The Woman I Don't Remember

Chapter Five — Threads of the Past

The sound of shattering glass still rings in my ears, each fragment catching the dim light like frozen fire. My pulse races, relentless, hammering in my chest. I can’t think. I can’t move. I can barely breathe.

Eva’s hand grips mine like iron. Her eyes blaze—not with fear, but with calculation, with a readiness I’ve never seen before. “Stay close. Don’t panic,” she orders, low and steady, commanding without shouting.

I nod, even though every fiber of me screams to run, to hide, to escape this impossible nightmare. The intruder is out there—silent, deliberate, predatory. Whoever it is, they know me. Know Eva. Know us.

We move together toward the kitchen, staying low. Her hand never leaves mine, anchoring me amid the chaos. Every instinct tells me she is more than a woman claiming to be my wife—she is the tether keeping me grounded in a storm I cannot comprehend.

The metallic tang of broken glass mingles with the faint sweetness of rose from the candle she lit earlier. My mind flares with fragments of memory, hazy and fleeting, too sharp to hold for long:

Sunlight spilling over a balcony. Sand under our feet. Her laughter. The warmth of her hand in mine. The brush of her lips against mine. A whisper of her name. Panic. Loss. And then darkness.

I shake my head violently. It’s too much. Impossible.

“We have to lock the balcony,” Eva snaps, shaking me out of the reverie. Her hands move with practiced precision, sliding bolts, engaging locks. My fingers tremble, clutching the frame as though it could protect us from the world outside.

The shadow shifts again beyond the glass—a tall figure, deliberate, patient. Watching. Waiting. Every instinct screams danger.

“They’re not here for games,” Eva mutters. “They want control. Over you. Over us. Over… everything.”

“Why?” I demand, voice hoarse. “Why me? Why this? Why her?” The last word slips out before I can stop it, bitter on my tongue, sharp and accusing.

Eva doesn’t flinch. She kneels before me, gaze locking with mine. “Because you’re worth saving,” she whispers. “Because the past matters. Because I made a choice—a choice that could destroy me, but I couldn’t live without you.”

The words strike me harder than any blow. My chest tightens, pulse spiking. The fragments flare again—her, the beach, our hands entwined, sunlight, laughter, fire, screams. I clutch my head, staggering backward into the marble wall.

Eva catches me instantly, steadying my shaking body. “It’s okay,” she murmurs. “I’m here. I’ve always been here.”

A new sound—soft, deliberate, almost a whisper—comes from the balcony. A metallic click, faint but unmistakable.

I glance at Eva. Her eyes widen slightly. “They’re inside,” she breathes.

My stomach drops. Every rational thought screams to run, to barricade, to disappear. And yet, the pull toward her—the thread tying me to something I cannot remember—keeps me rooted.

A memory flashes—a brief, vivid spark: firelight, her eyes wide, hands trembling, and me—screaming, trying to save her. Pain. Loss. Helplessness pressing down like a weight. My breath catches, throat tight.

I stumble, gripping her arm. “Tell me what’s happening. Now.”

Eva swallows hard. “I can’t tell you everything yet. Not everything. But… we’re being hunted. By someone from the past. Someone who doesn’t want us together. Someone who—”

A crash interrupts her. The balcony door slams open. The figure steps inside. Tall. Deliberate. Silent. Deadly.

I want to move. To run. To do anything but stand frozen. Eva steps forward, shielding me. Her gaze hardens, fierce, unflinching.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” the voice hisses—metallic, cold, impossible to place. My chest feels like it’s been hit. I’ve heard this voice before… somewhere.

Eva glances at me. “Stay behind me. No matter what.”

The intruder moves closer. Shadows shift across the marble floor, darkening the edges of the room. Every detail screams danger: careful steps, a glint of metal, the precision of their stance. Trained. Patient. Lethal.

My mind reels. Who is this? What do they want? And why does it feel like I should already know them?

Flashes strike again—memories, fragments, lightning in my skull: sunlight in her hair, laughter, fire, screams. Hands gripping mine. Her voice. My voice calling hers. Then… darkness. Loss.

I stagger, clutching my head. Eva steadies me, arms firm, grounding me. “Breathe,” she whispers. Soft. Intimate. Fierce. Protective.

The intruder pauses, studying us, then lunges.

Eva reacts instantly—swift, precise, almost superhuman. She shoves me behind the sofa, taking the brunt of the attack. Metal scrapes marble. Vibrations rattle through the floor. Panic surges.

“Get down!” she shouts.

I obey, collapsing behind the furniture. Heart pounding. Hands shaking. Danger screams at me. Yet every memory fragment, every pulse of longing, every unexplainable tether draws me back to her—to Eva, the woman claiming to be my wife, the impossible truth I cannot yet see.

The intruder hesitates. Eva remains poised, body tense, ready. The space between us thick with the electricity of imminent violence.

Then silence. Too loud. Too deliberate. Too heavy.

Eva’s eyes meet mine, wide, breathing hard. “This isn’t over,” she warns. “They know… everything. They won’t stop until they erase us both.”

Fear, confusion, longing, and something else—a pull deep and insistent—curl in my gut. I want to argue, deny it, hide. But the thread connecting me to her—unseen, unnameable—holds me firm.

I nod. “Then… we fight,” I whisper.

Her gaze softens briefly, then hardens again. “Yes,” she says. “Together. No matter what.”

And just as the tension anchors us, the city lights flicker, dimming slightly.

The air thickens, heavy with electricity and… something unreal.

A shiver crawls down my spine as a voice—not hers, not mine, not anyone I recognize—whispers in my mind:

Remember… or lose everything.

The intruder is still in the penthouse. Memories are fragmenting, slipping through my mind like water. And a voice—supernatural, impossible, yet intimately familiar—forces a truth I cannot yet fully grasp: if I fail to remember, everything I feel for Eva, everything we were… everything we could be… will be erased forever.