Chapter Three

Adrian’s POV

“You shouldn’t have come.”

That’s what I told him, but even I didn’t believe it.

Now his voice keeps echoing in my head like a song I can’t forget: You loved me. You still do. You just don’t remember how.

Every word sits heavy in my chest.

It’s been two days since they dragged him out of my room. I should feel relief — that’s what my mother expected — but all I feel is noise. Memories that don’t exist. Emotions that don’t belong to the life I remember.

I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the photo he left — the one of us by the lake.

I’ve tried to throw it away three times. Each time, my hand froze.

He’s sitting beside me in the picture, smiling wide, head resting on my shoulder.

I look… happy. Not the practiced kind of smile I wear at galas or board meetings.

This one is real. Unfamiliar.

I don’t recognize the version of me in that photo.

The door opens. My mother steps in, her perfume arriving before she does — strong, expensive, suffocating.

“Still staring at that?” she says with a frown. “You should throw it out.”

“I’m not ready to,” I answer quietly.

“Ready for what, darling? To let go of a stranger?”

I look up at her. “He’s not a stranger to me.”

She smiles thinly. “He’s a liar. That’s what he is.”

I rub my temples, exhaustion pressing down on me. “He knew things, Mother. Things only I could’ve told him.”

Her heels click against the tile as she walks closer. “People like him study you, Adrian. You’re a public figure. He probably researched you for years before pulling this stunt.”

“Then why come here? Why risk being thrown out?”

“Because you’re rich,” she says flatly. “And vulnerable.”

I almost believe her. Almost.

But there’s something about the way Noah looked at me — the way his voice cracked when he said my name. You can’t fake that.

My mother reaches out, brushing my hand. “Forget him, Adrian. Focus on what matters. You have a company to run, a family name to protect.”

Her touch feels like ice. I pull my hand away. “I don’t even remember the last two years of my life, Mother. How do I protect anything when I don’t even know who I’ve been?”

Her expression doesn’t change. “Then maybe it’s better you don’t remember.”

That makes me look up sharply. “What does that mean?”

She turns to the window, her reflection sharp against the city lights. “Some memories are poison. You’re lucky this accident gave you a clean slate. Use it.”

I study her. “You sound like you wanted me to forget.”

Her lips curve, almost fond. “Sometimes forgetting is a gift.”

She leaves before I can respond.

Silence swallows the room.

I stare at the photo again — Noah’s smile, my hand around his waist. There’s something familiar in the way I’m holding him. Protective. Almost possessive.

And then, just for a moment, I see it —

Rain. Laughter. His hand in mine.

Then nothing.

The nurse, Teresa, steps in to check my IV. She’s kind, gentle. When she notices the picture, she hesitates.

“He came back for you, didn’t he?”

I nod slowly. “You saw him?”

She glances at the door, lowering her voice. “He left before Mrs. Wolfe found him again. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“Did he say anything else?”

She smiles faintly. “Only that he hoped you’d remember how you take your coffee.”

That makes me pause. “What?”

“Black with honey. Not sugar. He said you always claimed it tasted like mornings.”

I don’t remember ever saying that. But suddenly, I can taste it — bitterness and warmth. His laughter across the table.

It hits me so hard I have to grab the side of the bed.

“Mr. Wolfe, are you alright?”

I nod quickly. “Yes. Just… dizzy.”

After she leaves, I pull out my phone and open my notes. I start writing everything I know — or think I know — about Noah.

Noah Reyes.

Architect. Kind eyes. Soft voice. Married to me?

Knows about my scar. My coffee. The boat accident.

Feels familiar.

Then I remember something Damian said the first day: “You get married and forget to tell your family?”

Why would I hide something like that? Unless… I had a reason.

I call Nathan, my COO — loyal, sharp, always knows more than he says.

When he answers, his tone is cautious. “Adrian. You shouldn’t be making business calls yet.”

“I’m not calling about work,” I say. “I need to ask you something.”

“Go ahead.”

“Two years ago, did I take time off? Maybe travel abroad?”

There’s a pause.

“Not that I recall,” he says finally.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

He’s lying. I can hear it in his voice.

“Nathan,” I press, “did I ever mention someone named Noah Reyes?”

Another pause. “No.”

But his hesitation gives him away.

Before I can push further, the line goes dead.

I stare at my phone. Every instinct I’ve sharpened through years of business and betrayal tells me something’s wrong.

My family. My company. Even Nathan.

They’re hiding something.

And somehow, that something is Noah.

That night, I can’t sleep. I get up, pacing the room, my body restless. Every time I close my eyes, flashes return — Noah’s face, his trembling voice: You still do.

Finally, I pull on my hospital robe and step into the hallway. It’s quiet, lights dimmed.

At the nurse’s station, Teresa looks up in surprise. “Mr. Wolfe, you shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“I need some air.”

She hesitates, then nods. “Five minutes. The garden’s open downstairs.”

The garden is small, tucked behind the hospital. The smell of wet earth fills the air. I sit on a bench, breathing in the cold night.

Then I hear footsteps.

I turn—and freeze.

Noah stands there, hood pulled up, hands in his pockets. His eyes meet mine, full of things I can’t name.

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

Finally, I say, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” he says softly. “But I couldn’t stay away.”

I look away. “You’re risking everything by coming back.”

He steps closer. “I already lost everything when you forgot me.”

The words cut deeper than I expect.

“You don’t understand,” I murmur. “They say you’re lying.”

“And do you believe that?”

“I don’t know.”

He nods slowly, pain flickering in his eyes. “Then let me help you remember.”

Before I can respond, he pulls something from his jacket — a thin black bracelet of leather and metal.

“You gave me this,” he says quietly. “You said it was your father’s. You said it meant strength.”

He places it in my palm. The moment I touch it, something inside me shifts.

Flashes again — his laughter, my hand slipping the bracelet onto his wrist, a kiss against his skin.

I gasp, pulling my hand back. The images vanish as quickly as they came.

Noah’s eyes widen. “You saw something, didn’t you?”

My heartbeat thunders. “I… I think I did.”

He smiles through tears. “Then it’s still there. You still have us in you.”

Before I can reply, voices echo from the hallway — my mother’s.

“Noah,” I hiss. “You have to go. She’ll—”

Too late. The garden door swings open. Victoria steps out, flanked by two guards.

Her voice is cold. “I warned you once.”

Noah turns to her. “He remembered something. You can’t stop that.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “Oh, darling, I can stop anything.”

Then her eyes find mine. Calm. Deliberate. “Adrian, tell them to take him out.”

I look between them. Noah’s eyes plead silently.

“Adrian,” my mother repeats, her tone sharp. “Now.”

My throat tightens. I open my mouth—

But the words that come out aren’t the ones I planned.

“No one touches him.”