Chapter 2
Erica walked toward me, her high heels crunching in the snow with every step. Each sound felt like it pressed right down on my heart.
At last, she stood before me.
The familiar, icy scent of her perfume hit me, sharp and clear.
"Samuel," she said.
Her voice carried a hint of hoarseness, touched by the cold wind and snow.
"Long time no see," I replied calmly.
She gave a sudden smile, but her eyes stayed cold.
"It's been three years. One thousand and ninety-five days," she said. "You sure know how to stay hidden."
Her eyes were rimmed with red, but she fought to keep her composure, not letting a hint of weakness slip through.
"You abandon me without a single word of explanation. Just walked away," she said. "Samuel, you really are heartless."
My heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand, the pain so intense I could hardly catch my breath.
Sorry, Erica, but I couldn't explain to you.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to meet her icy gaze.
"Erica, we're over. Isn't it a bit much to mobilize the whole world to hunt me down?" I said.
"A bit much?" she echoed, her voice suddenly shooting up, anger spilling over. "My husband disappears, I go searching for him, and you call that a bit much?"
"Ex-husband," I corrected her.
That word was like a needle, instantly tearing through her mask.
Her tears finally broke free, slipping down her cheeks and turning to frost in the cold air.
"Samuel." Her voice trembled, thick with tears and filled with grievances. "This game of hide-and-seek ends now."
She lifted her hand, and a mercenary behind her immediately stepped forward, producing a pair of metal handcuffs.
"Come home with me," she said.
I didn't resist.
When the cold steel of the handcuffs locked around my wrists, I knew my three-year escape was finally over.
Erica turned her back on me so I wouldn't see her tears.
"Take him away," she ordered.
Her tone was commanding, masking the tremor in her voice.
Two mercenaries escorted me, one on each side, marching me toward the black helicopter.
As I passed by her, I paused for a moment.
"Erica, take care of yourself," I said.
Her body tensed ever so slightly.
I was led onto the helicopter, the engines thundered to life as it lifted off, and the snowy mountain town quickly faded from view beneath us.
I took one last look at my café, the place I once believed would be where I thought I'd spend the rest of my life.
Goodbye, my peaceful life.
The helicopter cabin was dead silent.
Erica sat across from me, her queen-of-business cool restored as she stared down at a document, treating me like I was nothing more than cargo.
But I could see her fingers gripping the paper so hard, her knuckles had gone white.
My thoughts involuntarily drifted back to that stormy night three years ago.
It was the same suffocating silence as back then.
Back then, because of an accident, she'd selectively forgotten everything about me.
Doctors called it a trauma response. They said she might never remember me for the rest of her life.
I looked at her lying in that hospital bed, someone who looked at me as though I was a stranger, and made the hardest decision of my life.
"Let's break up," I told her.
She didn't cry or throw a fit. She simply stared at me with clear, confused eyes.
"Why?" Erica asked.
"I'm not in love with you anymore," I replied.
As those words left my mouth, it felt like my heart was being shredded, slowly and mercilessly.
She stayed silent for a long time, then nodded. "Alright."
It was as if she was shooing away a beggar.
I turned and walked away without looking back.
I knew if I'd looked back, I'd never be able to walk away.
I had to go.
The maniac who caused the accident was after me.
If I stayed close to Erica, she'd never be safe.
I had to disappear, put as much distance between us as I could, so she'd forget me and move on.
I believed that was the only way to keep her safe.
I never thought she'd actually remember all of it.
*****
After hours in the air, the helicopter landed on the helipad of Erica's private island.
This was Erica's personal territory, the heart of her business empire, the headquarters of Globalite Group.
I was escorted off the helicopter and straight into a sleek, modern villa.
The handcuffs were removed.
Erica waved her hand, and the mercenaries slipped out without a sound.
We were alone in the massive living room.
"Sit," she said.
She motioned for me to take the seat opposite her, then settled in with effortless grace, her legs elegantly crossed.
I sat down as she instructed, taking in my surroundings.
The decor was still the same as three years ago: icy, austere, minimalist, just like her.
"Would you like something to drink?" Erica asked, her tone strictly professional.
"Just water," I replied.
She pressed the call button on the table, and soon, a housekeeper came in carrying a glass of water.
"You're to live here from now on," Erica ordered.