Chapter 2: He Didn’t Know Me

The room was too bright. Too clean. Elijah sat in his chair, staring at the photo I gave him like it was something he didn’t understand.

Like it was fake.

Like I was fake.

I sat across from him. My hands were in my lap, fingers twisting around each other. I was sweating, but cold all over.

> “I don’t remember this,” he said again. “I don’t remember you.”

That hurt.

More than I thought it would.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake him and say, Don’t do this. Don’t forget me. But I didn’t.

I just sat there. Watching him.

He looked the same.

Same dark hair. Same sharp cheekbones. Same serious eyes.

But there was something missing.

Something behind the eyes. The warmth.

The man who used to look at me like I was the only thing that mattered he was gone.

> “I know it’s hard,” I said quietly. “But we were real, Elijah. You weren’t alone.”

He looked down at the photo again. His fingers touched the edge, slow, like he was afraid it might break.

> “I woke up in a hospital in Paris,” he said. “They said there was an accident. That I had head trauma. No ID. Nothing to tell them who I was.”

He looked up at me.

> “No one came for me.”

My throat tightened.

> “I didn’t know,” I whispered. “They told me you were dead. That your plane crashed and no one survived.”

He was quiet for a long time.

Then he leaned back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling.

> “So I started over,” he said. “They gave me a new name at first. But something in me... I knew I was someone else. I came back here to find out.”

> “And did you?”

He gave a dry laugh.

> “I found money. I found buildings with my name on them. But nothing about my life. Just business. Just numbers. No people. No memories.”

> “You had me,” I said again. “You had a home. A husband. A life.”

He didn’t say anything.

That silence said too much.

The next day, I waited.

I didn’t know if he would call me back. I didn’t even know if he believed me.

But that night, I got a message.

Come to the Vale house. Tomorrow. 10am.

That was all it said.

No “thank you.” No “please.”

Just like him.

I hadn’t been to the Vale estate since the funeral.

It felt wrong coming back now.

The place was huge. White walls. Tall gates. Green lawns so perfect it looked fake. Like nothing bad could ever happen here.

But bad things did happen here.

I stood at the front door for a long time before I rang the bell.

When it opened, Elijah stood there.

Wearing black again. He always looked good in black.

> “You came,” he said.

> “You asked,” I answered.

We just looked at each other for a moment. The wind was soft. Somewhere far away, a bird was singing.

But in my chest, everything felt loud.

> “Come in,” he said.

I followed him inside.

The house still smelled the same.

Like old books and pinewood floors.

The hallway pictures were the same too—family photos of people who never liked me. People who probably hoped Elijah would forget me forever.

And maybe he did.

He led me to a room I didn’t recognize.

Big table. Clean chairs. A laptop was open.

> “I need your help,” Elijah said, sitting down.

I stayed standing.

> “Why now?”

> “Because I don’t trust the people around me,” he said. “They smile too much. Ask too many questions. Try to keep me out of things I should understand.”

He looked tired suddenly. Like he hadn’t slept in days.

> “I have money,” he said. “A lot of it. But I don’t remember how it works. What it’s for. Who it belongs to.”

> “It’s yours,” I said softly.

> “Is it? Then why do I feel like someone’s trying to take it away from me?”

He looked at me now. Really looked.

> “You showed up. You told me who I was. You gave me something real. Even if I don’t remember it.”

He pushed a folder across the table.

I opened it.

It was full of papers. Bank accounts. Contracts. And a list of names.

One was circled.

> “Who’s this?” I asked.

> “My cousin,” he said. “Jonas Vale. He handles most of the company now. Said I gave him permission to act while I was gone.”

> “Do you trust him?”

> “No.”

That one word felt heavy.

> “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

Elijah stood.

Walked to the window.

Hands in his pockets.

> “Be with me,” he said.

I blinked.

> “What?”

> “Publicly. Like before. Like we’re still married. Like I didn’t vanish for three years.”

I laughed, but it wasn’t happy.

> “You want to pretend?”

> “Yes.”

I stared at him.

> “Elijah, I loved you. I grieved you. This wasn’t pretend for me.”

He turned, and for the first time, I saw something in his face that almost looked like guilt.

> “I know,” he said. “And I don’t expect you to feel the same now. I just need help. I need someone real next to me. Someone who doesn’t lie.”

I looked down.

My fingers touched the edge of the folder again.

> “And when this is over?” I asked.

> “We go our separate ways.”

That hurt.

But maybe I deserved that.

Or maybe I just couldn’t say no.

Not to him.

Not again.

> “Fine,” I said.

> “Fine?”

> “I’ll pretend.”

He nodded once.

> “We’ll start tomorrow.”

That night, I sat in a hotel bed with the folder in my lap. I looked through it again.

Names. Numbers. Property.

Secrets.

Someone wanted him gone.

And someone lied to me for three years.

They buried an empty box and told me to move on.

And I believed them.

Now Elijah was back.

But not the man I loved.

This one was different.

Harder. Colder.

And I didn’t know if I could love him again.

Or if pretending would break me even more.

But one thing was clear.

Someone out there didn’t want Elijah Vale to remember who he really was.

And I was going to find out why.