Chapter 7

When the call ended, I was still on the bed.

The phone rested against my ear for a moment longer than necessary, as if I expected Rowan’s voice to return on its own, to soften what he had just said, or to take it back entirely. When nothing happened, I lowered my hand and stared at the screen until it went dark.

“You loved him very much.” It echoed in my head again.

The words did not sting. That was the strange part. They did not echo with grief or longing or the faint ache of what was lost, they settled in my chest quietly, like a statement that expected a response I could not provide.

Surprise came first, followed by something close to anticipation. My body leaned forward into the idea before my mind could catch up. Anxiety followed soon after, wrapped carefully in what felt almost like hope.

If I loved him, I would feel something.

I would wait for it.

I waited for a change in my breathing, for heat under my skin, for a sudden sadness I could not explain. I waited for my chest to tighten or my stomach to dip, for the sense of absence people described when they spoke about love that had ended badly.

But nothing happened.

The room did not change. The sound of the ocean remained steady through the open window. My hands did not shake, and my pulse did not race.

I told myself that memory was not a switch you flipped. That emotion did not always arrive on schedule. That love might surface later, once the context settled in.

Rowan called again not long after, as if he had sensed how unsettled I was.

“I should explain a little,” he said, his voice careful in a way that told me he had thought about this before dialing. “Not everything. Just enough so it doesn’t feel like a hole you’re staring into.”

I leaned back against the pillows and looked at the ceiling. “Okay, tell me.”

“You and Lucius knew each other when you were kids. Just like me,” he said. “Our families were close. Dinners that lasted too long. Vacations where everyone pretended they weren’t talking business.”

I could picture it easily. Long tables. Crystal glasses. Adults speaking in measured tones while children drifted between rooms, half ignored and half supervised.

“You liked him early,” Rowan went on. “Long before he noticed. You had a crush that followed you for years. You always tell me about him, and you would do silly things anytime they visit the mansion.”

“That sounds like me,” I said quietly.

He laughed once. “It was.”

“When your grandfather suggested a strategic marriage, you were excited,” he said. “Not because of the alliance. Because it meant Lucius.”

“So it started one sided,” I said.

“Yes,” he answered. “At first.”

There was a pause before he continued.

“You spent time together. Not forced, then it grows slowly. He became your first love.”

I listened closely, searching my body for any response that felt older than the moment. My heart beat faster, but it felt like a reaction rather than recognition, as if I were hearing a story about someone else and leaning in to understand it better.

After we hung up, I reached for my phone again.

Lucius Black.

The name looked heavier now that it carried history.

Images filled the screen. Sharp features. Dark hair kept precise. He smiled broadly. Every photograph felt intentional, as if nothing about him was ever left to chance.

Headlines followed quickly.

Global investments. Energy holdings. Strategic expansions across continents. One article mentioned he had recently finalized a major deal in Dubai. Another spoke about his ability to move markets with a single announcement.

Old money sat close to his name without being directly attached, like a shadow that never quite left the frame.

I studied his face longer this time, waiting for something to surface. A sense of familiarity. An attraction. Discomfort, even.

Still nothing responded.

The absence pressed in harder than any emotion would have.

That night, I kept reading.

Articles blurred into each other. Photos from conferences and galas. Mentions in society columns that tracked his movements as if they were weather patterns. I learned where he had studied, where he spent most of his time, and how often his name appeared beside words like brilliant and untouchable.

If I loved him, I would feel it eventually.

I repeated it like a promise I had not yet earned.

Curiosity grew instead.

It was not longing. It was not grief. It was something quieter and more unsettling, a sense that I was studying a stranger who was supposed to matter deeply to me.

Morning arrived quickly.

Mrs. Rowe helped me dress for the hospital, adjusting my coat and reminding me to eat something light afterward. Her presence was comforting in a way that did not demand conversation. Grandfather waited near the door, already prepared, his expression was calm.

In the car, as the gates opened and we pulled away from the estate, I asked for my laptop.

Grandfather glanced at me briefly before returning his attention to the road. “I kept it safe,” he said. “It’s in my room.”

I nodded. The delay felt intentional, but I did not question it.

The hospital rose ahead of us, clean and imposing, the Vanderbilt name etched into stone. As the car slowed, people were already waiting. Executives in white coats. Administrators holding tablets. Their posture shifted the moment they saw Grandfather.

“I’m not here for a meeting,” he said lightly as we stepped out. “I’m here with my child.”

Smiles followed. Space opened without effort as we moved inside.

The executive wing was quiet and private. The doctor spoke gently, his questions measured and unhurried.

“Where did you wake up,” he asked.

“In a hospital,” I said.

“Which hospital?”

The answer stayed lodged in my throat.

“Where have you been these past three years?”

I hesitated. The lie arrived fully formed, without rehearsal.

“Some people helped me,” I said. “I worked in a store.”

The doctor smiled faintly, amused. Grandfather laughed under his breath.

“A store,” he said. “My princess worked in a store.”

I did not correct it.

I did not know why I had said it. Only that something inside me insisted it stay that way.

The examination continued. Medication was prescribed. Follow up visits scheduled. No immediate danger was found.

On the drive home, grandfather asked about the people who had helped me.

“I would like to meet them,” he said. “To thank them properly.”

I smiled and agreed, careful with my words.

Back at the mansion, I surprised both of us by asking a question I had not planned.

“Can I keep my other life,” I asked.

He studied me for a long moment before nodding.

That night, he gave me my laptop.

I left his room and turned the corner.

Lucius Black was waiting.

He did not acknowledge grandfather. He did not hesitate. He crossed the space between us and pulled me into his arms, his grip firm and desperate. His mouth found mine without pause. Tears slid down his face as he held me close.

“I missed you,” he said against my hair. “I promise I’ll never let you go again.”

I waited for the memory, and feeling, yet nothing came.

The television behind us came to life.

Breaking news filled the screen.

Nathaniel Blackwood, CEO of NB Group, announces the acquisition of AstraVale Technologies.

Grandfather held the remote.

He smiled.

“That boy,” he said calmly. “He knows how to do business.”

My heart spiked violently.