Instinct
1786 Words
Damien POV
Have you ever trusted a stranger more than your own memories?
I never thought I would.
Yet for the past five days…
I’d been doing exactly that.
Memory is a dangerous thing.
People think losing it only means forgetting faces or names.
They’re wrong.
When you lose your memories…
You lose your instincts.
Your judgment.
Your certainty.
You begin questioning everything—including yourself.
That was exactly where I found myself.
Five days ago, I woke up believing my life was exactly as I remembered it.
Then I learned six months of it had vanished.
Six months.
One hundred and eighty-two days.
Four thousand, three hundred and sixty-eight hours.
Gone.
Erased as though they had never existed.
Except…
They had.
Because every now and then, I caught myself doing things I couldn’t explain.
Reaching for a second coffee cup during breakfast.
Glancing toward the empty passenger seat whenever I got into my car.
Waking up in the middle of the night convinced someone should have been lying beside me.
None of it made sense.
Until I found the photograph.
I hadn’t told Reynolds.
I hadn’t told my security team.
I hadn’t told a single soul.
Some instincts are too important to share before you understand them.
And mine had told me one thing.
That photograph wasn’t lying.
Someone was.
I intended to find out who.
Three days after I was discharged from the hospital…
I stopped waiting for my memories to return.
If my mind refused to give me answers…
I’d find them myself.
The photograph had remained hidden inside my wallet ever since I left the hospital.
No one knew it existed.
Not Reynolds.
Not my security team.
No one.
I reached into my jacket and pulled it out once more.
The edges had become slightly worn from the number of times I’d studied it over the past three days.
It was a simple photograph.
Yet it had completely shattered everything I thought I knew about my life.
The woman smiled with her eyes closed as I kissed her cheek.
There was nothing forced about the picture.
No awkwardness.
No hesitation.
The man in that photograph…
Loved her.
I knew my own smile.
I had spent years studying people.
Negotiating billion-dollar contracts had taught me one thing.
You could fake words.
You could fake affection.
But you couldn’t fake the way someone’s eyes softened when they looked at the person they loved.
The man in that photograph…
Was me.
Slowly, I turned it over.
My eyes settled on the words written neatly across the back.
An address.
Nothing more.
No explanation.
No name.
Just an address overlooking the coast.
For three days, I had convinced myself not to go.
Maybe it meant nothing.
Maybe it was an old investment property.
Maybe I was chasing ghosts.
But every instinct I possessed told me otherwise.
So I got into my car.
Alone.
No driver.
No convoy.
No security.
I wanted answers…
Not witnesses.
…
Nearly an hour later, the city disappeared behind me.
Towering buildings gave way to winding coastal roads.
The further I drove, the quieter the world became.
Eventually…
I saw it.
A modern beach house perched above the cliffs, overlooking the restless Atlantic Ocean.
Glass walls reflected the grey afternoon sky while waves crashed endlessly against the rocks below.
It was beautiful.
Peaceful.
Hidden.
The kind of place someone built when they wanted to disappear from the rest of the world.
I killed the engine.
For several moments…
I simply stared.
Nothing about the house looked familiar.
Yet something inside me tightened.
A strange pull settled deep inside my chest.
Almost…
Like coming home.
I frowned at my own thoughts.
Home?
I’d never seen this place before.
Had I?
I climbed out of the car.
The sea breeze hit my face as I approached the front door.
Locked.
I reached absentmindedly into my pocket.
My fingers brushed against cold metal.
A key.
I froze.
I slowly looked down at it.
I didn’t remember putting it there.
I didn’t remember owning it.
Yet…
Without thinking…
I slid it into the lock.
Click.
The door opened.
A chill crept down my spine.
How had I known?
I stepped inside.
Silence greeted me.
Not the silence of an abandoned house.
The silence of a home waiting for someone to return.
The scent of vanilla lingered faintly in the air.
Fresh flowers rested in a crystal vase on the dining table.
The living room overlooked the ocean through enormous glass windows.
A soft cream-colored blanket was draped across one side of the sofa.
A woman’s cardigan lay neatly folded over the armrest.
Everything looked…
Lived in.
My eyes wandered across the room.
Two coffee mugs sat inside the sink.
One black.
One white.
Two wine glasses rested on a tray beside the fireplace.
Two toothbrushes stood together in the bathroom.
Everywhere I looked…
There were signs of two people.
Not one.
Slowly…
I climbed the staircase.
Each step made my heartbeat louder.
Something told me the answers were upstairs.
I reached the master bedroom.
The door stood slightly open.
I pushed it gently.
The room stole the breath from my lungs.
Photographs.
Dozens of them.
Framed on shelves.
Resting on bedside tables.
Hanging neatly across one wall.
Every single one…
Contained me.
And Vivian.
In one picture we stood barefoot on the beach at sunset, laughing at something only we understood.
In another she had fallen asleep against my shoulder while I read a book.
One photograph showed flour covering both our faces inside the kitchen.
Another captured me carrying her through the surf while she wrapped her arms around my neck, laughing without restraint.
There wasn’t a single photograph where either of us looked uncomfortable.
Only happiness.
Real happiness.
Then…
My eyes fell onto the bed.
Two pillows.
The sheets slightly creased.
Beside the lamp rested a velvet ring box.
My pulse quickened.
I crossed the room and opened it.
Inside…
Two platinum wedding bands.
My fingers trembled.
I picked up the larger ring.
Without thinking…
I slid it onto my finger.
It fit perfectly.
As though it had never belonged anywhere else.
A sharp pain exploded behind my eyes.
Laughter.
Warm sunlight.
“You’re officially stuck with me now.”
A woman’s voice.
My laughter answering hers.
A kiss.
Then…
Nothing.
The memory disappeared before I could reach it.
I gripped the edge of the bedside table until the pain subsided.
“No…”
I whispered.
“This isn’t possible.”
I looked around the room once more.
Every photograph.
Every piece of furniture.
Every tiny detail…
Pointed toward one impossible truth.
Vivian Carter hadn’t lied.
She was my wife.
Someone had erased her from my life…
Not the other way around.
That day…
I left the beach house with more questions than answers.
But one decision had already been made.
I wouldn’t confront Vivian.
Not yet.
If someone had gone through the trouble of erasing every trace of our marriage…
Then someone wanted us apart.
And until I discovered who…
The safest thing I could do…
Was protect her without letting her know.
For the next three days, I had my men quietly watch over her from a distance.
They believed she was connected to the attack against me.
Only I knew the truth.
I wasn’t watching a suspect.
I was protecting the woman my heart had already chosen…
Even if my mind had forgotten why.
Then…
Tonight…
My phone rang.
“Boss.”
It was Marcus, the head of my security detail.
His voice was tense.
“Miss Carter just left work.”
A second later…
Another voice cut across the line.
“There’s someone approaching her.”
Every instinct inside me came alive.
“Move,” I ordered.
“Now.”
I was already running toward my car.
Because for reasons I still couldn’t explain…
The thought of losing Vivian Carter…
Terrified me.
A soft movement pulled me from my thoughts.
I looked toward the bed.
She stirred beneath the blanket.
A small crease formed between her brows before her eyelids fluttered open.
For a second…
She simply stared at the ceiling.
Disoriented.
Confused.
Then her gaze slowly shifted.
Straight to me.
Recognition flashed across her face.
She bolted upright too quickly.
A sharp wince escaped her lips as pain shot through her bruised shoulder.
“You shouldn’t move that fast,” I said.
She ignored the warning.
Instead, she looked around the unfamiliar room.
The floor-to-ceiling windows.
The fireplace.
The ocean beyond the glass.
Then…
Her eyes settled on me again.
“Where am I?”
“My house.”
Silence.
“The doctor cleaned the cuts on your arm,” I continued. “Nothing’s broken.”
She blinked.
“You…”
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“You brought me here?”
“I wasn’t going to leave you bleeding in a parking lot.”
Another silence.
Longer this time.
“I… thank you.”
The words sounded awkward.
As though she wasn’t sure whether she was thanking a stranger…
Or her husband.
She slowly looked down at the blanket covering her.
Then back at me.
“Why?”
I frowned.
“Why what?”
“Why save me?”
It was a simple question.
One I should have answered without thinking.
Instead…
I couldn’t.
Because the truth made no sense.
I had no reason to trust Vivian Carter.
No reason to follow her for five straight days.
No reason to race across the city the moment my men reported she was in danger.
No reason to carry her into my arms after the attack.
No reason at all.
Except…
Every instinct I possessed refused to let anything happen to her.
I walked toward the window, keeping my back to her.
“I don’t know.”
It was the most honest answer I had.
“I only know…”
I glanced at the storm still raging outside.
“…that whoever wants you dead…”
“…is the same person who stole six months of my life.”
The room fell silent.
Then I heard her sharp intake of breath behind me.
Slowly…
I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket.
My fingers closed around the worn photograph.
The one no one knew I had.
I didn’t turn around.
I didn’t let her see it.
I simply stared at the smiling couple frozen in time.
The man kissing the woman’s cheek.
The wedding rings glinting beneath the setting sun.
The happiness in their eyes was impossible to fake.
I had looked at that photograph a hundred times.
And every time…
One question haunted me.
If this woman is really my wife…
Who wanted me to forget her?
- Writer
