THE BILLIONAIRE'S FORGOTTEN FIANCÉE

Episode 2

Two days later, Adrian took me home.

He didn’t call it a house. He called it “our place.” But as the car pulled up to a towering glass skyscraper in the heart of the city, I realized “our place” was a penthouse apartment that was bigger than my entire forgotten world.

He helped me out of the car, his arm a steady, protective presence around my waist. He was so careful with me, as if I were made of the most delicate glass. He held the door open, his hand never leaving the small of my back as we walked into the lobby. He treated me like I was the most precious thing in the world, and with every passing moment, I fell more and more in love with him.

The elevator opened directly into the apartment. My breath caught in my throat. It was stunning. The walls were floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The furniture was modern and elegant, all soft grays and whites, with pops of color from vibrant pieces of art. It was a home from a magazine, but it felt warm, lived-in. It felt like a sanctuary.

“Welcome home, my love,” Adrian whispered in my ear, his breath warm against my skin.

He led me through the apartment, his hand never leaving mine. He showed me the kitchen, with its gleaming white marble countertops and state-of-the-art appliances. He showed me the living room, with a huge, comfortable-looking couch and a fireplace that I knew we would curl up in front of on cold nights.

Then, he led me to the bedroom. And my heart stopped.

It was a dream. A huge, king-sized bed with a mountain of soft, white pillows. And then, he opened the doors to the walk-in closet.

It was filled with clothes.

Not just any clothes. Beautiful, elegant dresses, soft cashmere sweaters, designer jeans, silk blouses. And shoes. Rows and rows of stunning shoes, from delicate heels to stylish sneakers. It was a fashion paradise, a dream I didn't know I had.

“I… I don’t understand,” I said, my voice full of awe and a little bit of confusion. This was too much. This was a life that didn't feel like mine.

“I wanted you to have everything you love,” he said, his voice soft and sincere. “I had your sister help me pick some things out. She said you’d want to feel comfortable and beautiful.”

My sister. The name brought a pang of sadness, but also a flicker of warmth. I had a sister. A family. It was a comforting thought.

“Can I… can I call her?” I asked, a sudden desperate need to connect with my past overwhelming me.

“Of course,” Adrian said, his smile never wavering. He handed me his phone. “Her number is on speed dial. One.”

I took the phone, my hands trembling. I found the contact: Sarah. I pressed the button and held the phone to my ear, my heart pounding.

It rang twice before she answered.

“Hi, Sarah,” I said, my own voice cracking.

“Chloe? Oh my God, Chloe, is that you?” Her voice was a frantic, relieved sob. It was the voice of a stranger, but it was also the voice of family.

“Oh, thank God,” she cried. “I’ve been so worried. Adrian said you woke up, but I needed to hear your voice. How are you? Are you okay? Do you remember me?”

“I… I’m okay,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “I don’t… I don’t remember anything, but… hearing your voice… it feels right.”

“Oh, Chloe,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll make new memories. The important thing is you’re alive and you’re safe. Are you home? With Adrian?”

“Yeah, I’m home.”

“Good,” she said, her voice a little firmer now. “You just rest and let him take care of you. He’s been so worried about you. He’s a good man, Chloe. You’re so lucky to have him.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“Listen, honey, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice suddenly rushed. “I’m stuck at the hospital. We’re swamped with a multi-car pile-up on the freeway and they called me in on an emergency shift. I can’t get away to come see you. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said, a wave of disappointment washing over me. I wanted to see her, to see a face that was supposed to be familiar to me.

“I’ll come see you the first chance I get, I promise,” she said. “Just focus on getting better. I love you, sis.”

“I love you too,” I said, the words feeling foreign but true.

She hung up, and I was left with the sound of the dial tone in my ear. I handed the phone back to Adrian, trying to hide my sadness.

“She’s stuck at work,” I said, forcing a smile.

“She’s a doctor, she saves lives,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “She’ll be here soon enough. And until then, you have me.”

I buried my face in his chest, his clean scent a comfort. The phone call had left me feeling more alone than ever. My sister was a stranger living a life I couldn’t remember. Adrian was the only real thing in my world.

That night, he made me dinner. He didn’t have a personal chef do it. He cooked for me himself. He made a simple pasta with a creamy tomato sauce, and it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. We sat at the small table in the kitchen, and he started to tell me stories about our life together.

“You know, our first date was a disaster,” he said, a laugh in his voice. He swirled the pasta on his plate, a small smile playing on his lips. “I took you to this little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant, the kind of place with red checkered tablecloths and candles stuck in old Chianti bottles. I wanted to impress you, but I was so nervous I knocked over my water glass.”

I giggled, picturing it. “What did I do?”

“You just laughed,” he said, his eyes softening as he remembered. “You had this incredible laugh, Chloe. It was like… music. You helped the waiter clean it up, and then you looked at me and said, ‘Well, that’s one way to break the ice.’ And I just… I knew. I knew I could be myself around you.”

I reached across the table and took his hand. “I wish I could remember that.”

“You will,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Or even better, we’ll just make new ones.”

He told me about the night he proposed. His voice grew softer, more intimate.

“We were on vacation,” he said, his gaze distant, as if he were reliving it. “We were on this tiny, secluded island in the middle of the ocean. It was just us and the sand and the stars. We were walking on the beach at night, and the moon was so bright it looked like a spotlight on the water.”

He paused, taking a sip of his wine. I leaned forward, completely captivated.

“I was so nervous,” he continued. “I had the ring in my pocket, and my heart was pounding so hard I thought you could hear it. I stopped walking and turned to you, and I just… I couldn’t speak. I was just looking at you, with the moon in your hair and the ocean in your eyes, and I thought, ‘How did I get so lucky?''

My heart swelled, aching with a love I couldn’t remember but could feel.

“What did I do?” I whispered.

“You smiled,” he said, his own smile full of love. “You took my hand and said, ‘What is it, Adrian?’ And I just… I got down on one knee right there in the sand. I didn’t have a big speech prepared. I just said, ‘Chloe, you are my best friend and my true love. I can’t imagine a single day of my life without you. Will you marry me?’”

Tears were streaming down my face now. I could see it. I could feel the sand between my toes, hear the waves crashing on the shore, see the love shining in his eyes.

“What did I say?” I asked, my voice thick with emotion.

“You said yes,” he said, his voice thick with emotion too. “You cried and you laughed and you threw your arms around my neck and you kissed me. And it was the happiest moment of my entire life.”

With every story, I felt a piece of myself clicking back into place. Not a memory, but a feeling. A feeling of happiness, of love, of belonging. I was falling in love with the life he described, a life I desperately wanted to be mine.

Later that night, as I was getting ready for bed, I opened a drawer in the beautiful dresser in the corner of the room. It was filled with my lingerie, all delicate lace and silk. But tucked in the back, hidden under a pile of cream-colored chemises, there was something that didn’t fit.

It was a small, black leather notebook.

I picked it up, my heart pounding. It was plain, with no writing on the cover. It felt cool and smooth in my hands. I opened it, my hands trembling.

The pages were filled with writing. But it wasn’t my writing. The handwriting was sharp, angular, almost aggressive. And the language… it wasn’t English. It was a language I didn’t recognize, a series of harsh, foreign symbols.

What was this? Who did this belong to? It didn't make sense. It didn't fit in this beautiful, perfect life, this sweet, loving man, this wonderful sister.

I slammed the notebook shut, a cold fear washing over me. I looked at myself in the mirror. The woman staring back at me was a stranger. A beautiful, fragile stranger with a blank mind and a fiancé who was too good to be true.

And for the first time since I woke up, I wondered if he was telling me the whole story.