บททั้งหมดของ UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

I remember the rain.Loud.Relentless.Like it was trying to erase something.Or someone.I remember laughing.I remember headlights.Then—Nothing.---When I wake, everything is white.White ceiling.White sheets.White noise humming from machines I don’t recognize.My head feels split open. Stitched back together wrong.There’s something in my hand.Warm.Heavy.Familiar.I turn my head.And see him.Asleep in the chair beside my bed.Suit wrinkled.Tie loosened.Dark hair disheveled.He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.His hand is wrapped around mine like I might vanish if he lets go.My chest tightens.Because I don’t know him.But even in sleep—He looks at me like I’m his entire world.---A nurse gasps.“Oh my God. Mrs. Reyes?”Mrs. Reyes.The name doesn’t fit.“I’m not married,” I whisper.The man stirs.Eyes snap open.Dark. Sharp. Relieved.“Alessa.”He says my name like it hurts.Like he’s been holding it in for years.I swallow.“I’m sorry… do I know you?”Something cr

New York looks different from the backseat of Adrian’s car.Sharper.Colder.Untouchable.The city stretches upward in glass and steel, indifferent to my confusion.I watch it blur past the tinted windows of the black Rolls-Royce like I’m watching someone else’s life.Adrian hasn’t spoken in seven minutes.Yes.I’m counting.He sits beside me, composed, one hand resting on his thigh, the other scrolling through emails on his phone.Even now.Even after everything.He works.“You postponed a two-hundred-million-dollar merger,” I say quietly.He doesn’t look up.“Yes.”“For me?”That makes him glance over.A slow, assessing look.“There’s nothing I wouldn’t postpone for you.”The words are steady.Not romantic.Not dramatic.Just fact.I look away first.The city feels safer than his eyes.---We stop in front of a building that makes my breath catch.Glass façade.Private entrance.Uniformed doorman.Discrete security cameras.The kind of place you see in magazines.Not the kind you li

I shouldn’t be here.That’s the first thought in my head as I stand in the middle of his study at 2:13 a.m.The city glows outside the glass walls.New York never sleeps.Apparently neither do I.The divorce papers are still in my hand.Signed.Dated.Three weeks ago.My signature looks steady.Confident.Like I meant it.I trace the ink with my fingertip.“I don’t remember you,” I whisper into the empty room.“And yet I tried to leave you.”The door behind me opens quietly.“You always overthink at night.”I jump.Adrian leans against the doorframe.No jacket.No tie.Top button undone.Less armor.More man.“How long have you been standing there?” I ask.“Long enough.”“Did you follow me?”“No.”A beat.“I heard you open the drawer.”Heat creeps up my neck.“I wasn’t snooping.”“You were looking for proof.”“Of what?”“That you meant it.”The honesty unsettles me.“Did I?”“Yes.”His answer is immediate.“No hesitation?”“No.”The word hits harder than I expect.“Then why didn’t you

Adrian doesn’t answer Marcus immediately.He just stares at the phone.Jaw tight.Eyes dark.Controlled.Too controlled.“You’re not responding,” I say carefully.“I know.”“Are you going to?”“Yes.”“But not the way he expects.”A chill moves down my spine.“What does that mean?”He types something quickly.Efficient.Precise.Then locks the phone and sets it face down on the counter.“What did you say?”“That you’re unavailable.”My chest tightens.“You didn’t ask me.”“I didn’t need to.”Anger sparks instantly.“That’s not your decision.”“It is.”“No, it isn’t.”He steps closer.Not aggressive.Not loud.But deliberate.“You’re not going on a date with another man.”“I’m not another man’s wife in my head.”His eyes darken.“You are in every legal sense.”“That’s technical.”“That’s binding.”The word lands heavy.“Why are you doing this?” I demand.“Because he doesn’t get access to you while you’re vulnerable.”“I’m not vulnerable.”“You don’t remember the last five years.”“I’m n

The nursery smells like fresh paint.That’s the first thing I remember.Soft yellow walls.White curtains.A crib that cost more than most people’s rent.I chose everything.Every detail.Every shade.Every tiny star painted on the ceiling.I remember standing in the doorway, one hand pressed to my stomach.Six months pregnant.Six months happy.Six months believing nothing could touch us.And then—The hospital.The blood.The silence.My breath shudders.“I remember the room,” I whisper.Adrian doesn’t speak.He knows better now.If he interrupts, I’ll lose it.“The walls were yellow,” I say faintly.“Yes.”“There were stars.”“Yes.”“And the rocking chair.”He swallows.“White linen.”My chest tightens painfully.“I couldn’t go inside.”“You locked the door.”I nod slowly.Because I remember that too.Not clearly.But enough.The handle felt cold in my hand.The hallway felt too bright.The house too quiet.“They sent us home with nothing,” I whisper.Adrian’s jaw tightens.“They s