THE BILLIONAIRE'S FORGOTTEN FIANCÉE

Episode 3

I didn’t mention the notebook.

The next morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Adrian moving around in the kitchen. I slipped out of bed and put the notebook back in the drawer, burying it under a pile of silk chemises. I told myself I was being silly. It was probably just an old address book or something. There was a logical explanation. There had to be.

I wanted to believe that. I needed to believe that.

I found Adrian in the kitchen, his back to me, wearing a simple grey t-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He was humming a soft tune, a melody that felt strangely familiar. He turned around, a bright, beautiful smile lighting up his face when he saw me.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said, walking over to me and wrapping his arms around my waist. He kissed the top of my head, his chin resting on my hair. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” I lied. I had slept terribly, my mind racing with questions I couldn’t answer, the image of the strange symbols and the story of the red dress burned into my brain.

He poured me a cup of coffee, adding just the right amount of milk and sugar, just the way I liked it. He knew things about me that I didn’t know myself. It was both comforting and unsettling.

We spent the day on the couch, watching old movies and eating popcorn. He was so attentive, so loving. He held my hand, he played with my hair, he looked at me with a love so pure it made my heart ache. He was the perfect man. The perfect fiancé. And I was the luckiest woman in the world.

So why did I feel like I was living in a beautiful, gilded cage?

That afternoon, I decided to make us some tea. I went into the kitchen and reached for a jar of honey on a high shelf in the cupboard. It was a new, unopened jar, and the lid was screwed on incredibly tight.

I tried to twist it open. I couldn’t. I used all my strength, my muscles straining, but the lid wouldn’t budge. It was frustrating, but also a little embarrassing.

“Here, let me get that,” Adrian said, coming up behind me. He took the jar from my hand and, with a single, easy twist, he opened it.

“Wow, you’re strong,” I said, laughing, trying to brush off the feeling of inadequacy.

He just smiled, but there was a strange look in his eyes. A look of… surprise? Or was it… fear?

And then it happened.

A flash of an image, so vivid and so real it made me gasp. It wasn’t a memory, not really. It was a feeling, an instinct. I saw my hands, but they weren’t my hands. They were stronger, faster. I saw them twist, not a jar lid, but a man’s wrist. I heard a sickening crack. I felt a surge of dark, cold satisfaction.

The image was gone as fast as it came, leaving me breathless and dizzy. I leaned against the counter, my heart pounding in my chest, the jar of honey forgotten.

“Chloe? What’s wrong?” Adrian asked, his voice full of concern. He was by my side in an instant, his hands on my arms, steadying me. “You’re as white as a ghost.”

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head, trying to clear the horrific image from my mind. “I just… I felt a little dizzy.”

“It’s probably just the exhaustion,” he said, his voice soft and reassuring. He pulled me into his arms, holding me tight. “You’ve been through a lot, my love. Your body is still healing. You need to be patient with yourself.”

I buried my face in his chest, breathing in his clean, comforting scent. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe it was just a random, weird flash. But it felt so real. The feeling of the man’s wrist snapping in my hands… it was a feeling of power, of control. A feeling that was both terrifying and, in a dark, twisted part of my soul, thrilling.

I pulled away from him and looked up at his face. His eyes were full of love and concern, but I saw something else there, too. A flicker of… fear. Was he afraid for me? Or was he afraid of me?

“Adrian,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Was I… was I a good person? Before the accident?”

His whole body went tense. It was just for a second, but I felt it. He masked it quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“What kind of question is that?” he said, his voice a little too bright. “Of course you were. You’re the best person I’ve ever known. You’re kind, and you’re funny, and you’re so incredibly loving. You’re the light of my life, Chloe. Don’t ever forget that.”

He kissed me then, a deep, desperate kiss that was meant to silence my questions, to push away the doubts. And for a little while, it worked. I got lost in the kiss, in the feeling of his arms around me, in the illusion of our perfect love.

But later that night, as he was sleeping beside me, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The image of the snapping wrist was burned into my mind. And I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that Adrian Sterling was lying to me.

The woman he described, the woman he loved, was not the woman who was hiding in the dark, forgotten corners of my mind.