THE CEO’S FORGOTTEN BRIDE

The Stolen Memories

The world didn’t end with a bang; it ended with the bone jarring impact of my body hitting the roof of a parked SUV.

The air was punched out of my lungs, leaving me gasping, clawing at the cold, wet metal surface. My vision swam in nauseating loops of neon streetlights and dark, blurry shadows. Pain, sharp and electric, shot through my shoulder, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins was louder than the agony.

I rolled off the roof, hitting the pavement with a dull thud. Every bone felt like it had been rearranged, but I forced myself up. I couldn't stay here. The hospital was no longer a place of healing; it was a fortress, and I had just declared war on its king.

"There she is! By the ambulance bay!"

The shout came from above, echoing off the concrete walls. I looked up to see Isaac’s silhouette framed in the hospital window three stories up. Even from this distance, his rage felt like a physical weight. He didn't look like a grieving husband anymore; he looked like a god whose favorite toy had just tried to break its own chains.

I didn't look back. I ran.

My bare feet slapped against the cold, wet asphalt, the grit of the road cutting into my skin. Each step was a gamble against the dizziness threatening to swallow me whole. My hospital gown fluttered in the night wind, a white flag of surrender I refused to wave.

*Razack.*

The name was a drumbeat in my head, the only thing keeping me upright as I scrambled toward the edge of the hospital grounds. I ducked into a narrow, trash strewn alley, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. I needed a phone. I needed to be anyone other than Christine, the billionaire’s forgotten prize.

I stumbled past the back of a late-night diner, where the smell of grease and old coffee made my stomach churn. Two kitchen workers smoking by the bins stared at me a blood stained woman in a silk robe like I was a nightmare come to life. I didn't stop until I found a darkened bus stop three blocks away.

I slumped against the cold plastic bench, my body shaking with a chill that went deeper than the night air. I reached for the locket, my fingers trembling as I pulled out the scrap of paper. The number was blurred by the sweat on my palms, but I memorized it with a ferocity that bordered on madness.

"Hey... you okay, lady?"

A teenager with a skateboard was standing nearby, his eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and genuine fear.

"I... I was in a crash," I managed to lie, my voice sounding like dry glass rubbing together. "Please. Can I use your phone? Just one call."

The boy hesitated, looking at the blood on my arm, then handed me a cracked smartphone. My fingers flew across the screen, dialing the number from the locket. My heart was a frantic bird trapped in a cage of ribs.

*Ring. Ring. Ring.*

"Pick up. Please, pick up," I whispered into the receiver.

"Who is this?"

The voice that answered was deep, gravelly, and carried a weight of sorrow that felt instantly familiar. It wasn't the polished, practiced tone Isaac used to manipulate me. This was a voice that sounded like it had been forged in a fire I used to know.

"Razack?" My voice broke, a sob escaping before I could stop it.

There was a sudden, sharp silence on the other end. I could hear his breathing change, becoming heavy and jagged.

"Christine?" he breathed. "Is that... is that really you?"

"I don't know who I am," I cried, looking over my shoulder as a black sedan turned the corner, its headlights cutting through the dark like searchlights. "But I have a locket. It told me to run to you. Isaac is coming for me, Razack. He’s right behind me."

"Listen to me carefully," Razack’s voice was suddenly sharp, commanding. "Where are you?"

"I'm at a bus stop on... 4th and Harrison. Please, I don't have much time."

"Don't move. Stay in the shadows. I’m ten minutes away. If you see a black car, run. Do you hear me? Run and don't look back."

I handed the phone back to the boy just as the black sedan slowed down near the curb. The tinted window began to roll down. I didn't wait to see who was inside. I bolted into the shadows of a nearby parking garage, my heart screaming.

I hid behind a massive concrete pillar on the second level, pressing my back against the cold stone. I could hear the car doors opening below. The rhythmic, confident click of leather shoes on the pavement.

"Christine?" Isaac’s voice echoed through the garage. It was calm. Too calm. "I know you’re tired, sweetheart. I know you’re confused. Just come out. Let’s go home and forget this ever happened. I won't even be angry."

I clamped my hand over my mouth to stifle a whimper. He sounded so reasonable, so kind. If I didn't have the locket, I might have believed him. I might have walked right back into the fire.

"You can't hide forever," Isaac continued, his voice getting closer. I could hear him walking up the ramp. "Everything you have, everything you *are*, belongs to me. Do you really think a name whispered in the dark can save you from me?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, praying for the man on the phone to be real. I heard a footstep just inches from my pillar. The scent of Isaac’s woody, expensive cologne filled the air, suffocating me.

"Found you," he whispered.

A hand gripped my shoulder, spinning me around. I prepared to scream, to fight, to die but the man standing before me wasn't Isaac.

He was younger, with a scar running through his left eyebrow and eyes that burned with a desperate, familiar light. He was dressed in a worn leather jacket, and he looked like he hadn't slept in a decade.

"Razack?" I gasped.

He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. The way he looked at me with a mix of agony and worship was more real than anything Isaac had shown me. He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward a waiting motorcycle tucked in the corner.

"Get on," he commanded. "We have to go. Now."

But as he kicked the engine into life, the garage lights flared to a blinding intensity.

Isaac stood at the exit, flanked by four armed men. He wasn't smiling anymore. He looked at Razack, then at me, and his face twisted into something truly demonic. The mask of the loving husband was gone, replaced by the face of a man who would rather see me dead than free.

"I gave you a choice, Christine," Isaac said, pulling a small remote from his pocket. "I told you Razack was a ghost. Now, I’m going to make sure he stays one."

He pressed the button.

A deafening explosion rocked the garage. Flames erupted from the bike's fuel tank, throwing us both backward through the air. As I hit the ground, the world spinning into a haze of smoke and fire, I saw Isaac walking toward us through the flames, unbothered by the heat.

He knelt beside me, his hand stroking my hair as Razack lay motionless and bleeding a few feet away.

"You see, Christine?" Isaac leaned down and whispered into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "This is what happens when you try to leave the man who created you. You only bring death to the people you love."

He signaled the men to pick me up. As I felt the prick of another needle in my arm, my last sight was Razack’s hand twitching in the oily shadows.

"Now," Isaac whispered, "let's go home. We have a lot of 'memories' to fix."