Chapter Five

Adrian’s POV

When I wake, the world smells like bleach and silence.

The light is wrong—too white, too soft. Not morning sunlight. The faint hum of machines fills the air. The ceiling is lower, the walls too clean, too empty.

This isn’t the hospital room I remember.

I push myself up slowly, my head heavy, throat dry as if I’ve been asleep for days.

“Good morning, Mr. Wolfe.”

A nurse stands at the foot of the bed. She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her nametag reads Clara.

“Where am I?” I ask.

“You’re safe,” she says gently. “This is a private recovery facility your mother arranged. You had some confusion at the hospital, so she thought you’d be more comfortable here.”

My chest tightens. “Confusion?”

She nods. “You’ve been mixing up names and memories. Completely normal after trauma.”

“And the hospital? Why was I moved?”

She glances at her clipboard. “For privacy. The media was starting to get curious.”

Her tone sounds rehearsed, too smooth to be true.

I try to remember the last thing before I blacked out—a garden, Victoria shouting, and a voice, warm and familiar.

Then let me help you find it.

Noah.

I grip the blanket, the name sharp in my mind. “There was someone with me. A man.”

Clara looks up. “A man?”

“Yes. Dark hair, brown eyes. He said his name was…”

I pause. The name is right there, but my tongue feels heavy.

“I… I can’t remember.”

She nods sympathetically. “That’s okay. You need rest, not stress. I’ll let Dr. Hale know you’re awake.”

Before I can stop her, she’s gone.

Silence floods the room. My head throbs. I press my fingers to my temples, dragging the name out of the fog. Noah. It feels right—but the harder I hold onto it, the faster it slips away.

The door opens again. My mother walks in.

She looks flawless, as always—cream suit, perfect hair, unreadable expression. “You’re awake. Good.”

“Where am I?” I ask again.

“A place where you’ll get better,” she says simply.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me we were moving?”

“You were sedated. It was necessary.”

I stare at her. “Why?”

She sighs. “Because you were confused. You were talking about things that never happened.”

“Like what?”

She sits on the edge of the bed. Her perfume fills the air—familiar and suffocating.

“You kept insisting you were married,” she says.

My heart stutters. “I am.”

Her lips tighten. “Adrian, you’re not married. You’ve been through a lot. You lost someone important, and your mind is trying to fill that emptiness with stories.”

“That’s not true.”

She takes my hand. “You’ve always been emotional, even as a boy. But this isn’t real.”

I pull my hand away. “Don’t treat me like a child.”

“I’m not. I’m treating you like a man who nearly died and needs help.”

Her voice is soft—but every word feels calculated.

“I remember him,” I say firmly. “His face. His voice.”

Her gaze hardens. “Dreams can feel real. Grief does strange things to the brain.”

Grief. The word twists in my stomach.

“Then why can’t I remember his name?” I whisper.

“Because he doesn’t exist,” she says.

I stare at her. “You’re lying.”

“Adrian—”

“No.” My voice cracks. “You’re lying.”

Her calm doesn’t falter. “I’ll send Dr. Hale in. He can explain more.”

She stands and leaves before I can speak again.

I want to follow her, but when I swing my legs off the bed, dizziness hits like a wave. My body feels sluggish, weak.

Something’s wrong.

Maybe they’re giving me something.

I sit still, trying to steady my breathing, when I notice something on the bedside table—a framed photograph.

It’s me. And a woman I’ve never seen before.

She’s smiling, leaning against me like we belong together.

My blood runs cold.

I pick up the frame, staring at it. “What the hell…”

The door opens again. A man in a white coat walks in—mid-forties, gray hair, kind smile.

“Mr. Wolfe. I’m Dr. Hale. How are you feeling today?”

I set the frame down. “Where did that picture come from?”

He glances at it. “Your mother brought it. She said it might help you reconnect with reality.”

“That’s not my wife.”

He gives me a look of calm concern. “Your mind’s been through a trauma, Adrian. False memories can be vivid. Sometimes the brain merges real people with imagined ones.”

“She’s the one lying to me,” I say, voice rising. “There was someone else. Someone real.”

He sits across from me. “Then tell me about him.”

I hesitate. “He… made me feel human. Like I wasn’t just a name on paper. He laughed when I forgot to eat. Argued with me when I worked too late. He…”

I stop, swallowing hard.

Dr. Hale watches me. “And what was his name?”

My throat burns. I can almost hear it. Noah.

But when I try to say it, nothing comes out.

“See?” he says gently. “It’s okay. The mind fills in blanks when it’s scared.”

“No,” I whisper. “He’s real.”

He smiles that patient-doctor smile that makes me feel small. “You’ll see things clearly soon. For now, rest.”

When he leaves, I just sit there, staring at the photo until my vision blurs.

I don’t trust my mother. I don’t trust this place.

But deep down, I know one thing—someone’s missing.

Someone who feels like home.

⸻

That night, I can’t sleep. The clock ticks too loudly. The IV in my arm itches. Around midnight, I hear footsteps in the hallway.

I close my eyes and stay still.

Whispered voices drift in.

“…the sedatives are working. He’s calmer now.”

“He asked about the man again.”

Then my mother’s voice—quiet, sharp.

“Increase the dosage. If he keeps remembering, we’ll lose him completely.”

My chest turns cold.

I wait until they leave, then pull the IV from my arm. The sting barely registers.

The corridor is dim, the air thick with disinfectant. Every door looks the same.

At the end of the hall, I find a glass window. Outside—trees, high fences.

This isn’t a hospital.

It’s a prison in disguise.

I’m about to turn back when I hear it.

A voice.

“Adrian?”

I freeze.

It’s faint, but I hear it again—soft, urgent.

“Adrian…”

I spin around, searching the shadows. “Who’s there?”

No answer.

But I know I didn’t imagine it.

Because that voice—the one threading through the silence—doesn’t belong to a dream.

It belongs to the man they’re trying to erase.

Noah.

My heart races. I press my hand to the cold wall and whisper into the dark,

“I’ll find you. Whatever they’re doing, I’ll find you.”