The man on TV
1133 Words
Scarlett
“Is there anyone you remember and would like to call, Scarlett?”
“No,” I lower my eyes to my fingers and say weakly, disappointed at my own answer.
I'm not even sure if that is my name. The word had rolled off my tongue when I was asked what my name was.
The only memory I have is waking up in an unfamiliar room called the ICU, steady rhythmic beeps echoing through the haze of my mind, and the doctor asking me questions.
A female nurse steps into the ward, “The couple that found her body is here to see her.”
The doctor grins at me, “Lucky you, Scarlett.”
The couple walks into the wardroom. They freeze, a mysterious look flashing in their eyes.
I stare at them, confused about what to do, what to say, or how to react. They're unfamiliar. But… Why do I feel some kind of attachment to the man?
“The patient’s severe TBI resulted in global amnesia, impairing episodic and semantic memory. She said her name is Scarlett, but we doubt it,” the doctor explains to the man.
The man scratches the back of his head, sighing, devastated by the revelation. He must be thinking about what to do with me now.
He steps closer to stand by my bedside, then the lady follows. They stare down at me with pity.
“I don't know how to thank—”
“It’s fine. Anyone could've died from that fa… accident. Reserve your appreciation for the goddess. What we did was just a bonus.”
“She’s a fighter, Zachary,” the lady says, squeezing Zachary's shoulder. “Do you really not remember anything at all? Not even your family?”
I lower my head in regret, my expression clouding over. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s your husband.” Zachary points at the man on TV who's making a speech at an event. “He's been looking everywhere for you for over a year now. You need to go and find him.”
I stare at the man on the TV.
Shoulder-length, raven hair frames a hard sharply chiseled face carved from menace. On the left side of his face are deep, grotesque scars like a burn, jagged ridges of dead tissue tearing his beauty in half. Like something monstrous once tried to claw its way out of him and failed.
He looks dangerous, ruthless, frightening. How can a man like him be my husband?
I find the lady giving me a strange look, one that looks as if I'm about to do something dangerous. Maybe I misinterpreted her expression.
She smiles pitifully.
“We’re happy that you're alive after a year in a coma. But… can you be on your own?”
I nod, even though I'm afraid to be on my own in a world where I know nobody. I don't even know who I am, or where I'm from.
Where should I go from here?
I need to find my husband. He's my only hope.
***
Killian
I claw at my chest, pain ripping through me as I sink into the seat, letting out a low, restrained growl.
The curse is consuming me—I doubt I can hold it back much longer. According to the prophecy, only one person can heal me and break my curse.
My mate.
I've met her once. That unforgettable night. I may not remember what she looked like, but the warm, tender, healing touch of her delicate hands is unforgettable.
With one touch, she eased my curse that night and silenced my 684 years of endless wakefulness.
If I hadn't gotten carried away by that moment of peace and pleasure, I wouldn't have woken to find her gone.
I've scoured the world for the woman I waited for for 684 years, the woman I reserve all my love for. I will burn the world to the ground if that is what it takes to find her.
“This has been happening for a year, Alpha. Are you sure your mate is alright?” my second-in-command’s voice tears through the silence in the car.
“Have you gathered the list of all the she-wolves living in the city?”
“That will make it the tenth list, Alpha. Are you sure you can recognize any woman on this one?”
We pull into the hotel's parking garage. A horde of reporters charges forward, swarming around my car, lenses training on me.
But the second I step out of the car, the gathering scatters.
“It’s the alpha king himself. Not his beta!” a reporter screams.
The reporters flee, some abandoning their tools; the ones who are bold enough to remain are shaking like leaves.
“S…s…s--sir. Is… is Harte Holdings likely to accept Ledger Inc’s merger proposal?” a female reporter stutters.
I ignore her. As I strut toward the entrance of the building, followed by my enforcers, everyone who sees me coming flees, people shut their car doors, and cars zoom off.
“Holy s**t! Drive, drive,” a man screams.
In the building, people freeze, and some face the wall as if they'll disappear into it.
It's no ordinary fear. The goddess laid this curse on me that night 684 years ago. I'm doomed to suffer eternally, hated, feared, and avoided by all living things—to be lonely.
It took me a century to get used to this. Older generations are still struggling to get used to me. Tales about me are told as bedtime stories for the younger generation.
I walk into the boardroom. An integral of the board members freezes. I can taste their fear and it's stirring the predatory instincts of my wolf Wrath.
“A--as the, er… the re-representative of…of L-Ledger Inc, Zachary Ledger…”
I lean back in my seat, maintaining eye contact with the lad. But he wouldn't dare hold my gaze.
I terrify them, even though Harte has been in business for centuries. Zachary goes on about the reason for the merger, the attractive benefits of mergers, and the risks involved.
“All in favor?”
Everyone around the table looks at me, awaiting my vote. They know I never lose in business, a seasoned business mogul who's been in business for centuries. If I don't vote, no one will.
I begin, “forty percent risk…”
A mouthwatering scent invades my nostrils, traveling straight into my system and Wrath stirs.
Mine!
Wrath is restless, clawing at my restraint. I lift from my seat, storming out of the boardroom. Nothing in the world can make me lose her this time.
‘Lock down the area. Nobody moves until I find my mate!’ I mind-link Lucian.
- Writer
