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Elena expected the house to feel familiar.
It did not.
The gates opened onto a long drive lined with trees and low lights that came on as the car passed.
She stared through the window.
“This is ours?”
Nate glanced at her from the driver's seat. “Yes.”
“How much did this cost?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“Six point eight.”
Elena choked. “Million?”
Nate's mouth twitched. “No, Elena. Six dollars and eighty cents.”
She slapped his arm before remembering she was angry with him.
They both froze.
Then Nate laughed.
Elena did too.
It felt dangerously normal.
The house was enormous, all stone, glass, and windows overlooking the city. A security guard opened the front door before they reached it.
Elena slowed.
“We have security?”
“We do now.”
“Because of the accident?”
“Yes.”
“Did I agree to that?”
“You were unconscious.”
She gave him a look.
Nate raised both hands. “Temporary. You can fire them when your doctor says you are allowed to stand without getting dizzy.”
“I can stand.”
“You almost walked into a chair this morning.”
“The chair moved.”
“Of course it did.”
She fought a smile and stepped inside.
Nothing.
No recognition.
The entryway could have belonged to anyone.
Then she saw a photograph on a side table.
She and Nate stood barefoot on a beach, his trousers rolled to his calves while she laughed into the wind.
Another showed them at a formal event. Nate wore a tuxedo. Elena wore a black gown and looked directly at him instead of the camera.
Another showed Elena laughing while Nate kissed her cheek.
“This does not look like a miserable marriage.”
Nate set her bag down. “It was not always.”
She walked farther.
The house was beautiful, but it felt curated rather than lived in. Fresh flowers. Art she did not recognize. Furniture that probably cost more than her first car.
“What happened to our apartment?”
“We kept it for two years after we bought this place.”
“Why?”
“You did not want to sell it.”
“That sounds like me.”
“You cried when I finally did.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“Did you?”
Nate paused.
“Not where you could see me.”
Elena looked at him.
For a second she saw the young man in her kitchen again.
Then he turned away.
“The bedroom is upstairs. I had your things brought back exactly where they were.”
“Brought back?”
Nate stopped.
Elena's stomach tightened. “Where were they?”
“Some of your clothes were at your mother's.”
“Because I was leaving?”
“Yes.”
There was no good way to hear that.
She climbed the stairs slowly, refusing his offered hand until dizziness hit halfway up. Nate did not comment when she finally grabbed his arm.
At the top, Elena released him immediately.
“Do not look smug.”
“I am not.”
“You are internally smug.”
“That is impossible to prove.”
The bedroom was larger than her first apartment.
Elena stopped in the doorway.
A king sized bed sat beneath tall windows. Her side of the room was obvious even though she did not remember arranging it. Books on the nightstand. Hand cream. A framed picture of her parents.
Nate remained in the hallway.
“You are not coming in?”
His eyes moved to the bed, then back to her.
“I have not slept in this room for seven months.”
Elena's chest tightened.
“Oh.”
“I will use the guest room.”
Something inside her unexpectedly objected.
She ignored it.
“That is probably best.”
Nate nodded.
He looked disappointed anyway.
Elena spent the next hour exploring a life that belonged to her and did not.
Her closet contained clothes she barely recognized. Designer labels she would once have laughed at. A row of heels high enough to qualify as architectural hazards.
Then she found an old sweatshirt pushed behind several dresses.
SFSU BUSINESS.
She pulled it out and pressed it to her chest.
That she remembered.
Nate appeared at the doorway again.
“You kept that?”
“Apparently.”
“You refused to throw anything away.”
“Sentimental value.”
“It had a hole in the sleeve eight years ago.”
“It is vintage now.”
His laugh followed her down the hall.
Then she noticed another doorway.
An office.
Her office.
She knew before entering.
Two monitors sat on the desk. Shelves held financial reports and binders. A framed photograph of her parents sat beside a picture of Elena and Nate in an office so tiny both of them barely fit in the frame.
She picked it up.
“Was this Mercer?”
“Our second office.”
“What happened to the first?”
“Flooded.”
She laughed. “Seriously?”
“Pipe burst over the server room.”
“How did we survive?”
“You yelled at the landlord until he paid for everything.”
“That also sounds like me.”
Nate leaned against the doorframe.
“You were terrifying.”
“Were?”
A faint smile. “Still are.”
Elena set the photograph down.
Her fingertips moved across the desk.
A drawer.
She opened it.
Empty.
Another held pens, paper, and a calculator.
The bottom drawer was locked.
Elena frowned.
“Nate.”
He appeared beside her. “What?”
“Do you have the key?”
His expression changed. “No.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
“I do not know.”
Elena stared at the lock.
Something about it bothered her.
She leaned underneath the desk.
Nate stepped closer. “What are you doing?”
Her fingers found tape.
Elena pulled free a tiny silver key.
They stared at each other.
“I guess I knew myself pretty well.”
She unlocked the drawer.
Inside were files, bank records, printed corporate documents, and a manila envelope with one word written across the front.
NATE
His face went pale.
Elena looked at him. “You have never seen this?”
“No.”
She opened it.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
Nate,
If you are reading this, then something happened before I could tell you myself.
Elena stopped.
Her heartbeat thundered.
Nate moved beside her.
She continued.
I know who is behind the transfers.
And I finally understand why they needed you to believe it was me.
Elena's hands began shaking.
The next page was missing.
She turned the envelope upside down.
Nothing.
“No.”
Nate took the envelope. “There has to be another page.”
“There is not.”
Elena searched the drawer again. She lifted every file and checked beneath the liner.
Nothing.
Then another memory struck.
Her hands placing the letter inside.
The scratch of the key turning.
A sound behind her.
Elena spinning in the chair.
Someone stood in the doorway.
She could not see the face.
But she remembered what she had said.
How did you get into my house?
Her blood ran cold.
“Nate.”
He looked at her.
“Someone was here.”
“When?”
“Before the accident.”
She stood too quickly.
The room tilted.
Nate caught her elbow.
This time she did not pull away.
“I hid that letter from someone.”
“Who?”
Elena closed her eyes.
The memory hovered just beyond reach.
A man's voice.
You really should have left this alone.
Her eyes snapped open.
“I think whoever ran me off the road has been inside this house.”
Nate's grip tightened slightly.
Then his eyes moved past her toward the office door.
Elena wandered back toward the hallway and paused beside a narrow console table. A bowl held keys, loose change, and an old plastic keychain from a taco restaurant.
She picked it up.
SEVENTH STREET TACOS.
Her chest warmed.
“You kept this too?”
Nate glanced over. “You did.”
“Why?”
“You said it was evidence that our first real date cost less than twenty dollars.”
Elena turned the keychain over in her palm.
“Did money change us?”
Nate took longer to answer than she expected.
“No.”
She looked at him skeptically.
“Not by itself,” he corrected. “What I did with the responsibility that came with it changed me.”
Elena set the keychain down.
That answer followed her into the office.
For the first time since coming home, Elena understood why the mansion felt wrong.
It was not because she could not remember it.
It was because some part of her did..
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