Chapter 2

He stood there, a perfectly tailored silhouette against the harsh fluorescent lights of the clinic hallway. The Bernard Logan in front of me was a stranger. The expensive watch on his wrist, the cold calculation in his eyes, the sheer aura of power-it was nothing like the gentle, blue-collar man I thought I had married.

"Okay," I heard myself say, my voice small. I was just a therapist from a modest background. What choice did I have?

He led me outside to a sleek, black car that probably cost more than my entire apartment building. A driver held the door open for me.

The inside smelled of rich leather and a perfume that wasn't mine. A fluffy, pink pillow with the initials 'E.B.' embroidered in gold sat on the seat. Evelin Bennett. Of course.

I felt a surge of something-not quite anger, more like a dull, throbbing pain. I picked up the pillow and placed it on the floor mat, a small, pathetic act of defiance.

My Ben-the man I knew-used to drive a beat-up pickup truck that always smelled faintly of sawdust and coffee. He'd saved for a year to replace the worn-out tires. This car, this life, it was from another universe.

The drive was silent. The tension in the small space was suffocating. I stared out the window at the city lights blurring past, feeling like I was in a movie, not my own life.

He took me to 'La Perle', the most exclusive restaurant in the city. The kind of place with a six-month waiting list.

My heart clenched. Ben and I had walked past this place once. I'd pressed my face against the glass like a child, admiring the crystal chandeliers and the beautifully dressed patrons.

"One day, Addie," he'd promised, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "When my big project pays off, I'll bring you here. We'll order everything on the menu."

Now, here I was. But the dream had turned into a nightmare.

I felt out of place in my simple work dress among the sea of silk and jewels. Bernard, however, fit right in. The maître d' greeted him by name, bowing slightly.

We were led to a secluded table with a view of the entire city. Bernard ordered for both of us in fluent French, not even bothering to ask what I wanted.

He waited until the waiter had poured the wine and retreated before he finally spoke. His voice was as cold as the ice in the water glasses.

"When did you figure it out?"

I stared at him, my wine glass trembling in my hand. "Today," I whispered. "At the clinic. When she showed me your picture."

He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "I see." He pushed a glass of wine towards me. "Drink."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a command.

"I need you to be smart about this, Addison," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Evelin and I are getting married. Our families have been planning this for years. You were... an unforeseen complication."

My breath hitched. "A complication?"

He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine. "What I'm proposing is that you continue to be my wife. In secret, of course. You can keep the apartment. I'll provide you with a generous monthly allowance. All you have to do is stay quiet. Behave."

The audacity of it stole my breath. "You want me to be your mistress?" I asked, the words tasting like poison. "Your secret wife, tucked away while you live your real life with her?"

A cruel smile touched his lips. It didn't reach his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Addison. This isn't about love or desire. I feel nothing for you. My body feels nothing for you. Think of it as a... severance package. A payment for services rendered."

Services rendered. He was talking about the two years I'd loved him, cared for him, built a life with him.

"You saved me," he continued, his tone transactional. "I'm grateful. So, I will pay off that debt. Name your price. A check. A house. Whatever you want. Then you disappear."

The pain was so intense it felt physical, like a fist squeezing my heart. But my training kicked in. I kept my face a blank mask. I would not let him see me break.

"What about our marriage certificate?" I asked, my voice shaking slightly. "Does that mean nothing?"

He scoffed, a short, sharp sound of contempt. "That piece of paper? It's meaningless. I signed it when I had no memory of who I was. It was a mistake. A product of circumstance."

"The feelings were real, Ben," I pleaded, the name slipping out before I could stop it.

His face hardened. "My name is Bernard. And 'Ben' may have felt something for you. But I am not Ben. Our worlds are too different. We were never meant to be."

He took a sip of his wine, his gaze unwavering. "I won't hurt Evelin. She's been waiting for me for two years. She doesn't deserve to be hurt."

And me? What did I deserve?

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I swallowed them down. I would not cry in front of him. I lifted my chin.

"Fine," I said, my voice cold. "I'll take the money."

If he was going to reduce our love to a transaction, then I would take what I was owed. He owed me for the two years of my life I'd given him, for the debts I'd taken on to pay his medical bills when I first found him.

A look of relief washed over his face. "Good. My lawyer will draft a contract."

"And the restaurant?" I asked, a bitter taste in my mouth. "You brought me here. The place I always wanted to go."

For a fleeting moment, something flickered in his eyes. A ghost of the man I knew. "I remembered you wanted to come here," he said, almost softly.

My heart gave a stupid little flutter.

Then his phone rang.

The ringtone was a woman's voice, sweet and giggly. "Bernard, my love, pick up!" It was Evelin.

The flicker of warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by instant concern. He answered immediately.

"Evelin? What's wrong?" His voice was filled with a tender anxiety he had never shown me, not even once since he "came back."

I couldn't hear her side of the conversation, but his face grew more and more tense.

"Okay. Don't move. I'm on my way," he said, hanging up.

He stood up abruptly, grabbing my arm. "Come on. We have to go."

"Go where? What happened?"

"Evelin had a nightmare. She's scared," he said, pulling me out of the restaurant so quickly I almost stumbled.

A nightmare. He was dragging me out of our "business dinner" because his fiancée had a bad dream. The absurdity of it was staggering.

We arrived at a massive estate that looked more like a castle on a hill. He didn't slow down, just pulled me through the grand entrance and up a sweeping staircase.

"She needs a therapist," he said, his voice tight. "That's you. Go calm her down."

He pushed me towards a set of ornate double doors. He was using me. I was not his wife, not even a memory. I was a tool to soothe his precious fiancée.

He opened the doors. Evelin, wearing a silk robe, was sitting up in a gigantic bed. The moment she saw Bernard, she scrambled out and threw herself into his arms, completely ignoring my presence.

"Bernard! I had the most awful dream!" she wailed. "I dreamed you left me!"

"Never," he murmured, stroking her hair. He held her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. "I love you. I will always love you."

He pulled back and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, revealing his chest. There, over his heart, was a tattoo. A delicate, intricate design of a single, blooming rose with the letter 'E' woven into the stem.

"See this?" he said to her, his voice a low thrum of devotion. "I got this for you, my love. A symbol of my heart, which belongs only to you."

I stared at the tattoo, and the last bit of air left my lungs.

A year ago, Ben had come home with that same tattoo. He'd told me it was a rose for me, because he said my love had allowed him to bloom again. He'd said the initial stood for 'Eternity'. He'd lied. It stood for Evelin.

It had always been for Evelin.

I turned to leave. I couldn't breathe in that room for another second.

"Where do you think you're going?" Bernard's voice was sharp, cutting through my haze of pain.

"My job is done," I said without turning around. "She seems fine now. I have no obligation to stay."

"You do if you want this back," he said coldly.

I turned. He was holding something up. A small, wooden box.

My heart fell into my stomach. It was my father's music box. The only thing I had left of him. I thought I had sold it a year and a half ago to a pawn shop to cover the last of Ben's medical bills. It had broken my heart, but I would have done anything for him.

And he had it. He'd had it all along.

"Stay," he commanded, his eyes like chips of ice. "Or you'll never see it again."