Paris The Memoir นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“We’ll talk later.” Talk. Later. As if anything was left to say. The ambulance doors slammed shut. The sirens wailed. And I stood alone on the sidewalk. My phone buzzed again. Your flight to Paris has been booked. Departure: Monday, 07:20. I stared at the confirmation, the city lights blurring around me. Paris. A new life. A new beginning. And a child he would never know existed. For the first time, I didn’t look back.

It wasn’t funny at all. Not even a little bit. I shook my head and focused on my meal. ************************** The following morning, Enzo walked up to me on the bed. “Are we going to spend the whole day on our phones like yesterday?” “What’s wrong with that?” “We’re in Paris. I’ve heard a lot about this place. I want to go sightseeing.” “You’ve never been to Paris?” “I..I have but I can’t remember…” “Again with your memory loss. I’m not interested in leaving the room today.”

It echoed in my head long after I left that room. Paris. I sat at my desk and stared at my screen for a full hour, fingers hovering over the keyboard, not typing a single thing. I felt... numb. Not in a bad way. Just overwhelmed. I had only just found my footing here in Ohio. Barely nine months ago, I packed up and left New York to start over. Then came Evelyn. Then Dean. Then Trevor. Then everything in between. And now… Paris? It felt like the universe was laughing at me.

Her heart pounded. The words weren’t just cruel. They were a knife to everything she’d tried to ignore. She ran upstairs, locked the door, and sat on the bed. The envelope was still there. The offer. Paris. Her fingers hovered over it. And then a memory hit her. Years ago. A little café downtown. She’d been new there. Twenty and pretty naive, holding two trays and praying not to drop either. Jeffery had walked in like he didn’t belong. Because he didn’t.

His expression is calm yet he seems pleased by my reaction. I press a hand to my chest, trying to keep the overwhelming feeling of emotion at bay. “I’ve always wanted to come here. How did you know?” “You told me once,” he says simply. His tone is casual as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to remember such a detail. I stare at him, stunned. “I… I can’t believe you remembered that.” I told him about Paris one day when we were just casually talking. It was a minor detail and a normal conversation. I’m surprised he actually remembered. Even Eric didn’t remember the most important things about me during our marriage.

My family had to put a stop to the broadcast of my memories. I huddled in a corner, feeling numb about the whole situation, but they struggled to accept reality. Sandra teared up shakily, mumbling in disbelief. Roger gasped heavily, his fists clenched, while Caleb, wearing his heart on his sleeve, punched the table. “I can’t believe Casey is evil! “Where is she? I must ask her if this is real.” The scientist wiped away a tear. “This is the donor’s deepest and most personal memory. There’s one more piece of memory. Do you want to watch it?”

Julie took a deep breath, as if steeling herself to take a vault of faith. She began to tell him about her adventures in Paris, about the intricate details of gothic edifices, the dateless beauty of the Louvre, the vibrant energy of the city that no way slept. She spoke of her peregrination to Spain, the stirring armature of Barcelona, the ancient prodigies of Madrid. She spoke of her time in Italy, the towering marble puppets, the cobblestone streets and the scent of late roasted meat that filled the air.

I could see it without moving my feet. I had never been to Paris before. I had wanted to come since I was twelve years old and had found a picture book about it in the school library and had kept it past the return date because I wasn't ready to give it back. I was not going to let Dominic Ashford see that this mattered to me. I kept my face neutral and moved further into the room.

The file opened. My eyes scanned the text, breath catching. It wasn’t notes. It was raw as hell. Damien pouring out real memories. Hookups that went way beyond fiction. One entry described him fucking a guy in a hotel room so hard the bed broke, the bottom crying out his name while cum leaked down his ass. Another about a threesome where he took two cocks at once, greedy and desperate for it. My dick throbbed reading the details, pre-cum soaking my boxers as I pictured Damien in those moments, muscles flexing, grunting, lost in pure lust.

"You made it." "Yeah. Traffic was brutal." I step closer, the wood warm under my bare feet. My sundress feels suddenly thin, the breeze brushing my legs. He smells like smoke and something clean, soap maybe. I hate how aware I am of it. He flips a steak, the sizzle filling the quiet between us. "Richard said you were in Paris. How was it?" "Overrated." I lean against the railing, watching the lake instead of him. "Too many tourists pretending they get the art."