Todos los capítulos de She Writes Her Own Heartbeat : Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

POV: Samantha *** It wasn’t until I helped him into a taxi the next morning that the weight of it hit me. He had no idea who he was. And I had just told an entire hospital staff - and him - that he was mine. “Careful,” I said, holding his arm as he bent into the back seat of the car. His movements were slow, careful, like he had forgotten what to do but they still moved. His brow was stitched and still red, his knuckles bruised hinting at a possible fight before I found him. “You alright?” I asked as I climbed in after him. He looked at me, almost… shy? “Yeah. I think so. My head’s still pounding a bit, but... I feel safe.” That word caught me off guard. Safe. From me? I gave the driver my address before I could overthink it. What else could I have done? He couldn’t exactly check into a hotel with no name, no ID, and no clue what city he belonged in. I had £13 to my name, a half-eaten protein bar in my pocket, and a man with no memory blinking at me like I was some sort of anc

POV: Samantha It’s weird, really, how someone can slip into your life without warning. Like... one minute you’re dragging some rain-soaked stranger off the pavement, lying through your teeth about being his girlfriend—and the next, you’re making two cups of tea without even thinking. That’s what I did this morning. Kettle on, two mugs out - sugar in mine, none in his. It wasn’t until I handed him the cup that I realised I’d done it exactly how he likes it. Automatically. Like I’d known him for years instead of just... what, four days? He looked at the mug, then at me, those sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “You remembered.” I gave a shrug that felt way too casual. “Probably just... muscle memory or something.” He didn’t say anything else. Just took a sip and turned back to the window. The early light poured in like a soft grey filter across his face, and he stood there with that ridiculous posture - tall, quiet, composed. Like a painting or a dream. I told myself not to stare. N

POV: Samantha *** The flat was quiet again. The silence felt cold and full of anxiety, Like when you stretch a rubber band too far and just hope it doesn’t snap back in your face. Levi was in the shower. And I... was just sitting there. On the edge of the bed, staring at the corner where his body had been moments before. My fingers still feeling the warmth his body left behind. As if that would mean he was mine. Which, of course, he wasn’t. But that lie had started to blur at the edges. *** The kettle clicked off, and I moved on autopilot. Two mugs. One with sugar. One without. I stirred both without thinking. His went on the right, mine on the left. And then I paused. Because the person I was pretending to be-this girlfriend I’d imagined for him-wouldn’t know how he took his tea. Not unless he’d told her. But he hadn’t. I’d just started doing it that way. Because it felt right. Which meant… something in me already believed this story. God, what was wrong with me? *

POV: Samantha***The rain had finally stopped.Three whole days of drizzles and grey skies, and suddenly the world outside looked... different, giving a whole different vibe.I stepped onto the balcony - well, the small concrete that passed for one - and looked up to the sky. Just a breath. Just a moment.And then the glass door creaked open behind me.“Thought I’d lost you,” came his voice - that familiar low hush that always made me forget what I was doing.“You’d have to try harder than that,” I said, looking over my shoulder.He rested slightly on the frame, shirt half-buttoned, hair scattered. The kind of messy that looked intentional. The kind of messy that made my fingers twitch.“I don’t know,” he said, stepping out beside me. “You’re pretty elusive when you want to be.”“Only when I’m trying to protect myself.”He didn’t laugh. Just looked at me - really looked. The kind of gaze that made the world feel quiet.And I hated how my pulse reacted to it.I hated even more how muc

POV: Samantha *** He didn’t sleep. I didn’t either. The floor was cold and unforgiving under my thin blanket. Every shift of his weight on the futon echoed like thunder. Benjamin Hayes. The name bounced around my skull, sharp and ugly. Billionaire. CEO. Stranger. Sunlight finally crawled through the grimy window, painting stripes on the laminate floor. I sat up, muscles screaming. He was already awake. Sitting on the edge of the futon, elbows on his knees, staring at his hands like he’d never seen them before. His shoulders were tense, that unnatural stillness back. The Levi who’d laughed over burnt toast was buried deep. Right. Coffee. Do normal things. Maybe the world won’t end. I shuffled to the kitchenette, avoiding his line of sight. The kettle screamed like a banshee, breaking the silence. I poured two mugs. Black for him. Always black. Muscle memory. Shit. I slid his mug onto the rickety table beside him. Didn’t look at him. “Coffee.” He didn’t touch it