The Husband Who Forgot My Death

Episode 1: The Photograph That Shouldn’t Exist I froze. “What do you mean?” My maid opened her mouth to answer, but before a single word escaped, a man’s voice came from the end of the corridor. “Clara.” My maid went pale. Not the ordinary kind of pale that came from fear of being caught doing something wrong. This was different. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She stared at the photograph in my hand as though it were a loaded gun. “Go downstairs,” I ordered. She hesitated. “Madam, I think you should—” “Now, Clara.” She bowed her head and hurried away. I looked down at the photograph again. It showed a woman in a white wedding dress standing beside Adrian Blackwood, the man I was supposed to marry in less than three hours. The woman looked exactly like me. Not someone who resembled me. Not a distant relative with similar eyes or the same shape of face. Me. The same dark eyes. The same small scar near my left eyebrow. Even the tiny beauty mark beneath my lower lip was there. But the date written on the back of the photograph made my stomach twist. Five years ago. Five years ago, I had supposedly never met Adrian. Five years ago, I had been living an ordinary life, struggling to pay my bills and dreaming of a future that seemed painfully out of reach. Five years ago, I had never heard the name Blackwood. At least, that was what I remembered. I turned the photograph over again, searching for an explanation. There was a message written beneath the date. Forever begins where death ends. My fingers went cold. Who had written it? And why did I have the horrible feeling that I had seen those words before? A door slammed somewhere downstairs. I jumped. Then came the sound of footsteps approaching my bedroom. Slow. Deliberate. Unhurried. I knew those footsteps. Adrian. I quickly slid the photograph beneath my wedding dress, which lay across the bed. My heart was beating so violently that I could hear it in my ears. The door opened. Adrian stood beneath the chandelier, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his expression was as composed as ever. He looked handsome. He always did. But something was wrong with his eyes. They weren’t looking at me. They were fixed on the wedding dress. “You’re supposed to be getting ready,” he said. “I was.” His gaze moved to my face. “Was?” I swallowed. “Adrian, can I ask you something?” “Anything.” The answer came too quickly. I studied him carefully. “Have we ever met before?” For a moment, the room became completely silent. Then he smiled. It was a beautiful smile. The kind that had made me fall in love with him. The kind that made other women turn their heads whenever he entered a room. But this time, it frightened me. “Of course we’ve met before, Amara.” “I mean before we officially met. Before the charity gala. Before you asked me to marry you.” His smile disappeared. Only for a second. But I saw it. “What brought this on?” I reached for the photograph beneath the dress. “Because I found something.” Adrian didn’t move. He didn’t ask what I had found. He simply stared at my hand. And suddenly, I understood something that made my blood run cold. He already knew. He knew about the photograph. He knew what it showed. And whatever secret he had been hiding, he was terrified that I was about to uncover it. I pulled out the photograph and held it between us. “Who is this woman?” Adrian’s face lost every trace of colour. For the first time since I had known him, the billionaire looked like an ordinary man who had just watched his entire world collapse. He stepped closer. “Where did you get that?” “Answer me first.” His eyes moved from the photograph to my face. Then back to the photograph. His hands began to tremble. “Amara,” he whispered, “you weren’t supposed to find that.” “Why?” He said nothing. “Who is she?” His jaw tightened. Then he reached for the photograph. I pulled it away. “No.” “Give it to me.” “Not until you tell me the truth!” His voice rose. “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’RE ASKING!” The sudden outburst made me step back. Adrian stared at me, breathing heavily. For several seconds, neither of us spoke. Then his expression changed. The anger disappeared, replaced by something far more disturbing. Grief. Deep, unbearable grief. He looked at the photograph again. “Her name was Amara Vale,” he said quietly. My knees nearly gave way. “That’s my name.” “I know.” “Then who is she?” Adrian closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were filled with tears. “She was my wife.” The photograph slipped from my fingers. It landed face-up on the floor. I stared at it, unable to breathe. My face. My name. My husband. Except Adrian had never been married. I would have known. His life had been documented in magazines, newspapers, and business reports. Every detail of his rise to wealth had been written about. There had never been a wife. Never a wedding. Never an Amara Vale. I shook my head. “You’re lying.” “I wish I were.” “No. Stop it. This isn’t funny.” “I’m not joking.” I backed away from him. “Then explain it to me.” Adrian looked toward the open doorway. For the first time, I noticed that he seemed afraid of something beyond our room. Something he couldn’t see but knew was there. “Five years ago,” he began, “we were married in a private ceremony. Only a few people knew about it.” I stared at him. “You married me?” “Yes.” “But I don’t remember!” His face twisted with pain. “That’s the problem.” I pressed my hands against my temples. A strange sensation stirred behind my eyes. A flash of white flowers. A church bell. A man’s hand gripping mine. Then darkness. I gasped. Adrian rushed toward me, but I stumbled away. “Don’t touch me!” He stopped immediately. I could barely hear my own voice. “What happened five years ago?” He looked at me for a long time. Then he said the words that would destroy everything I thought I knew about my life. “You died.” I stared at him. “No.” “I buried you myself.” “No!” My voice cracked. I shook my head so violently that the room blurred around me. “That’s impossible! I’m standing right here!” “I know.” “Then how could I have died?” Adrian’s lips parted, but no answer came. He looked like a man standing at the edge of a grave, terrified of what might climb out. I grabbed his arm. “Tell me what happened!” He looked down at my fingers wrapped around his sleeve. Then he whispered, “I thought I had lost you forever.” A sudden pain pierced my head. This time, the memory came with a sound. A scream. My scream. I saw a dark room. A broken mirror. Blood spreading across a white wedding dress. And a man standing over me. His face was hidden in shadow. But I knew his voice. Forgive me. I released Adrian and staggered backward. He caught me before I fell. “Amara! Look at me!” I couldn’t. Because I had recognised the voice. It belonged to him. I pushed him away, horrified. “You did it.” He looked stunned. “What?” “You killed me!” His face crumpled. For a moment, I thought he would deny it. Instead, he whispered, “I tried to save you.” A cold laugh escaped my throat. “By killing me?” Before he could answer, the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then the chandelier went dark. The room plunged into shadow. I heard Adrian curse under his breath. Then, from somewhere in the corridor, came the sound of a little girl laughing. I stopped breathing. Adrian went completely still. The laughter came again. Closer this time. I turned toward the doorway. A small figure stood at the far end of the corridor. A little girl in a white dress. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, and her bare feet were pale against the dark wooden floor. She held a candle. The flame danced gently, casting strange shadows across her face. I couldn’t see her clearly. Yet something inside me recognised her. Not her face. Something deeper. Something I had forgotten. “Who is that?” I whispered. Adrian didn’t answer. I looked at him. He was staring at the little girl with an expression I had never seen before. Pure terror. “Adrian?” His lips moved, but no sound came out. The girl tilted her head. Then she smiled at me. “Mommy?” The word struck me harder than any blow. I shook my head. “No.” The girl took one small step forward. “Mommy, why are you pretending you don’t know me?” My hands began to shake. “I don’t know you.” She looked disappointed. “But you promised you would come back.” I turned toward Adrian. “What is she talking about?” He grabbed my wrist. “We need to leave.” “Answer me!” “Amara, please!” The desperation in his voice frightened me more than the little girl did. Adrian Blackwood was a man who controlled everything around him. He could silence a room with a glance and make powerful people wait for his approval. But now he was begging. Not me. The darkness. “Please,” he whispered. “Not tonight.” The little girl lifted her candle. “You’re late, Mommy.” Then she blew it out. The corridor went black. I heard Adrian scream my name. Something cold brushed against my cheek. And a voice whispered directly into my ear. “This time, don’t let him bury you.”