Knox…
My breath caught in my throat.
Even in the dim setting light, he was devastatingly beautiful.
He sat at the edge of the bed where I was lying down, close enough to touch…
But something was wrong.
His shoulders were rigid and his jaw tight. The softness in his eyes when he used to look at me, the gentle curve of his mouth when he smiles…
All of them were gone.
Still, my heart ached and I didn't care about the differences.
It only recognized him.
"Knox!"
My voice broke as I surged forward, throwing my arms around his neck.
"You're here! I'm alive! It was just a nightmare!"
Overwhelmed with relief, my hands cupped his face. It was rough against my palms. But it is warm.
It is real.
And I kissed him desperately.
Regret and loss and missing him so much poured into that kiss as tears streamed down my face.
"I'm sorry," I sobbed against his lips. "I'm so sorry for everything… I'm sorry… I'm sorry -"
But his hands gripped my shoulders.
Hard.
Then he shoved me away.
I stumbled backward. His sudden absence was like a physical blow.
Knox stared at me, his eyes wide in shock. His gaze dropped to my mouth - still swollen from our kiss - then back to my eyes.
For one heartbeat, I saw something flicker across his face.
Confusion.
Recognition.
Want.
Then it vanished, replaced by ice.
"I don't know what trick this is," he said. His voice was flat and cold. "But I'm not buying it."
He stood abruptly, towering over me. Six-foot-three of controlled fury wrapped in expensive fabric.
His suit seemed to be custom-tailored, fitting his broad shoulders and lean frame perfectly.
Is he my Knox?
My Knox used to move like water. Gentle and easy.
But this man moved like a predator. He adjusted his cufflinks with sharp movements, not even looking at me.
The gold watch in his wrist flashed in the dim light. It was nothing like the simple watch he used to wear.
That's when I noticed the room.
My breath caught again. But for a different reason.
We were in a bedroom that belonged in a luxury magazine spread. Floor-to-celing- windows overlooked the city skyline. Towers glittered in the early evening light.
The bed beneath me was massive, dressed in silk sheets that probably cost more than my monthly resident's salary.
The marble floors, the crystal chandelier, the modern art on the walls…
Everything was white and gold and obscenely expensive.
"Where are we?" the words came out small.
Knox's laugh was sharp and humorless.
"Really? We're playing this game?"
He finished with his cuffs and finally looked at me.
Icy.
"We're in our suite, Elodie. The Presidential Suite at Humphries Tower. You know, the building I own? The one you lived in for two years?"
My stomach dropped.
Elodie.
He called me Elodie.
"We have the pharmaceutical gala tonight," he continued.
His tone was clipped and professional like he was briefing an employee.
"Seven PM. All the major players will be there. I need you to be presentable and coherent. Think you can manage that?"
"What gala?" my voice sounded far away, like it belonged with someone else.
Knox's jaw tightened dangerously.
"I'm not buying your excuses, Elodie. You will go there whether you like it or not. This is important for my company. For your family's protection. Or have you forgotten that arrangement too?"
Elodie…
Elodie…
ELODIE!
The name echoed in my head. Each repetition was like a hammer blow until reality crashed over me.
Oh God. God… This was real!
The hospital. The shooting. Dr. Hemlock's wicked smile as his gunman pulled the trigger. My blood on the floor. The light. The angel. Elodie…
I thought it was all a dream.
I gripped the silk sheets, trying to anchor myself to something real.
Then I noticed my hands. They looked wrong.
The fingers were longer than mine. They were more delicate, perfectly manicured in soft pink.
I never had time for manicures. I was always at the hospital, hands scrubbed raw and clean. My nails were always trimmed short for surgery.
Slowly, I stood. The room tilted slightly and I had to catch myself on the bedpost.
My body felt different.
Lighter? Or thinner? It feels so wrong, like I'm wearing a scrub that didn't fit.
There was a full-length mirror on the far wall, positioned between two massive windows.
I walked towards it and each step felt foreign.
And as I stopped in front of the mirror, a stranger stared back at me.
No, it was not a stranger.
It is Elodie. The beautiful woman I met at the "between".
But there was something wrong. Her skin - my skin now - looked pale. Almost translucent.
And there were shadows under her eyes that the expensive concealer couldn't quite hide. There was also a tightness around her mouth that spoke of chronic pain.
The poison, I realized with a jolt.
They're poisoning her. That's why she was dying.
But who?
I turned back and looked at Knox who was also looking at me with those cold-blooded eyes.
Is he the one poisoning her? But why?
Was he disappointed that I'm still alive?
I mean, Elodie?
"Why are you here, Mr. Humphries?"
The words came out before I could think them through.
The name felt wrong on my tongue. He'd always just been Knox to me.
Knox looked at me like I'd grown a second head.
"What?"
"I asked…" I tried to make sense of the situation. Why would my fiance be standing beside Elodie's bed.
"Why are you here? In this room?"
Knox's expression shifted from cold annoyance to something sharper.
"Because I'm your husband?"