CHAPTER 5 — THE AMNESIA

LEANDER POV

THREE DAYS LATER

I woke up to white ceiling tiles and the scent of ocean air.

The memories came in fragments, pain, blood, rain. A soft voice promising safety. But no name. No identity. Just space where my life should be.

Panic rose in my chest.

I tried to sit up, but my body screamed in protest. My ribs and stomach rejected every movement.

"Easy now." A firm hand pressed against my shoulder. An older man with silver hair and military bearing appeared in my line of sight. "You've been unconscious for three days. Your body needs time to heal."

Three days.

I slumped back against the pillows and looked around. Bandages wrapped my torso, an IV line ran into my arm, monitors beeped steadily. Outside the window, I saw a fishing village, boats in a harbor, weathered buildings, the ocean.

None of it looked familiar.

"I'm Enrie Mirei," the older man said, pulling up a chair. "My son and I found you collapsed near our village three nights ago. You were in a rough shape, stab wound, broken ribs, head injury. You're lucky to be alive."

Lucky.

The word felt wrong.

"Do you remember what happened?" Enrie asked carefully.

I reached for it. Found only sharp, broken pieces.

Darkness. Angry voices. Hands are grabbing me. The taste of blood. Sharp pain burning in my gut. Cold rain on my skin. Running, but my legs give out. Crawling through mud toward distant lights.

But there was no context. No faces. No reason why.

"What's your name?" Enrie asked quietly.

I opened my mouth to answer.

Nothing came.

I searched for my identity, something that should have been automatic. Instead, I found only a blank space where something vital should be.

My chest tightened. The monitor beeped faster.

"I don't know." The admission tasted like ash.

"Do you remember where you're from? Your family? Your job?"

I shut my eyes and tried to force the memories back. Instead, I got flashes: polished marble floors, a night skyline through big windows, men in expensive suits inside a boardroom.

A cold, detached voice. Maybe my own.

"You broke the contract. Now I own the company as we agreed."

A woman cried and begged. 'Please, my children, they're seven and nine, Mr. Voss.

I'm a single mother. I need this job. I could see her face with horrible clarity, middle-aged, tears streaking mascara, hands clasped like prayer. And I heard my own voice, cold as winter:

You should have thought about your children before you violated the non-compete clause. Security will escort you out.

"That's not my problem."

But I didn't…I never…

"Your lawyer can argue that in court. You signed the contract. I'm enforcing it. We're done here"

The memory made me sick.

My eyes snapped open. The monitor started beeping really fast.

"Breathe," Enrie commanded, his voice calm but firm. "Don't force it. Pushing too hard can make traumatic amnesia worse."

Amnesia felt too clinical. It couldn't describe the terrifying, empty hole where my own identity should be.

"How long until I remember?"

"It might be days. Maybe weeks." Enrie didn't look away. "Could be longer. Or those memories might never come back."

The thought hit me like a punch.

"The police will want to talk to you eventually," Enrie said. "But the storm wrecked the coastal road. No one's getting in or out for at least another day. We're isolated for now."

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"You need a place to recover. My son and I run the Seaview Inn here in Cliffhaven. You can move there once Dr. Len approves. We'll give you a room, food, and medical care. When you're stronger, you'll work to earn your stay. Does that sound fair?"

"Why would you do that? You don't know me. I could be anyone. I could be dangerous."

"You need help and we can give it," Enrie said simply. "But we're not a charity. You pull your weight when you're able."

"I accept. Thank you."

Enrie nodded. "You need a name. Can't be 'the stranger forever."

I looked down at my bandaged hands. They felt like a stranger's hands, strong and calloused with old knuckle scars that suggested violence.

"Do you have any suggestions?"

"Shen," Enrie said quietly. It means "cautious" in Chinese. That fits someone in your situation. Let's use Ross for a last name."

"Shen Ross."I tested the syllables. They felt foreign on my tongue, wrong. Like wearing a borrowed coat that didn't fit right in the shoulders, functional, but not mine.

But then again, nothing felt like mine anymore. Not my face in the mirror. Not my own hands. Not the fragments of memories that played like someone else's nightmares. 'It'll do,' I said finally. Enrie nodded.

A fresh start, then.

“A fresh start. The words should have felt hopeful. Instead, they felt like an ending."

"Try to get some rest. Dr. Len visits later today. If you're doing okay, we'll move you to the inn tomorrow."

Enrie stood to leave, then paused. "One more thing. There are people looking for you. Two men came to the village asking questions. We told them nothing, but they're persistent. When your memory returns, we'll need to know what kind of trouble is following you."

My blood went cold. "What did you tell them?"

"That we haven't seen anyone matching your description. But they're offering money, and money talks in a poor village. We bought you time, not safety. Remember that."

He left before I could respond.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together who I was from the fragments I had. The expensive watch on my wrist. The tailored tuxedo I'd been wearing. The flash of memory showing boardrooms and broken contracts and a woman begging for her job.

I didn't like the picture those pieces created.

That afternoon, I sat up in bed, staring at the small TV mounted on the wall. I needed a distraction, anything to fill the silence and the maddening blankness in my head.

The news flickered to life mid-broadcast. A woman's serious face filled the screen.

"Continuing our coverage of the disappearance of billionaire CEO Leander Voss, missing since Thursday night's charity gala where he was last seen accepting the 'Most Innovative CEO Under 35' award. Authorities are investigating what they're calling suspicious circumstances. His family has offered a five-million-dollar reward for information leading to his safe return."

The screen cut to a photo.

A man in a tuxedo stood on a stage, holding a crystal award. Cold blue eyes stared directly at the camera with absolute confidence, with a sharp jawline. Dark hair styled perfectly.

The face looked exactly like my reflection.

My hands went numb.

The soup bowl slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor, porcelain scattering across tiles like shrapnel.

The news anchor kept talking, oblivious to my unraveling, and disappeared following Thursday night's charity gala, where he was last seen accepting…

Thursday night.Three days ago. The same night I woke up bleeding in the mud, authorities investigating suspicious circumstances surrounding the disappearance of the CEO of Voss Industries, one of the largest, My chest constricted. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think.

That man on the screen, sharp-eyed, confident, holding a crystal award like he owned the world, that was supposed to be me?

No.

No, that was wrong. That man looked like a stranger, cold and calculating. The kind of person who'd fire a single mother without flinching, who'd destroy competitors without mercy, who'd…

Who'd what? Deserve to be kidnapped and stabbed and left for dead?

My vision blurred. The room tilted.

Shen? Enrie's voice came from far away. 'What's wrong?

I couldn't answer. Couldn't form words.

The broadcast continued: Family members describe Voss as a dedicated CEO who never missed board meetings. His sudden disappearance has sent shockwaves through…

I lunged for the remote and killed the power.

Silence crashed down like a physical weight.

Enrie stood in the doorway, taking in my expression, the shattered bowl, the blank TV screen.

You saw something, he said quietly. Not a question.

I opened my mouth. I closed it. What was I supposed to say?" That man on TV had my face but I don't remember being him?"

I... My voice cracked. I don't know.

Enrie studied me for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and began picking up the broken porcelain, his movements careful and deliberate.

“The mind protects itself sometimes, " he said without looking up.”Hides things that are too painful to face all at once. Memory comes back when you're ready for it.”

What if I'm never ready?

Then you build a new life with what you have now.

I stared at my hands, hands that knew how to wield a knife with professional precision, hands that had apparently signed contracts and destroyed careers and built empires.

Hands that had also held Avelin's wrist with desperate need three days ago.

Which version was real?

I need...I swallowed hard. I need some air.

Enrie nodded. Don't go far. And Shen. He finally met my eyes. "Whatever you saw on that screen, you don't have to be that person anymore. Not if you don't want to be."

But that wasn't how it worked, was it?

You couldn't just decide to stop being someone.

Could you?