I stared at the glowing screen in the hospital lobby. *Meet me in the lobby in five minutes if you want your fiancé back.*

My thumb hovered over the keyboard. Before I typed a single letter, the sterile smell of the corridor dragged me backward. Three months backward.

Twisted metal. Shattered glass. The deafening wail of sirens.

"Leave me," a bleeding stranger had groaned, his head slumped against the steering wheel of a burning sedan on Route 9.

"Shut up and use your legs," I had grunted, hauling his heavy frame over the rough asphalt just before the engine exploded.

Two days later, he woke up in a standard-issue ward. Thick medical gauze wrapped entirely around his eyes and skull.

"Who is there?" His hands battered the empty air, knocking a plastic water pitcher to the linoleum floor. "Turn the lights on!"

I caught his flying wrists. His pulse hammered violently against my palms.

"The lights are on," I told him, keeping my tone steady. "You had a major eye operation. You need to stay still."

"I see nothing." He yanked his arms away, his chest heaving under the thin hospital gown. "I have no idea where I am. I do not even know my own name."

"You were in a severe crash," I explained, picking up the fallen pitcher. "I brought you here."

He stopped thrashing. His head tilted directly toward the sound of my voice. "You saved my life?"

"I pulled you out of the wreckage."

He reached out blindly. His fingers brushed my forearm, gripping the fabric of my sleeve. "Do not leave me. Please."

For weeks, I stayed. I fed him cold soup. I guided his hands to the water cup. He had no phone, no wallet, and an entirely blank memory. He relied on me for everything.

"You smell like vanilla and old paper," he murmured one evening. I was wiping dried blood from his collarbone with a damp cloth.

"I work at a library," I replied, tossing the rag into a plastic basin.

He caught my fingers, his grip surprisingly strong. "You are the only real thing in this dark room, Loria."

"You will remember your life soon enough."

"I have no interest in my old life. I just want to look at you."

But the doctors painted a far bleaker picture.

Dr. Evans pulled me into the hallway one rainy Tuesday, his expression grim.

"His physical wounds are healing nicely," the doctor murmured, flipping a metal clipboard. "But the brain contusion is highly unpredictable."

"He still has no memory of his family," I pressed, glancing through the glass window.

"The human brain is a fragile machine," Evans replied, tapping his pen against the chart. "The trauma to his frontal lobe caused severe dissociative amnesia. He forgot his identity to protect his mind from the shock."

"Will it last forever?"

"As the swelling goes down, his past might flood back all at once. But there is a massive risk." Evans lowered his voice. "If he experiences another spike in stress, or a sudden shock, the brain might reset again. He could lose the last three months entirely."

"He would forget me."

"He would forget everything post-accident."

I looked back into the room. Darius sat on the edge of the mattress, his head turned toward the window, listening to the rain hit the glass.

"I will keep watching him," I promised.

Then, exactly one week ago, everything shifted.

I walked into his room carrying a tray of lukewarm tea. Two men in sharp black suits stood at attention by the door.

Darius sat upright. The hesitation in his posture was completely gone.

"Loria," he commanded. The raw panic had vanished from his tone, replaced by absolute, unquestionable authority. "Come here."

I set the tray down on the nearest table. "Who are they?"

"My security team," he stated. "My memory returned last night. My name is Darius Caldwell. I run a private equity firm in Manhattan."

A harsh, unexpected laugh scraped its way out of my throat. "A CEO."

"Does my profession amuse you?"

"It terrifies me," I admitted, taking a step backward. "I make fifteen dollars an hour organizing dusty books. So, you are leaving."

"No." He snapped his fingers.

The suits immediately exited the room, shutting the heavy door behind them.

"I had my team secure a VIP suite upstairs," Darius announced. "We are moving."

"We?"

"You are coming with me." He patted the mattress beside him. "Sit down."

I stayed glued to the floor. "You have a family. A real life. You do not need a charity nurse anymore."

"My life is right here." He stood up, navigating the space flawlessly despite the thick bandages over his eyes. He found my shoulders, his hands warm and firm. "You fed me. You grounded me when I was terrified. I am marrying you, Loria."

My stomach twisted into a painful knot. "You do not even know what I look like."

"Let me touch your face." He lifted his right hand.

"No!" I scrambled backward, my spine hitting the cold plaster wall.

His arm dropped. A muscle leaped in his jaw. "You flinch every time I try to touch you. Why?"

"I wear a veil," I blurted out. The truth tasted like ash on my tongue. "I never take it off outside my house."

"Why?" he demanded, stepping closer.

"There was a house fire when I was ten. The left side of my face is ruined. It is an ugly, jagged burn scar, Darius."

Silence stretched between us. The heart monitors beeped in a steady, mocking rhythm.

"Do you honestly think a scar matters to me?" His voice dropped, vibrating with fierce intensity.

"You will care when the bandages come off."

He closed the distance, trapping me against the wall. "I spent three months in complete darkness. You were the only light I had."

"Darius—"

"Listen to me." He gripped my chin, keeping his thumb carefully away from my cheek. "I survived a burning car. A burn scar does not scare me. I do not care if you hide your face from the rest of the world. I love you."

Tears spilled over my lashes, soaking into the thick mesh of my veil.

"When they remove this gauze," he vowed, his breath warm against my forehead, "you will be the first thing I see. And I will put a ring on your finger."

The memory shattered like cheap glass.

I stood in the present-day hospital lobby, the phantom weight of his promise still burning on my skin. He had sworn the scar would not matter.

But Celeste did not have a scar. Celeste had perfect, flawless porcelain skin.

And Darius had forgotten me all over again. The doctor's warning echoed relentlessly in my skull. *He could lose the last three months entirely.*

My phone buzzed a second time, vibrating violently against my palm.

*Four minutes. Lobby cafe. Do not keep me waiting.*

I wiped my wet cheeks with the back of my hand. Shoving the phone into my pocket, I pushed through the glass doors toward the hospital cafe. I needed that security footage. I needed to prove to Darius who really sat by his bed.

The cafe was nearly empty. I spotted a man sitting in the darkest corner booth, his face shadowed by a low baseball cap.

He slid a sleek silver flash drive across the table.

"Sit down, Loria," a smooth, calculating voice instructed. "We have a lot to discuss about your sister."

I slammed the front door of the Monroe house, my fingers clamped around the silver flash drive in my pocket. Proof. I had proof. But I needed the final piece to make him believe me.

I sprinted up the narrow stairs to my cramped attic bedroom. My chest heaved as I grabbed the brass handle of my dresser. I yanked the top drawer open, ready to grab the velvet box.

Empty.

I blinked. Dropping to my knees, I pulled the wooden drawer entirely out of its tracks. Nothing. The small black box holding Darius’s ring was gone. The lavender perfume he bought me? Vanished. The braided leather bracelet he made during his occupational therapy sessions? Missing.

Even the loose change and my spare hair ties were scattered across the floor. Someone had gutted my space.

Downstairs, the heavy oak front door clicked open.

"Put the shopping bags on the dining table, Mother," Celeste’s voice echoed up the stairwell, sharp and commanding.

I marched down the steps, my fists curled tight against my sides.

Celeste stood in the foyer, admiring her reflection in the hall mirror. She adjusted the collar of her designer trench coat, completely unbothered.

"Where are my things?" I demanded.

Celeste didn't even turn around. She checked her lipstick, pressing her lips together. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Loria."

"You raided my bedroom." I closed the distance between us. I grabbed her elbow, forcing her to face me. "You stole my ring. You stole my perfume. You stole my life!"

She ripped her arm away, her eyes flashing with sudden fury. "Do not touch me."

"What is all this screaming?" Arthur Monroe stomped out of the kitchen. My adoptive father wiped his hands on a dish towel, followed closely by his wife, Martha.

"She took everything Darius gave me," I told Arthur, pointing a shaking finger at my sister. "She stole the ring right out of my drawer while I was at the hospital!"

Arthur crossed his arms. His thick brows pulled together in a harsh scowl. "Watch your tone in my house. Your sister did not steal anything."

"She is wearing my engagement ring!"

"It belongs to her," Martha snapped. She set a stack of mail on the console table and shot me a look of pure disgust. "You ungrateful girl. We took you in when you had absolutely nothing. We fed you. Clothed you. Put a roof over your head. And this is how you repay us? By trying to sabotage your sister's future?"

"Sabotage?" A harsh, dry laugh scraped my throat. The sound surprised even me. I wasn't crying. I was furious. "I spent three months nursing him back to health. I saved his life!"

"And you got a nice little fantasy out of it," Celeste sneered. She stepped closer, invading my space. "But playtime is over, Loria."

"He proposed to me."

"He proposed to a voice in the dark," Celeste corrected. She tapped a perfectly manicured nail against my collarbone. "He was confused. Brain-damaged. You took advantage of a vulnerable man."

"I loved him!"

"You do not even know him." Celeste crossed her arms, a triumphant smirk twisting her lips. "Darius and I were engaged long before his car wrapped around that tree."

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. "What?"

"Did you really think a billionaire just fell into your lap?" Celeste mocked, tilting her head. "Our families arranged the match last year. The crash gave him amnesia. It gave you a convenient little window to play house. But he is awake now. He has his memory back. He knows who he really belongs with."

"He didn't recognize your voice," I argued, my tone dropping to a harsh whisper. "He knew my songs. He knew my touch."

"He knows my face," Celeste shot back.

She reached out, her fingers hovering inches from the thick mesh veil covering the left side of my face. I flinched backward, my shoulders hitting the wall.

She smiled, dropping her hand. "Exactly. You hide in the shadows because you know the truth. You are a monster, Loria."

"Stop it," I whispered.

"You stayed by his bed because he was blind," Celeste pushed, her voice laced with venom. "It was the only way a man like Darius Caldwell would ever let you near him. You knew his eyes were bandaged. You knew he couldn't see your hideous, melted skin."

"That isn't true."

"He would be disgusted by you," Celeste stated coldly. "Now that he has his vision back, one look at that ugly scar and he would run in the other direction. You know it. I know it."

Arthur stepped forward, his massive frame blocking the hallway exit. "You are a charity case, Loria. A lowly, scarred orphan. Stop dreaming of marrying into wealth. You will only embarrass this family."

"Martha, please," I pleaded, turning to the woman who had raised me. "You know how much time I spent at that hospital. You saw me making his meals. You saw me coming home exhausted."

Martha smoothed the front of her expensive blouse, her expression entirely unreadable. "I saw a girl obsessed with a man entirely out of her league. You were playing a dangerous game, Loria. Celeste is simply correcting your mistake."

"You are already an embarrassment," Martha added, adjusting her pearl necklace. "Stay away from Darius. If you ruin this corporate merger for Celeste, I will throw you out on the street myself."

I looked at the three of them. A perfect, flawless family. And me. The outsider they kept around for tax write-offs and free labor.

"He will figure it out," I told them, locking my jaw. "When he realizes you do not know anything about the last three months, he will know you are lying."

"I have your diary, you stupid girl," Celeste laughed, pulling a small leather-bound book from her coat pocket.

My stomach bottomed out. The journal.

She flipped it open, waving the pages in my face. "I know every pathetic detail of his recovery. I know about the thunderstorms. I know about the scar on his shoulder. I know everything."

"Give that back!" I lunged for the book.

Arthur caught my shoulder, shoving me hard against the stair railing. "Go up to your room," he barked. "And stay there until you learn your place."

Pain flared in my spine. I gripped the wooden banister, staring up at the people who were supposed to be my family. They had stripped me of every weapon. They had taken my memories, my ring, my identity.

I felt entirely powerless.

I turned on my heel and walked back up the stairs. Each step felt like lifting lead.

I pushed my bedroom door shut and locked it. My hand slid into my pocket, my fingers brushing the cold metal of the flash drive.

Celeste had my ring. She had my diary.

But she did not know about the footage.

I pulled my battered laptop from under the mattress and flipped it open. The screen flickered to life. I jammed the silver drive into the USB port.

A single video file popped up on the screen.

I clicked play, desperate to see the truth, desperate for proof that Darius had loved me.

The grainy black-and-white hospital footage rolled.

But as the figures on the screen came into focus, the blood drained completely from my face.