"I don't believe this. This is not happening.
wait, why'd you do this to us now after everything we've been through together!" Maxwell yelled.
"Why would you do this to us now after everything we've been through together up until now"? He walks closer to Freya, with desperation in his eyes, reaching out, not to grab her but to plead with her to reconsider what she said
"Dont" her voice barely above a whisper as she stepped backwards shrugging away, with arms crossed against her chest like a shield. her expression carved like stone.
"Just… don't"
There was a cold and suffocating silence in the entire room. the air between them was no longer love, but distance.
Maxwell's voice hitched. His once resonate world with their shared dreams was coming apart.
"I want a divorce Maxwell!" Freya said again with her voice calm but trembling at the edges.
It was as if time didn't only still, it shattered. Maxwell in shock, lip parted in disbelief, he still wasn't sure he heard her correctly, like the words couldn't just register.
"You're kidding right, Freya?" He finally muttered.
"Freya…?" His voice reduced to a whisper.
She didn't answer. Her shoulder quivered faintly. The pain was there buried deep inside.
He sensed the distress in her eyes but she quickly masked it up moving her eyes away from his.
"Well… if that's what you want then" he finally said facing the floor in resentment. The words heavy and foreign in his mouth, unable to hold her gaze. "I won't stop you".
He turned and stormed out from the room, with each step as if there was a stake driven to his chest.
It was raining heavily, the fall hammered his windshield, a relentless downpour that reflected the chaos in his mind.
Maxwell drove without direction through the city, just in a desperate will to escape the storm raging inside him.
His thoughts kept haunting him and his mind spiraled in his anxiety, relieving every laugh, cry, every promise made beneath the stars.
Just days ago he was willing to do whatever it takes to restore Freya all her honor and glory.
and now, he is all alone pushed away like a stranger with no one by his side, like he meant nothing.
His phone rang. Cutting through the storm, he glanced at the screen as it lit up and read:
Fred.
Maxwell answered immediately, with a dry and hollow tone he asked "what's the problem?!"
Fred replied urgently, "Your grandfather is at the hospital, he is not feeling so well and he asks for you, so you need to get here right away."
For a moment there concern overrode his distress and pain. "i'll be right there" he muttered in anguish.
Maxwell hurriedly turned off the freeway and annexed onto a calmer path, his wiper contorting against the heavy flow of the rain. As he passed through a hazy crossroad.
He merely noticed an SUV accelerating towards him.
Too fast
Too close
He barely had any time to act immediately.
The collision was extreme and jarring.
His car spun, collided against a pole and there was a complete black out as the darkness swallowed him whole.
In an unconscious state. Barely gripping on his sensed.
Dim lights fluttered. Beeping machine in steady rhythm. The sterile sting of antiseptic reeked.
Maxwell opened eyes to find himself in a strange environment. A nursed figured and rushed to call the doctor.
A while later, Fred and Michael walked in with concerned expression on their faces.
"Thank goodness you're awake Max". Fred said gently.
Where... am i? Maxwell asked fluttering his eyes while trying to concentrate his attention.
Fred exchanged a look with Michael then leaned closer to Maxwell and in a subtle voice, "It's been two weeks you've been out now, and there is one more thing. you... you don't remember the last three years." he said
Fred nodded hallowly. "You've been in a coma. The doctors said it's called Retrograde Amnesia. meaning the memory loss could be a temporary ...or a permanent situation." He hesitated.
There was a deep long panic incited in him.. Maxwell's heart skipped a beat. His throat was dry.
He kept blinking struggling to comprehend all that had been happening to him from the moment he opened his eyes
In his mind there was a subconscious feeling that refused to fully awake. It warned him.
He felt something was missing. A part of his soul that knew. A whisper in the dark. A name right on the tip of his tongue, but all too vague to hold onto.
Unfortunately with the missingness of his memory it was as if he had no other option but to trust the people standing by him in his convalescence.
People who actually smiled too fast... and cared too little.
Days had turned weeks. Maxwell was moved into the White family estate just after the precipitous death of his grandfather.
Having a missing memory and without any questions asked he was made the new Patron of the White Family.
He was convinced that the position has always been meant for him. With no one questioning what he wanted or questioning about his flimsy memory.
They made him the new patron of the White Family.
An heir returned.
A puppet resurrected.
With time he saw himself attending meetings he was not a part of, prasied for decisions he never made, signing deals without the full comprehension. But just had to embrace the life that was panned out for him.
Without knowing Fred and Michael had gone ahead of him to exempt him from his trusted allies.
They fired his personal staff, demeaned competent doctors and even took over Skye Corporation's financial accounts.
A once sharp formidable investor and a foundational support of a business empire and now, just a fingerhead, memoryless mannequin who is being controlled to willfully disregard his entire fortune while its been condensed away.
And while he smiled on command, deep inside he was drowning. He felt like his own skin didn't belong to him at night.
Most times he just stares at his ceiling while lying in his bed trying to remember... anything. Only plagued by fragments:
A woman's voice.
A soft laugh.
A baby's cry.
The name… Freya.
But they all faded away in a flash. Like a sand through trembling fingers before he could try digging deeper into the feeling-like-memories.
The estate brimmed with preparations.
The White Family engrossed with devotion.
Later that evening a new Patron was to be announced.
Maxwell was to be present in a grand party as the new patron.
It was a reckoned speculation of power and wealth of the family, an unsuspicious undercover for the plot beneath. A perfectly polished trap.
Among the conspicuous guests was Lydia, radiant in a backless emerald dress, she observes the room in a predatory focus.
Her breath suddenly cuts immediately she saw Maxwell.
There he was
Maxwell White
Smiling politely. Empty-eyed. And utterly unaware.
"so it's all true... he can't remember anything" she soliloquized diabolically.
She had heard rumors of course. side talks about the accident whispers about the memory loss.
But seeing him in person politely sharing pleasantries, yet distant to the guests, and even with her completely unaware of who she was entirely affirmed everything.
To her, she saw an opportunity.
The family of the man she was secretly pregnant for had lost their prestigious status and so he was no longer of use to her. And she had sworn to herself that she will not be raising her child in obscurity.
"But Maxwell... he is everything i wanted. The face of Skye Corporation. The perfect man for me and father to my unborn child. She whispered to herself smiling softly.
She walked through the crowd like a serpent. Her smile sweet and venomous. Her eyes soft and calculated.
On seeing her, Maxwell hesitated. There was something unsettling about her.
"I'm sorry, my memory..." he muttered cluelessly.
Lydia held his hand gently. "its alright Maxwell, I'd love to help make you remember."
Later that night, she sat close to him, refilling his glass with charm and wine. Laughing at all his remarks. And listening unwaveringly.
Her perfume lingering in the air. Intoxicating.
Her voice beguiled in his ear. And her laugh curled around his thoughts.
When he started to feel lightheaded. His vision was blurry. And his mind was wasted.
"Time for me to go before I mistake the floor for my mattress." his words came out slurred and uneven.
She offered to walk back with him to his room upstairs. He nodded. Walking without pace. Holding Lydia by the hand to support his unsteady moves.
It was morning already. Maxwell woke up perplexed. The sunlight pierced through the curtain.
Beside him in his bed was Lydia.
She smiled at him, half draped in a silk night wear just over her shoulder. Leering at him like a cat with its prey.
"Last night was... lovely" she purred.
Maxwell was lost in confusion staring at her.
"Wait, did we...?"
She smiled, nodding bashfully, brushing a kiss on his cheek. "Don't worry it all feels right" she softly said getting up from the bed.
"Maybe to you, but it doesn't to me Lydia!" Maxwell lashed out with disbelief carved deep into his face.
Lydia stood by the window, catching the morning sun rising over the estate. She placed her hand on her stomach, rubbed on it and a smirk played on her lips.
This child isn't yours Maxwell ...but it'll be your heir. she whispered to herself.
Richard had desperately begged her to acknowledge their child and fought to be part of the child's life.
But he is now irrelevant and she has traded down only to trade up now.
She had planned to lock Maxwell in a lie he didn't even know he'll be a part of.
While he, still battling in the obscurity of Amnesia, was unaware that his path had already been set for him by people who not only saw him as a man but much more a mere means to their greedy end.