The sterile scent of antiseptic burned Lily's nostrils as her eyes fluttered open. Blinding white light pierced her vision, making her flinch. A soft beeping echoed somewhere nearby, syncing with the thud of her heartbeat. Panic clawed at her chest—where was she?
"Miss…? Can you hear me?"
She turned toward the voice. A woman in scrubs stood by the bed, clipboard in hand and a hesitant smile on her lips.
"Where am I?" Lily croaked.
"You're at St. Julian's Hospital," the nurse replied gently. "You were in an accident… a pretty bad one. Do you remember anything?"
Lily's lips parted, but no words came out. Her thoughts were a tangled fog. She tried to summon a memory—any memory—but all that greeted her was an overwhelming void.
"Wh-what happened to me?"
The nurse's expression softened. "You were brought in three weeks ago. A car accident. You've been unconscious since."
Three weeks. Her mind reeled. "My name…?"
The nurse hesitated, glancing down at the chart. "Lily Volkov. You're twenty-six. Your husband… Damian Volkov… he's listed as your next of kin."
Lily blinked. Volkov? That sounded foreign. Harsh.
"Husband?" she echoed, confused.
The nurse's smile dimmed slightly. "Yes. He… wasn't here during your recovery, but he'll be coming today to take you home."
A strange mix of dread and curiosity coiled in Lily's stomach.
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