The mirror felt heavier than it looked.
Eliana stared at her reflection, heart hammering in her chest. The woman in the glass looked like a stranger. Pale skin. Bandages on her forehead. Hollow eyes. Her once-lively curls now lay limp around her face. Even the faint scar on her collarbone—she didn't remember getting it.
Who am I?
She touched the edge of the mirror, hoping the surface might offer answers the voices around her refused to give.
Behind her, the door creaked open.
Her shoulders tensed.
"Everything okay?"
Damon's voice was low, calm. Too calm. It slithered into the room like a serpent.
Eliana turned the mirror slightly away, schooling her expression. "Fine."
He walked toward her bed, a cup of tea in hand. "Chamomile. The nurse said it might help you relax."
She accepted it without a word, her fingers brushing his by accident.
Too warm.
Too familiar.
Yet her heart remained cold.
"I thought I needed rest," she said, blowing gently on the tea. "Isn't that what the doctor said?"
Damon's jaw flexed. "You do. But I didn't want you waking up alone again."
A silence settled between them.
She stared down at the cup, the liquid trembling faintly with her hands. "Why don't I wear a ring?"
Damon blinked. The pause was too long. "You… stopped wearing it. After a fight. I thought it was better to wait until you wanted it back."
Another lie. She didn't know how she knew, but every cell in her body recoiled at his words.
"What kind of fight?"
His gaze darkened, his voice dipping an octave. "It was personal."
He leaned in slightly, eyes locked on hers. "But that doesn't matter now. What matters is you're alive, Eliana. We have a second chance."
Her name sounded foreign coming from him. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as her.
"I don't even remember the first one," she said flatly.
Damon's eyes flickered. "You will."
The door opened again—this time it was a nurse with a tablet in hand.
"Mr. Blackwood," she said politely. "The doctor needs a word with you. Regarding your wife's scan."
Eliana watched the way Damon's posture shifted. His shoulders stiffened, his fingers curling at his sides. "I'll be back," he said, standing.
When he left, the air in the room loosened.
She breathed.
The nurse smiled kindly. "I'll get you something light to eat, alright?"
Eliana nodded, mind elsewhere.
As soon as the door clicked shut, she reached for the remote on the side table. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she pressed the volume button. The TV on the wall flickered to life.
News.
Muted images of city buildings, flashing headlines.
She kept flipping.
A soap opera. A weather report. Then—finally—an entertainment channel with subtitles.
"Rumors continue to swirl about tech mogul Damon Blackwood's reclusive wife, who vanished from the spotlight nearly a year ago…"
Eliana froze.
She stared at the screen. Her face—her face—was on the corner of the screen beside Damon's.
The anchor continued, "No official statement from the Blackwood estate, but insiders claim the marriage may have been more than just a business alliance…"
Her throat tightened.
So the world thought they were married. But why did she feel like she was watching someone else's life?
Why did it all feel… wrong?
The door opened again and she fumbled for the remote. Too late.
Damon returned.
He looked at the screen, then at her.
"Curious?" he asked, tone unreadable.
"A little," she said carefully. "I just wanted to see the date."
He crossed the room slowly and turned off the TV himself. "It's best not to overload your brain, Eliana. The doctors said to take it easy."
But it wasn't his job to tell her what her brain could handle.
Eliana nodded silently, but her thoughts were louder than ever.
She didn't trust him.
And deep down… she didn't think she ever had.
The door shut behind him with a soft click, but the echo in her ears was deafening.
Eliana stared at the now-black TV screen, her own reflection faintly visible on the glossy surface. A ghost of a woman she didn't recognize. Supposedly Damon's wife… but she didn't feel like anyone's anything.
Her hands gripped the blanket covering her. She needed answers—real ones. Not his carefully crafted stories.
If she was really married to him, why did it feel like she was being kept in a cage?
Her gaze darted around the room. There had to be something—anything—to help her piece things together. A bag, a journal, a forgotten phone.
But the drawers were empty. Even the cabinet near her bed had nothing personal inside. Just tissues, some hospital forms, and a brochure on head trauma recovery.
Too clean.
Too controlled.
Like someone had scrubbed her identity from this room entirely.
A soft knock on the door startled her.
It creaked open slightly, revealing a timid-looking nurse—the same one from earlier. The one who had called Damon "Mr. Blackwood" with such deference, like he was royalty.
"Hi again," the nurse said gently, stepping in with a small tray. "Just some fruit and toast. The doctor says we'll try something light for now."
Eliana nodded, sitting up straighter. "Thank you."
As the nurse adjusted the tray table, Eliana took a chance. "Hey… do you know if anyone's been by to see me? Other than… him?"
The nurse hesitated. Just for a second. But Eliana saw it.
"Well," she said carefully, "Mr. Blackwood made it clear that visitation should be limited for your rest. He didn't want any unnecessary stress on your recovery."
Unnecessary stress?
Eliana's stomach turned. "So no one else came?"
Another pause. Then, "I wouldn't know for sure. I only work the morning shifts."
Of course.
It was a dead end.
Eliana forced a smile. "Thanks for the food."
The nurse smiled back but didn't linger.
When the door closed again, Eliana pushed the tray aside, appetite gone.
Damon was hiding something. She could feel it in her bones. And she might be weak now, with no memory and nowhere to turn…
But she wasn't going to stay helpless for long.
No matter how charming Damon Blackwood pretended to be, she would find the truth—one lie at a time.
Even if it destroyed everything.