“Excuse me?” I ask, taken aback.
She slips her glasses up her nose and picks up a thick folder from the desk. “I am above intimidation. I inform you because you deserve to know. Now, I’m very interested in your case.”
I am still questioning what she implied about her being threatened. “Who?”
She eyes me from under her glasses as she flicks the folder open. “Don’t insult either of us by pretending you don’t know.”
I like her no-bullshit attitude. She’s tough and a true professional if neither Conrad nor my husband intimidated her.
“They fear I might uncover something upsetting,” I say, compelled to defend the two men in my life.
“I find that excuse weak. I guess you deliberately like to live by deluding yourself.”
I stare her down, the automatic reaction making me realize she hit a sore spot.
“I am here to help you, Zara. I want to help you.” She sounds genuine, and I drop my defense mechanism.
Nodding, I slump onto the sofa. “I will not sugarcoat it. I became fixated on your case, and the attempt to cover it up made me even more determined. Lucky for me, I made a name for myself, and I came upon all three original files.”
She goes through each file, recounting the details. “Head injury. The severity of the contusion could have led to brain injury, but according to the notes, after the swelling eased, you were perfectly cognizant. So I ruled out head trauma as the cause of the memory loss.” She skims through the papers, no inflection in her tone. Admirable. I wish I were that detached. “You were hospitalized for a prolonged period, given the relatively few injuries you suffered. Someone paid an exorbitant amount of money to my colleagues to manipulate your brain to the point that you forgot it all.”
She snaps the folder closed, and I blink, unable to believe what I am hearing. Shock paralyzes me, and I open and close mymouth, trying to make sense of who would profit from making me forget. Why not just kill me?
A plethora of thoughts crams into my head, even more questions forming within minutes and causing a headache to throb behind my temples. I rub at them mindlessly, knowing this is not even the worst part.
“That should have never happened, Ms. Monroe. On behalf of my immoral colleagues, I am sorry, but above all, I will make you remember.”
The use of my maiden name isn’t in error. I’ve been misled repeatedly, but I intend to discover the truth. The responsible party will pay.
25
VIAN
Iam sprawled in my office chair with a tumbler of whiskey in my hand while I sweep my gaze over my two favorite pictures of us from the past and the present. In both, she smiles with her whole face, her entire heart on display, her eyes shining with love. For me.
All the hell I’ve been through is forgotten because I finally have her.
I wait for her return, every minute passing agonizingly slow, but it will end tonight. She will move in, and I can have her all to myself.
Nothing can take her from me.
Her decision not to pursue the appointment was both surprising and a relief.
The reminder of that time is never far from my mind. I could conquer the world but not those demons—lashing at me, marring my skin with guilt. I was a desperate man in love trying to do the right thing, wanting her to forget that day even if I had to remove myself. Nothing hurt more than that, but for her, I would do it again and endure hell a hundred times over if needed.
She was a wreck—utterly broken and devastated—and I could not bear to watch my woman fade away, slipping into a ghost of herself. Instead, I chose the only way for her to overcome it: making her forget.
With no threat from the past, I can focus on the future. It’s time to let it go, just like she decided.
There’s no need to confess my involvement. I’ll take my crime with me to the grave, living by one truth––my love for her. Nothing else matters.
There’s no need to rip that old wound open and make it bleed again. Why risk our hard-won happiness by coming clean? She would never forgive my involvement. And God, if she relapses, I don’t know what I would do.
Taking a long sip, I brush my finger over her frame, loving this woman with everything in me.
I hear the elevator ping, the click-clack of her stilettos announcing her arrival, and I grab the older picture, shoving it in the hidden drawer with all the memories I will live alone with. They were loyal companions over the years, warming the frosty nights, reminding me I can’t give up. I had to persevere, and then she found her way back to me––on her own, as if my wails for her in the middle of the night over so many years reached her and whispered my sorrow and deep-seated longing.
She leans against the doorframe, looking spectacular in a pencil skirt and silk top.
