Marked By the Billionaire: A Passion For Revenge

Chapter 2 - The Mark

CLAIRE’S POV

"Wha... what do you mean my husband?" I asked, my heart racing even faster. Am I married? The confusion was clear on my face.

Logan moved closer, grabbing my arm firmly and pulling it towards me. I winced as he held it up in front of my face. My eyes immediately went to the ring on my finger—a big, shiny stone that seemed too heavy to be mine. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

I started to choke on the shock of it all. It was hard enough that I couldn’t even remember my own name, and now, I was supposed to be married to an arrogant man—someone I couldn’t stand. The thought twisted inside me, tightening my chest.

"Logan! Get away from her!" The doctor’s voice was stronger now and demanding.

Logan didn’t move. His face grew harder, irritated by the interruption. He straightened his jacket slowly, like he was trying to ignore the situation. He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, letting out a deep sigh as if he was fed up.

With a quick twist of his wrist, he adjusted his cuff links, a small movement that seemed to help him relax.

“Fine. Make it quick,” he said, his voice quiet but cold. He glanced back at the doctor, his expression serious. “And remember, she leaves tonight.”

He turned and walked toward the door, slamming it shut behind him with a loud bang.

As soon as he left, the air seemed to get a little lighter, but the tension still hung in the room. I could feel it, like something was choking the space.

The doctor sighed, like he was relieved, but he quickly forced a small smile and looked at me. His eyes seemed to avoid mine, though, like he was scared to really see me.

My heart was pounding in my chest. I had so many questions, and my mind was racing with confusion. I looked at the doctor, but every time I tried to meet his gaze, he looked away.

“Doctor,” I said, my voice trembling. “Who was that man? Who am I? What happened to me? And… why am I here? What… what is Specimen X?” The words came out fast and jumbled, full of fear and confusion.

I rubbed my hands through my hair, my fingers pulling at it in frustration. Tears spilled down my face before I could stop them.

The room was so quiet, it felt like everything was waiting. The doctor didn’t say anything at first, his eyes lost in thought. He looked around the room, almost like he was making sure we were alone. After a long pause, he cleared his throat and finally spoke, his voice tense.

“For starters,” he said, his words slow, like he was choosing them carefully. “Your name is Claire Steele. You were in an accident a few weeks ago. It was serious. You hit your head pretty hard, and... that’s why you can’t remember much from before. Your past is... blurry.”

I blinked, trying to understand, but his next words made my heart stop.

“That man," he said, his voice lowering, eyes shifting toward the door. He looked back at me, then paused like he was preparing for something. "That man is your husband. Logan Ford. And... he’s also my brother.”

My heart skipped a beat at his last words. “How long have we been married?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. My eyes dropped to my shaking finger, the ring there now feeling too heavy, like a cold reminder of something I didn’t understand.

Logan terrified me. I couldn’t wrap my head around it—how could I be married to someone so cold, so arrogant, so... emotionless? The thought twisted in my stomach, leaving me more lost than before.

The doctor seemed to sense my confusion, but he didn’t seem to want to answer more. “Well, Claire,” he said softly, his voice a little more distant now, “I think that’s all I can tell you for now. The rest... Logan will explain it all tonight. You’re finally leaving this place.”

He adjusted his coat, his fingers brushing the fabric as he began to walk away. His stethoscope swung back and forth with each step, the sound of it tapping softly against his chest.

I didn’t want him to leave, but the words came out before I could stop them. “Wait...” My voice was barely a murmur, but it seemed to stop him in his tracks. I swallowed, unsure of how to even ask. “Who are you?”

He turned, his eyes meeting mine at last. For the first time, his smile wasn’t forced—it was warm, genuine. Something about it made my chest tighten. “Kyle,” he said, his voice softer now. “Kyle Ford.”

The door clicked softly as it closed behind him. I curled my arms around my legs, pulling them close to my chest, my body shaking with anxiety. My mind was spinning. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to focus. “Come on, Claire. Come on, you can do this,” I whispered to myself, my voice shaky.

I pinched my skin hard, hoping it would snap me out of the fog. But instead, everything seemed to grow darker the harder I tried. My breath caught in my throat. “Come on, come on…” My voice cracked, then broke into a frustrated groan.

I couldn't take it anymore. I ripped the cannula from my arm, yanking it roughly. A small amount of blood oozed out, but I didn’t care. Tears blurred my vision as they spilled down my face. I hated this—hated that I couldn’t remember anything, that I was so lost.

I shoved the bed covers aside, the patient gown swinging around my body as I stumbled to my feet. I needed to wash my face, to feel something real. I couldn’t stand it anymore—my own confusion was suffocating.

I rushed to the sink, my hands trembling as I turned the tap on full force. The cold water splashed over my face, washing away the tension, but I paused, feeling something shift in the air. There was a mirror right in front of me.

I leaned in, my heart racing as I finally saw my reflection. The relief was instant, flooding my chest. My face was... pretty. Brown hair, straight as silk, framing my face perfectly. My nose was perfectly shaped, and I couldn’t help but feel a small spark of pride. I looked better than I’d imagined.

I turned my head to catch a glimpse of my body. My eyes widened with a mix of curiosity and excitement. My figure was curvy, toned, the kind of body that felt foreign and yet... familiar in a way. I felt a thrill of discovery, as if I were finally seeing the person I should have known all along.

But as I slightly adjusted the loose gown, that rush of excitement left me in an instant. My breath hitched, and my heart skipped a beat. On my spine, etched into my skin, was a dark mark—one I hadn’t noticed before. It read, "Fords 22.11.2020."