Chapter 2: The Lie I Choose

Detective Mara Singh doesn’t blink.  

“Your car was seen on traffic cam following Mr. Kade’s vehicle at 1:42 a.m. Twenty minutes before the crash. Brake lines were cut.”  

Her words land in the quiet of Room 7 like a flatline. 

The only sound is the vent, hissing for Roman, and the sudden roar of blood in my ears.  

Roman’s fingers are still wrapped around mine. He doesn’t understand. 

His blue eyes search my face, confused by the tension that just flooded the room. He thinks I’m safe. He thinks we’re safe.  

“Detective,” I say, and my voice is steadier than I feel. “I was on shift at 11. I didn’t leave until now.”  

“Can anyone verify that?” Singh asks. She isn’t cruel. She’s just certain.  

Maggie was at the desk. Cameras are in the halls. 

But I drove past Westbridge at 1:30 a.m. I’d forgotten my badge. I doubled back. I saw Roman’s car at the light on 5th and Cedar. I didn’t follow him. I just looked. 

For one second, I let myself wonder where the boy who ruined my life was going at one in the morning.  

I didn’t know it was the last time I’d see him whole.  

“I’ll check the logs,” I tell her.  

Singh nods once. “Don’t leave the city, Ms. Monroe.” She glances at Roman. “He’s awake. That changes things.”  

She leaves. The door clicks shut.  

Roman exhales, and it rattles through the tube. His grip tightens. 

“Who was that?”  

“A detective,” I say. “You were in an accident. She’s asking questions.”  

His brow furrows. Confusion flickers, then fear. “Are you in trouble?”  

The question guts me. 

Ten years ago, Roman Kade watched me get shoved into lockers and laughed. Now he’s in a hospital bed, wired and broken, and his first thought is me.  

Amnesia is cruel. Or maybe it’s merciful.  

“No,” I lied. “You rest. The doctor will be in soon.”  

I try to pull my hand away. He doesn’t let go. 

His thumb brushes my knuckle, clumsy from drugs and weakness, but deliberate. My heart betrays me and stutters.  

“You’re shaking,” he whispers. 

I’m not. He is. But I don’t correct him. Because for the first time, Roman Kade is touching me without hurting me. And I don’t know what to do with that.  

A nurse knocks. “Isla? Legal needs you to sign the proxy forms. Now that he’s conscious.”  

I slide my hand free. Roman makes a sound of protest, low and wounded. It follows me out of the room.  

The consequences hit before noon.  

Julian Kade arrives with two lawyers and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. I’ve seen him on the news. Boardroom shark. Kade Technologies acting CEO since Roman’s father died.  

“Ms. Monroe,” he says in the family waiting area. “I understand you’re in a difficult position.”  

“You’re not family,” I say.  

“Neither are you,” one lawyer cuts in. “Not really. A Vegas stunt at eighteen? We’ll file to avoid it. Mr. Kade needs proper care, not a...”  

“Nurse?” I finished for him. “I’m the only reason he’s alive right now.”  

Julian holds up a hand. His signet ring catches the light. It’s the same one Roman’s father wore in every photo. 

“We’re concerned about undue influence. A comatose man wakes up to find his high school acquaintance has medical control. It looks bad.”  

“It is bad,” I say. “For whoever cut his brakes.”  

Julian’s smile doesn’t move. But something behind his eyes does. 

“Be careful, Ms. Monroe. Grief makes people imagine things. Sign the proxy over. We’ll ensure Roman gets the best care. Private facility. Discretion.”  

Discretion. Meaning no one sees what happens to him.  

“Get out,” I say.  

They do. But Julian pauses at the door. 

“You were always in his way, weren’t you? Even in high school. Some things don’t change.”  

The threat is quiet. That makes it worse.  

I go back to Rome because I don’t know where else is safe.  

He’s awake. More alert. The tube is out, voice raw but his. 

A speech therapist is with him, making notes. She leaves when I enter.  

He tracks me across the room. Like I’m the only thing that makes sense.  

“Your uncle was here,” I say.  

He frowns. “Julian? I don’t…” He presses his fingers to his temple. “Headache. But I don’t like him. Do I?”  

“No,” I say before I can stop myself. “You don’t.”  

His mouth quirks. It’s not quite a smile. It’s the ghost of one. 

And it hits me harder than it should, because the Roman I knew at seventeen never smiled at me unless someone else was getting hurt.  

“Come here,” he says. It’s not an order. It’s a request. Rough. Unsure.  

I should chart. I should call Singh. I should do anything but walk to his bed.  

I go to him.  

He lifts his hand again. This time I take it before he has to reach. His palm is scraped, his IV tugs, but his fingers curl around mine like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.  

“Did we fight?” he asks. “Before this? You look at me like you’re waiting for me to be mean.”  

My throat burns. “We did.”  

“Did I hurt you?”  

Yes. The word is right there. But his eyes are open and honest and seventeen, and if I say yes, I lose this version of him. The one who looks at me like I’m worth saving.  

“You protected me,” I say. 

It’s not a lie. Not entirely. Not in Vegas. 

Something eases in his face. He lifts our joined hands and presses his lips to my knuckles. It’s brief. Chapped. Devastating.  

I forget how to breathe. 

Because Roman Kade never kissed me. He tripped me. He told people I cried to get attention. He made sure no one sat with me at lunch for a year.  

He doesn’t remember any of it.  

And I’m kissing his fingers back before I think. Just a brush. A thank you for a kindness he doesn’t know he never gave me. A promise I never got to make at seventeen.  

His eyes darken. Not with cruelty. With something else. Something that pulls low in my stomach and terrifies me.  

“Isla,” he says, my name like a prayer he just remembered.  

Then the monitor screams.  

His heart rate spikes. 140. 150. His face goes white. He gasps, grabbing his chest.  

“Roman?” I drop his hand and hit the code button. “Hey. Look at me. Breathe.”  

Nurses flood in. Dr. Patel pushes me aside. “V-tach. Get the crash cart!”  

I’m shoved to the wall as they work. Chest compressions. “Clear!” The sound of his body jolting.  

This is my job. I run codes. I stay calm. 

But my hands are finally shaking, because I lied to him. I let him kiss my hand. I kissed him back. And now he’s dying again.  

They get him back after ninety seconds. Ninety seconds that take ten years off my life.  

Dr. Patel turns to me, sweat on her brow. “Stress induced. The amnesia, the waking up... it’s too much. No more visitors. No more strain. Including you, Monroe.”  

“He’s my...”  

“Patient,” she finishes. “And you’re too close. I’m pulling you from his case.”  

The floor drops out. If I’m not on his case, I can’t protect him. Julian will file. He’ll win. Roman will be moved, and no one will see when he doesn’t wake up next time.  

I find Singh in the hall. 

“My car was at Westbridge at 1:42. Check the garage cam. I swiped in at 1:50. I never left the lot.”  

She studies me. “I will. But Monroe? Someone accessed his chart at 3:00 a.m. From inside the hospital. Before you signed the proxy.”  

Ice slides down my spine. “Who?”  

“We don’t know. Login was masked. But they looked at neuro, meds, and next of kin.”  

Someone knew he was here. Knew I’d be a proxy. Before Legal even told me.  

I go back to Room 7. Roman is sedated again. Pale. Lost. 

I shouldn’t touch him. I do anyway. I brush his hair off his forehead, and my fingers catch on a scar by his hairline. Thin. Silver. Old.  

I don’t remember that scar.  

I pull his chart from the terminal. I’m not on his case anymore, but I still have access for five minutes before they revoke it. I scroll to surgical history.  

Date: August 13, ten years ago. Procedure: Suture of laceration, scalp. Note: Patient reported assault. Declined to file a report.  

August 13. The day after Vegas. 

Roman Kade was assaulted the day after he married me to protect me.  

And he never told anyone.  

The door opens. It’s not a nurse.  

It’s a man in orderly scrubs. I’ve never seen him. He’s holding a syringe. No tray. No med label.  

He looks at me, then at Roman. “Time for his meds,” he says.  

Roman doesn’t have meds due.  

The man steps closer.