Conquered

Chapter two: Jon's POV

Jon Marsh didn’t do pharmacies. He did private doctors. Private clinics. Private jets.

Anything that kept people out of his business. But private doctors couldn’t fix gaps, and tonight the gaps were worse.

He’d woken up in his penthouse at 1:12 AM with no memory of the last six hours. Again. The prescription on his nightstand was in a doctor’s handwriting he didn’t recognize. "Lorazepam" for anxiety, for memory stabilization. The word "amnesia" wasn’t written, but Jon could read between the lines. So he came alone because trusting drivers with this felt worse than trusting strangers.

Then the door chimed, and he saw her. Ginger hair escaping from a messy bun, freckles, white coat, eyes the color of warm honey, wide with surprise but not fear. She didn’t look at his suit, didn't’ look at his watch. She looked at him. Like she was trying to figure out if he was okay.

Jon had spent 34 years making sure no one looked at him like that. It was inefficient. It was dangerous. So why couldn’t he look away? “Can I… help you?” she asked.

Her voice did something stupid to his chest. Soft. Unpracticed. Not the fake polite tone people used when they saw his last name on a credit card.

Jon forced himself to focus. Prescription. Counter. Transaction. Leave.

“I need this filled,” he said. “For amnesia.”

The word tasted bitter. He hated saying it out loud. Hated admitting his mind was betraying him.

The woman, Kara, her name tag read, picked up the paper. Her fingers were short, clean, no rings. She studied it for three seconds too long.

“This is a controlled substance,” she said carefully. “And I’ll need to see ID. And I have to verify with your doctor.”

“Doctor’s number is at the bottom,” Jon said. Flat. Dismissive. The tone that made CEOs stutter. Kara didn’t stutter. She just nodded. “Of course. Standard procedure. One moment.”

She walked to the computer. Jon watched her. He shouldn’t. But he did. The way she stood. The way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear while she typed. The way her shoulders relaxed when Thomas said something behind her and she smiled without looking. She was real. Not polished. Not calculated, real and that was a problem.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Uh… sir, if you want to have a seat, it might take a few minutes to verify, “I’ll stand,” Jon cut in. He didn’t sit. He didn’t sit for anyone.

Kara was on the phone now. “Hi, this is Kara Clayton at Clayton & Rowe. I’m verifying a prescription for Jonathan Marsh? Dr. Ellison’s office?”

Jonathan, not Jon. No one called him Jonathan except his mother, and she was dead.

He opened his mouth to correct her, but closed it. Jonathan sounded… softer. Human. He hadn’t been human in a long time.

Kara listened, nodding. “Yes, dosage matches. Patient history checks out. Thank you, ma’am.” She hung up and turned back to him.

Her eyes did that thing again. Assessing him. Not as a billionaire. As a patient.

“You’ve been having memory lapses,” she said. Not a question. Jon’s jaw tightened. “That’s what the prescription is for.”

“I know.” She pulled the medication from the shelf behind her. Her movements were precise. Practiced. Safe. “I’m not judging you, Mr. Marsh. I just need to counsel you before I hand this over.” “I don’t need counseling. “Everyone needs counseling,” she said, so simply it almost made him laugh. Almost. “Especially when you’re on something that can cause drowsiness, dizziness, and memory issues. Which… ironic, I know.” For the first time in years, Jon’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But close. Kara didn’t miss it. Her eyes flickered, surprised, then pleased. Like she’d won something small.

She slid the bottle across the counter. But she didn’t let go right away. Her fingers rested on the plastic for half a second.

“Take it with food,” she said quietly. “Don’t mix it with alcohol. And… Mr. Marsh?” He looked up. Met her eyes. “If you’re having gaps, don’t be alone tonight. Call someone. A friend. Family. “I don’t have anyone,” he said before he could stop himself. Truth, raw and ugly. Kara’s expression shifted. Just a little. Pity wasn’t in it. Understanding was.

She nodded once. “Then call me if you need to,” she said. Then, as if she realized what she’d just done, she pulled her hand back fast. “I mean— the pharmacy line is 24 hours. For patient questions. That’s all.”

Professional. Boundaries. Right.

Jon picked up the bottle. Their fingers brushed. Electric. Stupid. Immediate.

He jerked his hand back like he’d been burned. Kara did the same. Her cheeks went pink. Neither of them spoke for three seconds. Three seconds that felt like a lifetime.

“You should go home,” Kara said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Rest.”

“I don’t rest,” Jon said. Old habit. Old lie.

“You should start,” she replied. And for the first time in his life, Jon believed someone might be right.

He turned to leave. Stopped. Looked back at her. “What’s your name?” He already knew. He just wanted to hear it from her.

“Kara,” she said. “Kara Clayton.”

“Kara,” he repeated. Tested it, Like her name was medicine too. She swallowed. “Be safe, Mr. Marsh.”

Jon Marsh walked out of Clayton & Rowe at 2:17 AM with a bottle of pills in his pocket and a woman’s name burning in his head.

He didn’t believe in love.

He didn’t believe in fate.

He didn’t believe in second chances.

But as the glass doors closed behind him, Jon realized something terrifying: For the first time in three years, he wanted to remember.