The Woman I Don't Remember

Chapter Three — The Walls Close In

The penthouse door shudders again, trembling under hands that refuse to leave it alone. My heart pounds against my ribs, the sound echoing through the marble silence. I look at Eva—her fingers still tightly wrapped around mine—and some part of me wants to pull away, to retreat from this frightening closeness and the fear twisting the air between us.

But I don’t move.

I can’t.

Not when she’s standing here with me.

“Stay behind me,” she whispers, her tone sharp enough to allow no argument. I swallow hard, nodding, the metallic taste of anxiety settling on my tongue.

The doorknob jerks violently. The door groans as if something is trying to tear it off its hinges.

“Whoever you are… leave,” Eva warns, her voice low and edged like a blade. She steps forward, and for the first time I notice the fire in her eyes—a fierce, unyielding certainty that tightens something deep in my chest.

A shadow moves at the edge of my vision—just outside the glass panels near the penthouse entrance. Not a face, just a silhouette. Still. Too controlled. Too calm. My instincts scream at me to run, to hide, to sink into the safety of not knowing, but some other part—something old, something I can’t name—keeps me rooted in place.

The knocking stops.

Silence drops over the room like a weighted blanket.

Eva releases my hand long enough to step to the intercom and press a button. “This is Adrian Cole’s residence. Leave now or security will be notified.”

A pause follows.

Then a voice—dark, mocking—slips through the speaker:

“Security won’t save you, Eva. Not this time. He belongs to us… or he belongs to no one.”

A cold shiver races through me. Those words hit harder than they should. My pulse spikes. Belongs to us… or no one. Something inside me recoils, terrified.

Eva’s hand finds my shoulder, grounding me. “We need to stay calm. Think,” she murmurs. I nod, even though the idea of calm feels impossible. The apartment, the city outside, the unseen danger—it all weighs on me until I can barely breathe.

“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice low, trembling with a fear I don’t fully understand. I’ve never been this vulnerable before—or if I have, I don’t remember it.

Eva turns to me, and for a moment the desperation fades from her expression, leaving something gentler. “Because I can’t lose you again,” she whispers.

Her words strike something buried deep within me. A memory stirs—brief, bright, gone in an instant. I see us on a beach, my hand in hers, the sunset low, the wind cold, her lips brushing mine. A moment so vivid it steals my breath.

But it vanishes just as fast. A ghost.

I shake my head, trying to steady myself. It didn’t happen. It couldn’t have.

Eva steps closer, sensing my panic. “I know you don’t remember,” she whispers, her voice brushing against something tender inside me. “But you will. And when you do, everything will fall into place. I promise.”

I want to believe her. I want to trust her. But the proof she’s shown me—photos, notes, memories—feels tainted without the memory behind them. My mind rejects what my body seems to recognize.

Then my phone buzzes again.

Another message.

Victoria’s handwriting:

Do not let her fool you. She’s dangerous. She’s not who she says she is.

My stomach flips. Even without remembering anything, I can feel the threat behind my mother’s words—heavy, deliberate, suffocating. And yet… something inside me resists it.

Eva sees the hesitation in my eyes. Her grip tightens on my hand. “I know she’s your mother. I know she’s persuasive. But you have to listen to what you feel. Don’t let them choose for you.”

I try to speak, but my throat closes. Something about her draws me in—something inevitable and magnetic—pulling at me even as fear pulls me back. Another memory flashes suddenly: a balcony, her hair in the wind, her eyes full of something I can’t name. Me holding her. Whispering something I can’t quite hear.

Gone again.

But the echo of it leaves my heart racing.

Eva leans close, her voice barely a whisper. “You feel it, don’t you? Even if it’s faint. The memory… the truth. It’s still there.”

I nod, unable to deny it, even if I can’t explain the feeling twisting inside me.

My phone buzzes again.

A new message. Not from Victoria.

Unknown number:

She lied to you. She’s not your wife. Leave now. This is your last warning.

My breath catches. The penthouse feels too small, too tight, the walls closing around me. Every shadow stretches long and unsettling. I glance at Eva. Calm on the outside, but I see the tension beneath—the readiness to fight, to protect, to survive.

Then I hear it.

Click.

A soft, almost hidden sound.

Click.

The sliding door to the balcony shifts. Just a millimeter, but enough. Someone is out there. Someone watching. Waiting.

Eva steps in front of me again, shoulders squared. “Stay close,” she murmurs.

I swallow, the fear thick in my throat. Every instinct begs me to run, but the pull toward her—the strange, invisible thread binding us—keeps me in place.

“Who is it?” I whisper.

“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “But they’re not here for me. They’re here for you.”

My stomach drops. My pulse surges, loud and frantic. Questions swarm my mind—Who are they? Why me? What do they know that I don’t? And why does all of this feel like a nightmare I’ve lived before?

The city lights flicker outside, stretching long shadows across the marble. The air feels still, thick, breathless.

Another shadow passes along the balcony. Slow. Deliberate. Confident. Deadly.

Eva leans in, her voice shaking now: “Whatever happens… trust me. Remember us. They want to erase everything.”

I nod, barely breathing, lost in fragments of memories that don’t make sense—sunlight, sand, laughter, touches, whispers—pieces of a life I should know.

Then a metallic clang hits the glass, followed by a slow, deliberate laugh.

The figure on the balcony steps closer.

And my breath lodges in my throat.

Because it isn’t just a stranger.

It’s someone I should know.

Someone who knows me.

Knows Eva.

Knows the truth I’ve forgotten.

And their intentions are anything but safe.