All Chapters of Chasing my Bestfriend × Lover: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

ADRIAN'S POV The days bled then into weeks. Life in Norway settled into a rhythm, a far cry from the chaotic blank canvas I woke up to after the hypnotherapy went sideways. Luckily, Gayle was there. She was a constant, a brightly colored thread woven through the tapestry of my new life. And yes, she was a princess. Princess Gayle of Elyria, to be exact. I still couldn't quite wrap my head around it. "You look troubled, Gabe," she said one evening, her voice cutting through my melancholic reverie. We were in her ridiculously opulent living room, a space that still felt alien to me. I was sprawled on a plush velvet couch, while she perched gracefully on an ornate chair, a half-finished sketchpad in her lap. "Just… thinking," I mumbled, avoiding her gaze. "About the life I can't remember. About… everything." She sighed softly and set aside her sketchpad. "It's okay to feel that way, you know. It's a huge thing to lose so much of yourself." "I know, I know. It's just… frustrating. I

ADRIAN'S POVGabe. A name foreign to me. It is myself before the hypnotherapy wants to call me. At least, it is now. Before, apparently, it was Adrian. It’s been a year since I landed in Norway, a year of crisp air, stunning fjords, and a life pieced back together from fragments. Six months since the hypnotherapy that was supposed to help me recover from… something. Ten years of memories, gone. Erased. Poof.I haven't pushed to get them back. There’s a reason my brain locked them away, a protective mechanism, I figured. Best to leave sleeping dogs lie, right? Except… the hollowness. It’s always there, a low thrumming ache in my chest, a feeling of incompleteness that no amount of Norwegian waffles or midnight sun can quite fill."He's gone, Adrian! Finally!" Gayle was practically bouncing off the sofa in her living room, her dark curls a chaotic halo around her head. "Dr. Olsen is gone! Fired! Lawsuit pending! Maybe even a revoked license! Can you believe it?"I grinned, the genuine r

DAMIEN'S POV The chill Paris air hit me like a slap the second I stepped out of Charles de Gaulle. The International Medical Expo. Just the name felt heavy, laden with expectations and… emptiness. It was the day before the main event, and the city buzzed in that frantic, stylish way only Paris could manage.I scanned the familiar surroundings. It was my third time here. The first, a lifetime ago, was a blur of childish wonder with Adrian clinging to my arm as we rode that damn carousel. His face, lit up with simple joy, the sound of his laughter… A pang of something sharp and agonizing twisted in my chest. The second… that was a mistake. A drunken hookup with a woman after a long conference day, while Adrian held down the fort back home. I still shudder at the memory of finding him pale and feverish in our penthouse, sick, overworked, and alone.Now? Now Adrian wasn’t here. And he never would be again.I heaved a sigh, the Parisian air doing little to lighten the weight on my chest,

DAMIEN'S POVMy heart hammered in my chest, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. It had been over a year, a desolate, agonizing year, since I’d last heard his name, since I’d last seen his face. A year I’d spent drowning in guilt and grief, believing him gone forever. But then, this morning, a mundane attendance sheet for a medical conference – of all things – had smacked me in the face with a name and a signature that ripped open old wounds and ignited a sliver of impossible hope: Adrian Gabriel Raines.I couldn’t believe it. Could it be him? The thought was a dangerous spark, threatening to ignite a forest fire of emotions I wasn't ready to confront. Still, I clung to it, a desperate man to a life raft. I had arrived early, staking out a prime spot near the grand entrance of the main hall, my eyes scanning every single person who stepped through the ornate double doors. The sheer volume of participants, a swirling tide of eager medics and researchers, made it a Sisyphean task. Faces

ADRIAN'S POVThe applause was a physical weight, pressing down on me, threatening to buckle my knees. I stood on the brightly lit stage, a microphone still clutched in my hand, the projected slides of Ingrid’s groundbreaking research glowing behind me. “Thank you,” I managed, my voice a little hoarse, but the words were lost in the roar. Faces blurred in the auditorium, a sea of smiles and outstretched hands.My chest tightened with a familiar anxiety. This wasn’t my work, not truly. I was merely the messenger, the conduit for Ingrid’s genius, which now, sadly, resided in a hospital bed. She had slipped on the hotel stairs this morning, a nasty fall that had landed her in emergency, just hours before her most anticipated presentation. As her lead researcher and, more importantly, her friend, I’d stepped in. The presentation, meticulously prepared by Ingrid, flowed effortlessly, her passion and brilliance shining through every slide, every data point. I had simply narrated it, adding