A dull ache pulsed in her skull, dragging her back from the depths of unconsciousness.
Eliana blinked.
Harsh white light stung her eyes. The air smelled sterile—antiseptic, faintly metallic. Machines beeped somewhere nearby, steady and unrelenting, like a ticking clock she couldn't silence.
She tried to move, but her limbs felt heavy. Her throat was dry, tongue thick in her mouth. She turned her head slightly, wincing.
Where…?
"Hey—she's awake!"
A woman's voice. Young, startled. Then hurried footsteps, the squeak of rubber soles against tile. In the next second, a nurse leaned over her, smiling too brightly.
"Miss… Moore?" the nurse asked carefully, checking a chart in her hand. "Can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?"
Eliana's brows furrowed. Name?
She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her chest tightened. Why can't I remember?
"I—" Her voice cracked. "I don't…"
"It's okay," the nurse said quickly. "You've been through a lot. Just breathe, alright? I'm getting the doctor."
She disappeared before Eliana could ask anything. Left in silence, Eliana stared up at the ceiling.
Panic fluttered in her chest.
What happened to me? Why can't I remember?
A shadow moved at the door.
She turned her head and saw him.
A tall man in a dark suit stood just outside the room. Sharp jawline, piercing eyes. Impossibly handsome in a way that felt almost cinematic. He stared at her like she'd just come back from the dead.
She blinked. Something about him—
The man stepped inside slowly, hands tucked into his pockets like he owned the place. His expression shifted into something softer. Tender.
"Eliana," he breathed.
She flinched. That name again.
He came closer and pulled up the chair beside her bed, sitting without asking. "You're awake. Thank God."
She stared at him, confusion thick in her chest. "Who… are you?"
He hesitated, just for a second.
Then: "It's me, Damon. Damon Blackwood." A pause. "Your husband."
Her heart thudded loudly in her ears.
Husband?
"No," she whispered. "I—I don't…"
"You hit your head in the accident," he said quickly, voice gentle but firm. "The doctors said you might be confused. It's normal."
"But I don't remember you," she said, eyes wide, throat tightening.
He took her hand. His grip was warm, steady, like he was trying to anchor her. "That's okay. We'll get through this together, Eliana."
Her hand lay limp in his.
Something didn't feel right. The way he looked at her—it wasn't love. It was… ownership.
She swallowed hard. "What accident?"
"A car crash. You were driving back from our beach house," Damon said smoothly. "There was a storm. You skidded off the road."
He was too prepared. Too rehearsed.
Her fingers twitched. "And… where's my phone?"
He smiled tightly. "You won't need it right now. Just focus on healing."
Eliana looked down at their intertwined hands.
Her ring finger was bare.
If she was married, why wasn't there a ring?
The doctor entered then, and Damon released her hand like nothing had happened.
But Eliana's heart didn't stop pounding.
Something was wrong.
Terribly, inexplicably wrong.
As the doctor approached, flipping through her chart, Eliana tried to sit up. Her body protested with a sharp jolt of pain.
"Easy," the doctor said, pressing a button that raised her bed gradually. "You suffered a mild concussion, some bruised ribs, but no fractures. You're lucky."
Lucky. That didn't feel like the right word.
"How long have I been here?" she asked, her voice rough.
"Two days," the doctor replied. "We kept you sedated to help with the swelling in your brain."
Eliana looked from the doctor to Damon, who now stood silently by the window, arms crossed.
"Do you know what caused the accident?" she asked, searching for answers.
The doctor glanced at Damon. "You were alone in the car. Heavy rain, poor visibility. That's all we know for now."
Her stomach churned. Something wasn't adding up.
When the doctor left, silence fell again like a heavy blanket.
Damon walked over to the nightstand and picked up a plastic cup of water with a straw. "Here. You should drink."
Eliana accepted it with trembling fingers, taking small sips.
"Do I have any family?" she asked quietly, watching him over the rim.
He paused. "You do. But… you asked not to contact them. Before. Said you wanted space."
That didn't sound like her. At least, not the version of herself she imagined.
A sudden thought struck her.
"What's today's date?"
"September twenty-first," Damon answered smoothly.
Her brows drew together. September. She couldn't even recall what year it was. Or her own birthday.
"Do I work? What do I do?"
"You run a charity foundation," he said. "Helping women. You're very passionate about it."
That sounded… plausible. But still, nothing clicked.
She laid back against the pillows, her chest heavy with unease.
Damon stood there, watching her like a hawk. Not with love. Not with worry.
With control.
She didn't know him. But something deep in her gut told her this wasn't right.
When he finally left the room—after brushing a kiss against her forehead she didn't ask for—Eliana exhaled shakily.
Her fingers found the call button.
"Nurse?" she whispered when the voice crackled on the intercom. "Can I see a mirror, please?"
"Of course, Miss Moore. I'll bring one right away."
A few minutes later, a petite nurse with curly hair stepped in, holding a small, handheld mirror. She offered it gently, like she was afraid Eliana might break apart just touching it.
Eliana took it with both hands.
What stared back at her was familiar… but distant.
There were bruises on her temple, a thin cut on her cheek. Her hair was messy, her lips dry, eyes hollow.
But that wasn't what unsettled her.
It was the emptiness in her gaze. As if someone had erased the woman she used to be.
"Do you… know me?" she asked the nurse suddenly.
The nurse froze.
"I only know what they told me."
Eliana's fingers tightened around the mirror.
Something wasn't right.