Chapter 2: The Amnesia Act

Daisy didn't sleep.

She spent the night huddled in the corner of the enormous bed, her knees pulled to her chest, her eyes fixed on the door. Every creak of the old mansion made her flinch. Every shadow seemed to move. She was a prisoner in a gilded cage, and the bars were made of silk and lies.

Tomorrow, you will be my fiancée. Or you will be dead.

The man's words echoed in her head like a death sentence. She didn't even know his name. She only knew he was powerful, dangerous, and completely convinced she was someone else.

Someone who was missing.

Someone who might already be dead.

Daisy pressed her palms against her eyes and tried to breathe. Think. You're a smart woman. You can figure this out.

First thing: she needed information. Who was Valentina Rossi? Who was the man who thought he was her fiancé? And how could Daisy possibly convince anyone she was a woman she'd never met?

She slid off the bed and began to explore the room.

It was obscenely large—bigger than her entire apartment. A walk-in closet that could fit a small family. A bathroom with a marble bathtub that looked more like a swimming pool. A vanity covered in expensive perfumes and makeup she couldn't pronounce.

But it was the photos that caught her attention.

They lined the walls, framed in silver and gold. Photos of a beautiful woman with Daisy's face, always wearing designer clothes and a cold, empty smile. Photos of the man—her captor—always standing at a distance, never touching her, never looking at her.

There was no warmth in any of the images. No love.

Daisy picked up a photo of the two of them at what looked like a gala. She was dressed in red. He was in black. They stood stiffly, their hands barely touching, their faces masks of polite indifference.

Who were you, Valentina? And why did he never look at you like he meant it?

She set the photo down and moved to the closet. Rows and rows of designer clothes. Shoes that cost more than her rent. Handbags that probably cost more than her car.

And then she found it.

Tucked in the back of a drawer, hidden beneath a pile of cashmere sweaters, was a small leather journal. Daisy's heart pounded as she pulled it out. It was old, worn, the edges frayed.

She opened it, and her blood ran cold.

The first page was covered in jagged, furious handwriting. The words were barely legible, scratched into the paper with such force that the pen had torn through in places.

"He doesn't love me. He's never loved me. He sees me as a tool, a transaction, a way to unite the families. But I'll make him pay. I'll make them all pay."

Daisy flipped to the next page.

"I hate this life. I hate these people. I hate his cold eyes and his perfect suits and the way he looks at me like I'm nothing."

And then the next page, written in the same angry scrawl:

"If he won't love me, he'll fear me. I'll destroy everything he loves. I'll burn this empire to the ground. And when he's nothing, I'll be the one holding the matches."

Daisy's hands trembled. This woman was unhinged. Dangerous. Obsessed.

She flipped to the final page, and her breath caught.

There, in the center of the page, written in something that looked horrifyingly like dried blood, was a single sentence:

"He'll never love you. I'll make sure of it."

Daisy dropped the journal like it had burned her. It landed on the floor with a soft thud, the words staring up at her like a warning.

He'll never love you.

But who was the "you" in that sentence? Valentina? Or was it a threat directed at someone else?

Daisy didn't have time to think. The door flew open, and she spun around, her heart in her throat.

The man was back.

He was wearing a different suit—dark gray this time, equally impeccable. His hair was slightly damp, as if he'd just showered. He looked like a god of darkness, beautiful and terrifying.

"Up," he said, his voice flat. "You have two hours to become Valentina Rossi. I suggest you start now."

Daisy scrambled to her feet. "I—I don't know how to be her. I don't know anything about her. I don't know your name, I don't know where we are, I don't know anything."

The man's jaw tightened. "My name is Enzo," he said, and there was something heavy in the way he said it. "And you've been in New York for the last three years, living in this penthouse. You have no family. You have no friends. Your entire existence is tied to me."

"That's horrible," Daisy whispered. "That's not a life. That's a prison."

Something flickered in Enzo's ice-blue eyes. Surprise. Maybe even pain.

"Is that how you feel, Valentina?" he asked, his voice softer than she'd heard it before.

Daisy realized her mistake. She'd slipped. She'd spoken as herself, not as Valentina. But the question was genuine, and she couldn't lie in the face of it.

"I don't know how she felt," Daisy said carefully. "But I know how I would feel. If I was trapped in a life I didn't choose, with a man who looked at me like I was a business deal..." She shook her head. "I'd be miserable too."

Enzo stared at her for a long moment. Then he turned away, his shoulders stiff.

"Get dressed," he said, gesturing to the closet. "There's a meeting in two hours. The entire family will be there. You need to convince them you're the same woman who left two weeks ago."

"What if I don't want to convince them?" Daisy asked, her voice shaking. "What if I just want to go home?"

Enzo turned back to face her, and there was something terrifying in his eyes. Something desperate.

"Then you will die," he said simply. "Do you understand, Daisy Thorne? The people I'm asking you to fool are not kind. They're not forgiving. If they suspect you're an imposter, they will kill you. And I can't protect you if you don't play your part."

Daisy's throat tightened. "But you don't even know me. Why would you want to protect me?"

Enzo took a step closer. He was so tall that she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. His scent washed over her—expensive cologne, whiskey, and something underneath that was purely masculine.

"Because you're the first person in years who's looked at me like I'm human," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's worth protecting."

Daisy's heart stuttered. She couldn't tell if he was lying. She couldn't tell if any of this was real. All she knew was that she was trapped in a penthouse with a man who could kill her with his bare hands, and she couldn't stop thinking about the way his eyes had softened when she'd spoken.

This is Stockholm syndrome, she told herself fiercely. This is survival instinct. You don't know him. You don't love him.

But the thought felt like a lie.

"Fine," she said, her voice stronger than she felt. "I'll play your game. But I need to know everything about her. Every detail. Every secret."

Enzo nodded slowly. "Then listen carefully, Daisy Thorne. I'm going to teach you how to become a monster."

The hours that followed were a blur of information. Daisy learned that Valentina Rossi was the daughter of a rival crime family, promised to Enzo as part of a peace treaty. She was cold, cruel, manipulative, and fiercely ambitious. She hated everyone, including Enzo. She was obsessed with power. She wanted to rule.

And she'd been missing for two weeks.

"Why did she leave?" Daisy asked, her voice hoarse from trying to memorize everything.

Enzo's expression darkened. "I don't know. But I suspect it was planned. Valentina is a snake, Daisy. She's venomous. And if she's out there somewhere, she's not just hiding. She's plotting."

Daisy felt a chill run down her spine. "You think she's coming back?"

"I think she never left," Enzo said, and his voice was grim. "I think she's been watching this whole time. Waiting for the right moment to strike."

Daisy swallowed hard. "And if she does come back? What happens to me?"

Enzo's eyes met hers, and she saw something that made her chest ache.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I promise you one thing: I will not let her hurt you."

It was a promise he had no right to make. He barely knew her. She was nothing to him—just a pawn in his endless game of power and survival.

But Daisy found herself believing him anyway.

When she looked in the mirror for the first time, she barely recognized herself. Valentina's clothes. Valentina's makeup. Valentina's cold, calculating expression.

But underneath it all, Daisy was still there. The florist. The orphan. The woman who had spent her whole life being invisible.

She wasn't invisible anymore.

And that was the most terrifying thought of all.

"Is it time?" she asked, turning to face Enzo.

He nodded, his expression unreadable. "Remember, Daisy. You're Valentina now. Don't smile. Don't look at anyone. Don't be kind. Be cold. Be cruel. Be everything you're not."

Daisy squared her shoulders. "And what happens if I mess up?"

Enzo's eyes were like ice.

"Then we both die."