Chapter Two: The Murder She Couldn't Remember
1596 Words
Put your hands where I can see them, Amelia Bennett. You are under arrest for murder.”
The words shattered the silence of Cassian Hale’s penthouse.
Amelia stared at the two uniformed officers standing in the doorway, their expressions cold and unforgiving. Behind them, a detective held up a photograph of a woman with dark hair and frightened eyes.
The same woman from the picture Amelia had discovered that morning.
“This is a mistake,” Amelia whispered.
“Then you won't mind explaining why your fingerprints were found on the murder weapon.”
Her blood turned cold.
Cassian stepped between Amelia and the officers. “Nobody is taking her anywhere until I know what this is about.”
The detective's gaze shifted to him. “Mr. Hale, unless you want to be questioned as an accessory, I suggest you move aside.”
Cassian's jaw tightened.
Amelia caught his wrist. “Don't.”
He looked down at her, and for one brief moment, the ruthless billionaire disappeared. In his eyes, she saw something that frightened her more than the accusation itself.
Recognition.
“Cassian,” she whispered, “you know something about that woman, don't you?”
Before he could answer, the detective opened a folder.
“The victim was Isabelle Laurent. She was murdered five years ago. According to our records, she was last seen entering a private property owned by the Hale family.”
Cassian went completely still.
Amelia noticed.
“Who was she?” she asked.
His silence was enough to make her heart ache.
“Mr. Hale?” the detective pressed.
Cassian finally spoke. “I don't remember.”
The detective gave a humorless smile. “Convenient. Especially since you were hospitalized following a serious accident shortly after her disappearance.”
A sudden pain flashed across Cassian's face. He pressed a hand against his temple, stumbling slightly.
Amelia reached for him instinctively.
“Cassian!”
He caught her hand before she could pull away. His fingers closed around hers with desperate strength.
“Don't let them take you,” he murmured.
Then the officers seized her.
And as Amelia was dragged toward the door, Cassian said something that stopped her heart.
“Isabelle wasn't the only person who disappeared that night.”
---
The police station smelled of stale coffee and disinfectant. Amelia sat alone in an interrogation room, her hands trembling beneath the table.
She had never seen Isabelle before that morning. She had never held a murder weapon. She couldn't understand why her fingerprints would be connected to a crime committed five years ago.
Unless someone had deliberately planted the evidence.
Detective Marcus Reed entered carrying a thick file. He placed it before her and switched on the recorder.
“Let's start with the basics. Where were you five years ago?”
“Here in New York.”
“Doing what?”
“Working. Studying. Trying to survive.”
“Did you know Isabelle Laurent?”
“No.”
He slid a photograph across the table.
It showed Isabelle standing outside a grand mansion. Beside her was a younger Cassian Hale, his arm resting around her waist.
Amelia's stomach twisted.
“Were they together?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“That's what we're trying to establish.”
She looked up sharply. “You don't know?”
“Mr. Hale claims he doesn't remember the woman. You claim you've never met her. Yet your fingerprints are on the knife that killed her.”
“I've never touched that knife!”
Marcus leaned forward. “Then explain this.”
He pushed another photograph toward her.
This one showed a woman leaving the Hale family estate on the night Isabelle disappeared.
The woman wore a dark coat and kept her face partially hidden.
But the small crescent-shaped scar near her wrist was unmistakable.
Amelia's breath caught.
She had the same scar.
“No,” she whispered, turning her wrist as if the mark might vanish. “That doesn't prove anything.”
“Where did you get the scar?” “I was a child. I don't remember.”
Marcus studied her for a long moment.
“Your mother told investigators you spent several months away from home when you were younger. She couldn't provide a clear explanation.”
Amelia's eyes widened. “You spoke to my mother?”
“We're investigating a murder, Miss Bennett. Everyone connected to your past is relevant.”
Her mind raced. Her mother had always refused to discuss the months Amelia spent recovering from an accident as a child. Whenever Amelia asked about the scar, Grace changed the subject.
She had believed it was an ordinary childhood mystery.
Now it felt like a door opening onto a nightmare.
“Am I being charged?” Amelia asked.
“Not yet. But you need to tell me everything you remember.”
“I've told you the truth.”
Marcus closed the file.
“Then someone has gone to extraordinary lengths to make you look guilty.”
For the first time since her arrest, Amelia felt a flicker of hope.
Then Marcus placed one final photograph on the table.
It showed Isabelle's body being carried from the estate.
Standing in the background was a young woman whose face was unmistakably Amelia's.
Amelia stopped breathing.
“That isn't possible.”
“Do you still want to claim you've never been there?”
She stared at the photograph until the room blurred.
She didn't remember the mansion.
She didn't remember Isabelle.
But the woman in the picture was undeniably her.
---
Cassian arrived at the station less than an hour later.
He had called the most expensive criminal defense attorney in New York, threatened to dismantle the police department's reputation, and ignored three warnings from his physician about his worsening headaches.
None of it mattered.
He needed to see Amelia.
When she entered the interview room, his anger disappeared beneath a wave of relief. He crossed the room and gently touched her cheek, searching her face for injuries.
“Did they hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did they threaten you?”
“Cassian, stop.” Her voice broke. “I need answers, not another person telling me what I should fear.”
He lowered his hand.
She looked at him, her eyes shining. “You knew Isabelle. You knew something when they mentioned her name. And now there's a photograph of me at a crime scene I don't remember.”
“I swear to you, Amelia, I don't remember killing anyone.”
“I didn't ask whether you killed her. I asked what you know.”
His expression tightened.
For a moment, she thought he would shut her out again. Instead, he took her hand and pressed it against his chest.
“Since I woke up in that hospital, I've had fragments of memories. A woman screaming. Blood on white marble. Someone told me that if I remembered the truth, everyone I loved would die.”
“Everyone you loved?”
His gaze settled on hers.
“You.”
The word escaped him with such raw tenderness that Amelia forgot how to breathe.
“Cassian, we barely know each other.”
“Perhaps you barely know the man I am now.” He brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. “But when I look at you, something inside me remembers losing you.”
Her eyes filled with tears she refused to let fall.
She wanted to believe him. That was the dangerous part. Despite the secrets, the accusations, and the impossible photographs, some part of her still felt safe when he held her hand.
“Then help me remember,” she whispered.
He leaned closer, his forehead resting against hers.
“I will. Even if the truth destroys me.”
For one fragile moment, the noise beyond the interview-room door faded. Cassian's thumb moved gently across her knuckles, and Amelia found herself leaning toward him.
Their lips almost met.The door burst open.
Detective Reed stood there, holding a phone.
“We've received a new piece of evidence,” he announced. “The person who sent the photographs has agreed to identify the woman in them.”
Cassian straightened. “Who sent them?”
Marcus looked directly at Amelia.
“Your mother.” Amelia felt the floor tilt beneath her.
“My mother wouldn't do this.”
“She's on her way here now.”
Before Amelia could respond, the detective's phone rang. He listened for several seconds, his expression darkening.
Then he ended the call.
“There's been a change of plan. Your mother never arrived.”
“Where is she?” Amelia demanded.
Marcus hesitated.
“Her house is empty. There are signs of a struggle.”
Cassian reached for Amelia, but she barely felt his touch.
Her mother was missing. The evidence pointed toward a murder she couldn't remember. And the man she was beginning to love might be the only person who could help her uncover the truth.
Then Marcus's phone vibrated again.
A message appeared on the screen, accompanied by a photograph.
It showed Grace Bennett tied to a chair, a strip of cloth covering her mouth.
Beneath the image were seven words: Ask Cassian what happened to your sis
ter.
Amelia turned slowly toward him.
His face had gone deathly pale. “Cassian,” she whispered. “What sister?”
He opened his mouth, but no sound came.
Then he looked at her with terrified recognition.
“Amelia,” he said, “you're not supposed to be alive.”
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