His Forgotten Obsession

Chapter 2

LIANA'S POV

The drive to Matteo's house was oddly quiet.

He didn't say a thing. Neither did I.

I was all bundled up in the back of the car, the AC blowing ice-cold air, but I barely noticed. I was swaddled in a thick coat he'd supplied me with at the hospital—a plush, cozy, obscenely expensive item for someone at my station. My hands were buried under my legs for extra heat.

Outside the black window, the city blurred past in a blur. Dazzling lights. Skyscrapers. Jammed roads. I knew nothing. Nothing whatsoever. I didn't even know myself. I was foreign in my own body.

Everything was strange.

Including me.

To distract myself, I couldn't stop thinking about Matteo and the one thing that just didn't make sense to me—Why was he assisting me?

He didn't know me. I had no recollection, no name, no identity. And yet here he was, giving me refuge. Dressing me. Guarding me.

What did he stand to benefit from?

I grew irate at the devious implication that I was some kind of charity case. I did not wish to be a burden to anyone, even though I had no idea why.

Then the vehicle pulled into a subterranean garage and stopped beneath a structure that was more palace than house. My breath was taken. My eyes were wide open.

Did he actually reside here?

We took a private elevator to the penthouse level. When the doors slid open, I stepped into a world to which I did not belong.

"Woah," I whispered before I could snap out of it.

The penthouse itself was huge. Shining floors. Glass walls with a view of the city skyline. Sculptural lighting. All sparkling and arranged with clinical neatness. Not a pillow out of place. Not a speck of dust. It didn't seem like it was lived in. It seemed… built.

"This… this is your home?" I said, taking a step deeper into the room like a thief.

"It's where I live," he replied nonchalantly. "Make yourself at home."

At home? That was a joke.

The living room looked more like a luxury hotel than a house anyone ever set foot in. My own face scowled back at me from the shiny windows—tousled hair, pale face, still in his hospital gown under his suit jacket.

I did not belong here.

"Why are you doing this?" I spoke out of turn, whirling back to him. "You don't even know me."

He unwound his tie a notch and edged around me with a sigh. "I told you. I found you. I was not going to leave you on the floor."

"That doesn't explain." I gestured toward the ridiculous elegance around me. "Why would you take someone like me into this?"

He hesitated, shoulders bracing slightly. "It's complicated."

"I've got all day," I said, folding my arms. "Try me."

He stared at me for a long time. Then, hesitantly, he entered the room and sat at the edge of the sleek grey couch.

"I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend," he stated bluntly.

My heart leaped.

"Excuse me?" I blinked. "What?"

"In public. Just for a few minutes."

"Why?" I asked, trying to maintain a level tone.

"Because… like I said, it's complicated." He did not alter his tone. Not mad. Not apologetic. Just… firm. "You needed somewhere to stay. I needed a solution. That's the arrangement."

I looked at him.

Was he serious? Did he expect me to be his girlfriend now? That we had some kind of relationship? That this wasn't utterly insane?

I didn't know whether I was supposed to be offended, flattered… or frightened.

"I'm not asking for much," he said quietly. Just let people think we're together. And you'll have food, clothing, safety, medical attention. You'll be safe."

That word again—

Safe.

"What if I say no?"

"Then I'll have my driver return you to the hospital," he replied practically. His tone was level. Not threatening. Just a decision. Like it didn't matter to him either way.

I glanced at the door.

I didn't even know where I was. Who I was. I didn't have anyone. No identity. No plan. If I stepped out now, I'd be alone again. Vulnerable. Exposed.

Or worse.

What if Matteo wasn't what he seemed? What if I just committed to playing house with an evil man?

But something told me… I wasn't safe outside either.

I swallowed. "Okay."

He nodded once. "You'll be addressed as Miss Liana from now on."

"Is that my name?" I whispered.

He didn't respond. He just turned to the hallway and called out, "Stanley!"

A man materialized seconds later. Older. Ramrod-straight posture. Shorter than Matteo. Dressed like a retro butler from another era.

"Yes, sir."

"This is Miss Liana. She'll be staying with us for a bit. See to it that her room is prepared."

Stanley faced me, courteous in his face but his eyes… distant. Observing me. As if he knew something I did.

"Of course. "Welcome, Miss," he said, leaning his head.

There was something in the manner in which he looked at me that troubled me.

"Please, this way," he said and gestured down the corridor.

I trailed behind, behind his stiff back and imitative steps. Every wall we passed was painted with artwork. Abstract, modern, cold. The room was perfect in a way that felt nearly artificial.

Finally, he pushed open a door at the other end of the hall.

Inside, the room was as large as any suite I had ever fantasized of. A king bed. A walk-in closet in which to hang clothes my size. A vanity with newly cut flowers. Golden lights streaming everywhere. Everything smells like lavender and upscale perfume.

"Wow…"

I panted.

Matteo stepped behind me, his tone low. "Stanley will arrange for whatever else you need. There are pajamas in the dresser. Sleep. We'll talk tomorrow."

And he was gone.

I stood there in the room for a full minute, not budging.

Then I shed the hospital gown and stepped into a hot bath. The tub was marble, carved, the water scented. It felt… dreamlike.

As though I had entered someone else's world.

Later, I dried myself off, put on the silk pajamas, and collapsed into bed. The moment my head dropped onto the pillow, I was gone.

But peace was not mine.

I dreamed of blackness.

A door.

My hands… dyed red.

A scream.

Blood. So much blood.

I lay bolt upright in bed, heart racing in my chest, drenched in sweat. My lungs strained for air.

Then—

The door crashed open.

Matteo charged in, shirt flung open, eyes bulging. He raked the room with a glance, then came straight to me.

"Liana?" he gasped harshly.

I couldn't speak.

He gripped my shoulders, firm and bracing. "Look at me."

My startled eyes came into conflict with his.

"You're safe now," he breathed. His voice was lower, softer. "You're safe with me."

He slowly inched his hands down my arms, his fingers calming in ways I couldn't quite describe. The panic slowly ebbed from my chest.

I nodded unsteadily. "I… I saw…"

"Don't think about it," he whispered. "It was just a nightmare."

But if only a dream.

Why did it feel so real?

I remembered what Dr. Camille had said to me beforehand:

"Temporary trauma-induced memory loss…"

Trauma.

What had I done?

Had I done something?

Had I….killed someone?