The Woman I Don't Remember

Chapter Two — Under One Roof

The elevator doors glide open with a soft chime, and the penthouse unfolds around me like a glittering prison made of glass, marble, and echoes I cannot recognize. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the world before me, capturing the entire city in a glowing tapestry of gold and silver. Lights blink like stars fallen from the sky. It should feel familiar. It should remind me of something.

But I remember nothing.

Eva walks beside me with the delicate grace of someone holding her breath on the edge of a cliff. Her steps are calm, measured, but her eyes… her eyes betray her. There’s fear swirling there, stitched with determination and a longing so deep it almost aches to look at her.

She carries a single suitcase, but it’s not what grabs my attention. What steals my breath are the subtle pieces of her scattered across the penthouse: the faint rose scent floating in the air, the candle flickering on the marble counter like a tiny heartbeat, the soft blanket draped over the black leather sofa as if she once curled there waiting for me to come home.

I should feel invaded—angry, even. This is supposed to be my space, my sanctuary.

Yet I don’t feel any of that.

“I’ll show you everything,” she murmurs. Her voice is a gentle brushstroke across my nerves, strangely familiar, dangerously comforting.

Something in me reacts—something old, something buried.

I follow her deeper into the penthouse, each step echoing like a reminder of everything I’ve lost. The floors gleam beneath the soft light, the surfaces spotless, pristine, orderly. Everything here screams control, discipline, perfection. Everything screams me.

And then there are her touches—those soft, warm, domestic intrusions that do not belong in the world I built. Books I’d never pick for myself. Flowers I didn’t know I liked. Throw blankets soft enough to sink into. All of it feels foreign yet hauntingly right.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask finally, my voice low, careful. I don’t want the detectives outside to hear the crack in my composure. I don’t want my mother to sense the confusion clawing at me.

Eva pauses. She turns slowly, her breath catching as her eyes lock with mine. “Because I love you,” she whispers, the words trembling, raw, impossibly brave.

The confession hits me like a physical force.

I flinch.

Love. The word feels too big. Too heavy. Too dangerous. My brain rejects it instantly. My instincts scream to run.

But something inside me—something buried beneath rubble and shadows—pulls toward her. A tug, deep and insistent, tightening painfully in my chest. I feel an ache, sharp and real… even though I shouldn’t feel anything at all.

We step into the living room. The city stretches below like a glittering ocean, endless and indifferent. I steal glances at Eva, trying to analyze her, dissect her intentions, separate truth from manipulation. But every time I look into her eyes, it feels like she’s reaching into the empty spaces of my mind, brushing against memories that don’t exist.

“You said you had proof,” I say quietly.

She nods and walks toward the sleek glass desk near the window. From a drawer, she pulls out a small envelope and holds it with hesitant reverence—as if the truth inside could destroy us both.

She empties it onto the table.

Photographs. Receipts. Invitations. Notes. All written in a handwriting that sends a strange tremor down my spine. Familiar, yet unplaceable. My fingers tremble as I touch one of the photos—me and her on a beach, sunlight bathing our skin, our faces relaxed with laughter. My arm wrapped around her waist. Her head on my shoulder. Sand stuck to our legs. A smile on my lips I don’t recognize.

Joy. Ease. Love.

Things I cannot remember but somehow feel.

The photo slips from my fingers as if it burns.

“You don’t expect me to just accept all this,” I whisper, my voice cracking with confusion.

“No,” she says gently. “I don’t expect you to believe me. I only… need you to feel what you once felt.”

Something tightens in my throat.

Before I can respond, my phone vibrates sharply in my pocket, cutting through the fragile air between us. A message from Victoria flashes across the screen:

Get rid of her. Now. She’s dangerous.

The words sink their claws into me. My stomach twists. Even without memory, I can feel the weight in that command. The threat beneath it.

Eva sees my hesitation. Her hand reaches mine with a careful, trembling touch. Her fingers brush my skin, and the contact sparks through my nerves like electricity.

“I can’t let them hurt you,” she whispers, voice breaking. “And I can’t let them take us away from each other. Not again.”

“Not again?” I echo, the words slipping out before I can think.

A shiver runs through me. Something inside me pulls, stirs, cracks open. Memories—or the ghost of them—flutter at the edge of my consciousness.

Before I can push further, a sudden knock slams through the penthouse.

Loud. Sharp. Violent.

I jerk upright, tension slicing down my spine. “Who is it?”

Eva’s jaw tightens. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t answer.”

The knock comes again. Harder.

A cold ripple of dread spreads through me.

I look at the scattered photos. Then at her. Then toward the door. Every piece of my reality feels like it’s splitting apart.

A voice—low, cold, eerily familiar—speaks from the other side of the door:

“Open up, Adrian. She doesn’t belong here.”

Eva freezes.

My name on their tongue sounds like a threat.

My pulse explodes in my ears. “Who is that?” I demand, my voice shaking despite my attempt to hide it.

“Someone from your past," she whispers. "Someone who wants you to forget me. Someone who’s been trying to erase us for a long time.”

My hand finds hers again. It feels natural—too natural. Her fingers slip between mine like they’ve always belonged there.

Fear presses in from both sides: from the door, where danger waits… and from her, carrying a past I cannot see.

The doorknob rattles violently.

They’re trying to enter.

Eva moves without hesitation, stepping in front of me like a shield. Her eyes flame with something fierce, protective, desperate.

“They will not take you,” she says, her voice shaking but unbreakable. “Not while I’m still breathing.”

The door groans under the force from the other side.

My vision narrows. My heart thunders. Breath shreds in my chest.

And in that split second—right before the door bursts open—I understand something terrifyingly clear:

The woman claiming to be my wife may not be my only danger…

But she may be the only one willing to fight for me.

The door begins to give way.

My life.

My memories.

My unknown past.

The fragile thread tying me to Eva—

All of it hangs by a breath.

And I still have no idea who I can trust.