All Chapters of Remember me naked: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

AlexandreA dull noise. Then another. A heavy beat in my ears. As if my own heart were pounding against my temples to remind me that I am still here. Then a smell: the acrid scent of disinfectant, the iron of dried blood, the artificial sweetness of oxygen that fails to fill my lungs.I float between two waters. My eyes want to open, but my eyelids are sealed, heavy as if sewn shut. My body is numb, a prisoner of forced sleep. I feel the needles, the bandages, the tubes that prevent me from moving.When a sliver of light finally breaks through, the world assaults me with a white too violent. Regular beeping marks my survival. Each breath feels like a bite in my chest. My side burns: the wound, the bullet. The operation. My body remembers before my mind does.Then everything comes flooding back. The party. The screams. The hooded men. Lyra taken from us. Lucas wounded. Tania screaming. My own blood on my fingers.A word tears from my lips before I can think.— LYRA!The voice is hoarse

AlexandreThe staff makes their rounds. A nurse enters, checks the IVs, asks me if I need anything. I shake my head. She leaves, murmuring a "good evening" that floats like an unnecessary blessing. When the door closes again, I feel the solitude densify. It is in this solitude that I forge my first decisions: it will not be the police alone who will lead this quest. Too many shadows, too many expectations. But I do not say "I will take revenge" as an impulsive cry; I tell myself "I will understand" and "I will protect." Between these two verbs lies the distance I am willing to cross.I think of Tania. Of the strength contained in her hands that held me just now. Of the way she said, without hesitation, that she would go all the way. She is not just a calming presence: she becomes a relay, a conscience that brings me back when rage would push me forward. I can already imagine her, the night to come, standing in front of a board, gathering calls, interrogating faces, doing what the poli

AlexandreThe acrid smell of disinfectants clings to my throat. Each breath reminds me of the burn of my bandaged ribs, the bursts of pain in my leg. The pale light of the hospital room knows neither day nor night. Everything blurs into a feverish wakefulness, a waking nightmare where Lyra disappears with every heartbeat.When the door opens, I first think it's a nurse. But the silhouette that steps over the threshold is anything but reassuring: dark suit, coat folded over the arm, piercing gaze. Lieutenant Moreau.He advances not as a visitor, but as a judge. His eyes scan the room, then fixate on me.— Mr. Delcourt, he says in a low but firm voice. We need to talk.He pulls out a chair and sits near my bed. His black notebook appears immediately, like a silent weapon. Every gesture is precise, methodical.— You were present during the abduction. You were injured. Your timeline is clear. But I am not here for that. I want to understand who would have an interest in striking like this

Lyra's MotherTime had stopped since my daughter's abduction. Each hour sounded like a suspended condemnation, each silence resonated like a betrayal. I lived in this house turned mausoleum, where every room reminded me of her absence: a scarf forgotten on a chair, a cup left in the kitchen, her scent still clinging to the sheets.When Lieutenant Moreau asked to see us, I knew it was not to bring us deliverance. His face already said too much as he crossed the threshold: taut pallor, clenched jaw, gaze fixed straight ahead, like a doctor announcing a verdict.He sat down in the living room. My husband, with a calm facade, crossed his arms to contain his trembling. I remained standing, unable to sit, as if sitting would mean giving in.— Tell us, lieutenant, I said. But tell us everything.His voice was measured at first. Too measured.— I reopened the Cassandre file. You knew she had been incarcerated.I nodded. How could I forget? Cassandre, the constant threat, the sickly shadow aro

Jack On Monday morning, I woke up with a sense of unease I couldn’t explain. A single weekend without hearing from her had been enough for anxiety to creep in. I knew it didn't make sense. She was independent; she had her own life. But this feeling of emptiness, of silence, was overwhelming me in an unbearable way. I had tried to reach her all weekend, between calls and messages. But each time, her phone was off, with no response. With every attempt, a little frustration had built up, gradually turning into growing anxiety. And this morning, I had woken up with that weight, that heavy emptiness in my chest.I wasn’t the type to be overly dependent or worry without reason. But there was something about this situation that was unsettling me. I picked up my phone, hoping for a notification, a message. But no, nothing. No messages, no calls. There was only silence. I put my phone down, a little frustrated, and got up. I walked to the window, trying to distract my mind. The morning light