THE CEO’S FORGOTTEN BRIDE

The Walls Of My New World

The world returned to me in fragments of gray and cold silver.

My head felt like it had been split open and sewn back together with rusted wire. I tried to lift my hand to touch my temple, but a sharp clink of metal stopped me. I opened my eyes, expecting the sterile white of the hospital, but I was met with something far more terrifying.

I was lying on a massive bed draped in black silk. The room was vast, filled with shadows and expensive furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum. But it was the cold weight on my wrist that made my heart stop.

I was handcuffed to the headboard.

"You’re awake," a voice drifted from the corner of the room.

Isaac was sitting in a leather armchair, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing skin that looked as flawless as his lies. He looked calm, almost bored, as if we hadn't just survived an explosion in a dark garage.

"Where is he?" I rasped, my throat feeling like I had swallowed embers. "Where is Razack?"

Isaac sighed, a sound of profound disappointment. He stood up and walked toward the bed, the ice in his glass clinking rhythmically. He sat on the edge of the mattress, the weight of him making me roll slightly toward him.

"You still don't get it, do you, Christine?" He reached out and stroked my cheek. I flinched, but the handcuffs kept me from moving away. "There is no Razack. There is only a pile of ash in a parking garage. You saw the fire. You heard the blast."

"You killed him," I whispered, tears blurring my vision. "You murdered him right in front of me."

"I protected my family," Isaac corrected, his voice dropping to that low, possessive hum. "He was a stray dog trying to steal what belongs to me. And in this world, Christine, dogs like that get put down."

He set his glass on the nightstand and leaned over me, his face inches from mine. "This is your home now. Our estate. You’ll have the best doctors, the best clothes, and the best life. But you will never leave these walls again. I tried to trust you, and you jumped out of a window. I won't make that mistake twice."

"You can't keep me here," I spat, despite the terror clawing at my chest. "People will look for me. I have children, Isaac! You showed me the photos!"

Isaac’s smile was slow and chilling. "The children are safe in the North wing. They believe their mother is very ill and needs peace. And as for the rest of the world? To them, Christine Moretti is recovering from a tragic accident. No one is coming, sweetheart. Because as far as anyone knows, you are exactly where you belong."

He stood up and walked to a large mahogany wardrobe, pulling out a dress a stunning, deep red silk that looked like spilled blood. He tossed it onto the foot of the bed.

"We have guests for dinner tonight. Business associates who need to see that the Moretti family is intact. You will be dressed, you will be charming, and you will smile."

"And if I don't?"

Isaac paused at the door, his hand on the handle. He turned back, his eyes glowing with a cold, predatory light. "Then I’ll have to remind you why Razack isn't here to save you. And maybe I’ll have to move the children to a boarding school across the ocean where you’ll never see them again. Choice is yours, Christine."

The door clicked shut, and I heard the heavy thud of a deadbolt.

I slumped back against the pillows, the silk sheets feeling like ice against my skin. I looked at my wrist, the metal of the handcuff chafing my skin. He thought he had won. He thought that by burning the only man I remembered, he had erased my past.

But as I lay there, a small, sharp sensation caught my attention.

In the struggle at the garage, I had hidden the locket inside the waistband of my gown. It was still there. Isaac had been so focused on his victory that he hadn't searched me thoroughly.

I moved my hand, reaching down despite the strain on the handcuffs. My fingers brushed the cool metal of the locket. I pulled it out and snapped it open.

The paper was gone lost in the explosion.

But as I looked at the inside of the silver casing, I noticed something I hadn't seen before. Scratched into the silver, in tiny, desperate letters, was a second name and a location.

Marry Justine. The Architect.

I didn't know who she was, but Isaac had mentioned an estate. He had mentioned doctors. If this place was built by a woman named Maricha, maybe there was a way out that Isaac didn't know about.

I looked at the red dress at the foot of the bed. Isaac wanted a show. He wanted a perfect, silent bride.

Fine. I would give him the best performance of his life. I would smile, I would charm his guests, and I would play the part of the devoted wife.

But while I was smiling, I would be looking for a way to burn his "perfect" world to the ground.

I gripped the locket until the silver edges bit into my skin, welcoming the sharp sting. It was the only thing reminding me that I was still alive, still human, and not just another piece of expensive furniture in Isaac’s collection. The name Marry Justine felt like a lifeline thrown into a dark sea. If she was the architect of this place, she knew every hidden crawlspace, every blind spot in the security, and every secret Isaac thought he had buried under tons of marble and stone.

I forced myself to breathe, slowing my racing heart as I heard the heavy click of the door unlocking once more. A maid entered, her eyes fixed strictly on the floor, carrying a tray of jewelry that glittered with cold, heartless light. She didn't look at my handcuffs; she didn't look at the bruises on my arms. To everyone in this house, I was already a ghost.

I looked at the red dress again. Isaac wanted a masterpiece? Fine. I would give him a performance worthy of an Oscar. I would wear his jewels like armor and his red silk like a battle flag. Every smile I gave his guests would be a lie, and every polite word would be a dagger hidden in velvet.

Isaac thought he had stolen my memories, but he had forgotten one thing: a woman who has lost everything has nothing left to fear. He had turned me into a fugitive in my own life, but tonight, I would become the predator.

As the maid began to unclip the metal from my wrist, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were no longer clouded with the fog of amnesia. They were clear, cold, and burning with a singular, quiet purpose.

The game was no longer about survival. It was about justice. And I would start by finding Marry Justine.