scraped her throat. “That’s not— I remember things. I remember my name. I remember—”

“What do you remember?”

Silence. The beeping. The smell of antiseptic and tension.

“I remember…” Nothing. White. An emptiness that felt bigger than the bed she was in.

Her chest started to shake. “That’s not possible. I have to remember. Yesterday. Last week. I have a life. I have—”

“Ms. Reyes,” the doctor cut in gently. “Panic won’t bring it back faster. You’re safe. Your injuries are healing. The billing department confirmed your hospital bills have been cleared in full. You’ll need to rest, take your meds, and come in for follow-ups. With time, it gets better.”

Cleared? By who? The question died before it reached her mouth because the sob hit first. It ripped out of her, ugly and raw. She tried to lift a hand to cover her face and only managed a twitch. Bandages. IVs. She was broken everywhere.

“They said you only have one emergency contact,” the doctor said quietly, waiting for the wave to pass. “We reached out. Your brother. Mateo Reyes. He’s on his way. He’s your only family listed.”

Brother. The word landed somewhere soft. Brother meant she wasn’t alone. Even if she couldn’t remember why.

The door slammed open before the doctor could finish.

A boy, maybe 17, with the same dark eyes and the same sharp jaw she saw in the reflection of the bedside tray. His hoodie was inside out. His shoes didn’t match. He didn’t care. He ran to her bed and dropped to his knees, careful not to touch the tubes.

“Nadia. Oh my God. Nadia.” His voice broke on her name. He pressed his forehead to the edge of her mattress and sobbed. “I thought I lost you. I thought— Don’t you ever scare me like that again. Please.”

She stared at him. Mateo. Mateo. The name fit in her head like a key in a lock, even if she couldn’t see the door. She didn’t remember his birthday. She didn’t remember his voice. But she knew him.

She managed a nod. A small, shaky one.

He reached up and took her hand, the one without the IV, and held it like it was the only thing keeping him upright. She squeezed back.

“I’m here,” she whispered. It hurt to talk. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He laughed through the tears, wet and relieved. “You promise? Because you’re stuck with me, okay? You’ve been taking care of me for years. Tuition. Rent. Groceries. You’re the reason I’m still in school. You’re the reason I’m okay.”

The guilt hit her before the memory could. She’d been doing that. For him. And now she couldn’t even remember his classes.

“I promise,” she said, and meant it. “I’m not leaving you, Mateo.”

He buried his face in her blanket and cried harder. She cried too. Two broken people holding each other together in a white room that smelled like antiseptic.

The doctor cleared his throat. “I’ll give you two a minute.”

---

3 Months Later

The apartment was small. One bedroom, a kitchenette that barely fit two people, and a window that looked out onto a fire escape. But it was clean. The couch had a throw blanket. There were textbooks stacked on the coffee table. A photo on the fridge of her and Mateo at the beach, both squinting in the sun. She didn’t remember taking it. She kept it anyway.

Her head still hurt sometimes. Her memory was like a book with pages torn out. She remembered Mateo. She remembered how to cook his favorite pasta. She didn’t remember her last job, or her friends, or why she flinched at the sound of tires on wet pavement.

She was getting by. Disability checks. Part-time remote data entry. Enough.

The doorbell rang.

Nadia padded to the door in sweatpants and an oversized tee. No one was there. Just an envelope on the mat.

Black. Heavy stock. Gold foil along the edge.

She picked it up.

_Ms. Nadia Reyes_

_You are cordially invited to an exclusive gathering._

_Discretion is appreciated. Attendance is… encouraged._

_10 PM. The Docks. Pier 17._

_— M.V._

No phone number. No explanation.

She frowned and dropped it in the trash. Weird rich people stuff. She rolled her eyes and wondered what kind of stupid prank anyone wanted to play on her, she looked left and right before shutting the door.

---

The next morning, after a short run, she made a mental note to go grocery shopping for things needed in the house. She was in leggings, a hoodie, and sneakers. Hair in a bun. No makeup. Grocery list in her pocket. Milk, bread, eggs. Normal things.

The street was quiet. Too quiet.

A bus rolled to the curb. Except it wasn’t a city bus. It was black. Tinted windows. No route number. The doors hissed open and her stomach dropped.

Run.

She turned and bolted.

Footsteps behind her. Fast.

“Ms. Reyes!”

Men in black suits. Crisp. Tailored. Sunglasses even though it was 9am and cloudy. They moved like they’d done this before. One cut her off at the corner. The other grabbed for her arm.

She ducked, swung her grocery bag, caught one in the knee. She sprinted. Her lungs burned. Three months of recovery and she was not in chase shape.

A hand caught her hoodie. She twisted. Elbow to ribs. He grunted.

“Stop fighting,” he said. “You’re just making this harder.”

She kicked. She screamed. No one stopped.

The second man got an arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet. Something cold and sharp pressed to her neck. She let out a loud yelp as the needle pierced her skin.

Too late. The world went sideways and then black.

---

Cold. Concrete. Her wrists burned.

Nadia blinked. The room was dim. A single bulb overhead. She was in a chair. Straps around her wrists, her ankles. Duct tape over her mouth was gone, but her head felt full of cotton.

Her hearing came back in pieces. Drip. Drip. Footsteps.

A man stepped into the light. Late 40s. Salt-and-pepper hair. Suit that cost more than her rent. He smiled like he’d been waiting.

“Ms. Reyes. Finally. I’m Marco Varela.” He said her name like he owned it. “Sorry about the dramatics. You’re a hard woman to get a meeting with.”

She spat on the floor near his shoes. “Get me out of these.”

He didn’t flinch. He backhanded her. The crack echoed. Her cheek flared white hot.

“Respect,” he said softly. “That’s how this starts.”

She tasted blood. “What do you want?”

“A proposition.” He circled the chair. “I have goods. You have a record of being very good at moving things from point A to point B without questions. You also have a brother in his second year of engineering. Tuition’s due in six weeks. Rent’s late. You’re working two jobs to keep him fed, and you still can’t remember why your bank account was empty before the accident.”

Nadia’s breath caught. “How do you—”

“I know everything, Nadia.” Marco stopped in front of her and crouched. “You were struggling before the crash. Medical debt. A car you couldn’t afford. A brother who looks up to you. You’ve been drowning quietly. I’m offering you air.”

He leaned in. “Deliver my goods, anything I want you to deliver,I mean. 1

Eight runs. That’s it. In and out. You get paid enough to clear his tuition, buy a new place, and never worry about money again. You walk away clean.”

“Why me?” Her voice shook. “You said it yourself. I don’t remember. I’m broken.”

“Exactly.” His eyes gleamed. “You have no past they can trace. No friends to miss you. No connections. And you have motivation. The best kind. Love.”

He stood. “It’s a win-win. You take care of Mateo. I get my money. No one gets hurt.”

Her mind raced. Mateo’s face in the hospital. _You’ve been taking care of me._ The past-due notices she’d hidden under the sink. The way he’d looked at her like she was the only solid thing in his world.

She could say no. She could end up back in that hospital. Or worse.

She could say yes.

Her jaw hurt. Her cheek throbbed.

“Fine,” she whispered. Then louder. “I’m in.”

Marco’s deadly smirk spread slow. He nodded to one of the men. The straps came off.

He extended a hand to help her up. She didn’t take it. She stood on her own.

“Good choice,” he said.

He turned toward the door, then looked back over his shoulder.

“Game on,”

---

Present Day.

Nadia stared at the words written in red, confusion settled in her body, her mind, her soul. Who exactly wrote it, why did they write it, especially at a time like this.? Her curiousity kicked in, she had to ask Damian what the hell was going on and she had to ask him now.

When she came out, Varela was waiting in the hall.

“Nadia Reyes ,” he said. “We meet again” his devilish smile sent chills in Nadia spine, ice in her veins. She shuddered slightly.

“You have something of mine,” he said. He stepped closer. “And you have something I’ve been looking for a very long time.”

He reached out and tapped her cheek. Moving around her. Nadia’s senses kicked into protective mode and she kept moving as he was moving, Marco maintained a very amused smile

“Poor girl, you are the only one amiss of what is really happening here, why Damian is after me, why you can’t remember anything about yourself, except two years ago, of course. Damian was never going to tell you that you were_”

Footsteps. Shouting. Damian at the end of the hall, gun drawn.

Varela smiled.

“Run,” he said to Nadia.

Alarms blared. People screamed. Varela turned and disappeared into the crowd.

“Gray! South exit!” Damian barked into his earpiece. “Don’t let him leave the building!”

He grabbed Nadia’s hand. “Move.”

They ran. Through the ballroom. Past overturned chairs. Varela’s men were already moving, blocking exits.

One came at Damian. Damian didn’t break stride. He sidestepped, hit the guy in the throat, and kept running, pulling Nadia with him.

“Stairs!” he said.

They took them two at a time. Behind them, shouting. Gunshots.

They burst out onto a service hallway. Varela was 20 feet ahead, walking fast, not running.

“Marco!” Damian yelled.

Varela turned. Smiled.

“You’re late,” he said.

He pulled a gun.

Nadia moved before she thought. She stepped in front of Damian.

“Don’t,” she said.

Varela looked at her. Really looked at her.

“Soon, you will be the one pointing the gun at him, when you find out the truth”

Nadia’s blood went cold. “What did you say?”

“I said,” Varela smiled, “. Ask him about 2years ago, he will explain better.”

Sirens. Gray and the police burst in from both ends of the hall.

Varela looked at the guns pointed at him, then back at Nadia.

“This isn’t over,” he said, venom dripping from his words.

He dropped the gun and put his hands up as the police took him.

But his last words hung in the air:

_“Ask him about the accident.Ask him about 2 years ago.”_

_______

The ride home was silent, after Marco was arrested, Damian had covered her with his jacket and led her to the car, he was concerned, but looked like he was panicking. He insisted to drive this time. They took a more secure road, no vehicles except theirs in sight.

His hands kept tapping on the steering wheel, he looked unsettled. Nadia’s eyes kept glancing over at him, but he wouldn’t look back at her. She had many questions, she wanted to ask him what he knew about her

She wanted to ask if it was related to the flashbacks she kept having since she got here, she needed answers and she was going to get them one way or another.

The car Damian was driving was in the middle, while two SUVs were in front and behind.

“Stop the car” she said lowly to Damian. He blinked many times while facing the road, not paying heed to what she had just said. She opened the dashboard and grabbed a gun.

She pointed it to her head.

“I said, STOP THE FUCKING CAR!” Nadia screamed. Damian maintained his cool but his eyes showed he was panicking.

“What the hell are you doing Nadia?”

“Getting answers I know you would not give me easily, now stop or I’ll shoot”

Damian grunted and spoke into the earpiece, telling each car to stop too. Shortly, all cars pulled up at the roadside, a low bridge with the water hitting the rocks gently.

Nadia opened the door to the SUV and stepped out, the gun still to her head, the bodyguards rushed to get out of the car, but Damian ordered them to stay back.

“Start talking” Nadia said, her voice was low, it was convincing that she was going to shoot herself any moment, it was obvious she was tired of this kind of life without answers and she was going to get them, tonight.

Damian stuffed his hands into his pockets, feeling relaxed for a kind of situation like this. The cool night breeze touched their skin repeatedly and the lights of the SUVs made their actions visible to the people in the car.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything damn thing! What the fuck happened two years ago?”

“That was when everything changed” Damian stared deep into her eyes.

“Nadia, you were supposed to be my fiancée, my wife to be”