Chapter 1
The air conditioner in the exam room was hissing, blowing out cold air.
I sat across from him, the white lab coat chilly against my skin.
He was talking about the Ferris wheel again, the colorful clouds at dusk, and all those little details I thought time had already worn away.
His voice was gentle, with a kind of sweet assurance that made me feel both uneasy and warm inside.
It was already our third follow-up visit.
I adjusted my gold-rimmed glasses, watching him through the lenses. His face was a little confused, but still undeniably handsome.
He was my ex, Lucas Carter. After a car accident wiped out most of his memories, the only thing left untouched was his absurd belief that we were still crazy about each other.
"Mr. Carter," I said, deliberately keeping my voice even.
"We broke up a long time ago. Even before your accident, we were already out of each other's lives. Medically, your memory issues aren't unusual," I said.
He paused, a hint of childlike bewilderment flickering in his eyes, quickly replaced by stubborn determination.
"No way..." he shook his head, his fingers curling unconsciously. "I remember it so clearly. You promised me..."
Just then, his gaze sharpened, as if he'd spotted something he couldn't make sense of, and he stared hard at my left hand.
On my ring finger, the engagement ring caught the cold white light, scattering tiny, icy flashes across its surface.
His face went pale, his voice trembling. "This ring... Didn't we agree we'd pick it out together? How could you...just go and get it yourself..."
Before he could finish, the exam room door clicked open.
A familiar breeze, tinged with the scent of disinfectant, swept in.
My fiancé, Derek Hayes, who was also the associate director of neurosurgery at Lakeside General Hospital, strode in.
His white lab coat flared behind him in a sharp, efficient arc. His face was unreadable as his gaze landed on me first, making sure I was alright, then, as if he'd just noticed Lucas, he shot him a slow, sideways glance.
That look was full of blatant scrutiny and a coldness that was almost provocative.
Lucas tensed under Derek's stare, his back snapping straight as if bracing for a fight. The room was thick with silent confrontation.
Only then did Derek turn to me, a cool, almost indifferent smile curling at his lips, his tone so casual it sounded like he was just talking about dinner.
"Hey doc, sign me up for a slot," he said.
I arched an eyebrow, locking eyes with him. "Seriously? You? What's your problem?"
He slid his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, shoulders loose, and spoke in a slow, deliberate tone that carried across the whole room.
"Oh, nothing major. It's just—"
He paused, his eyes flicking casually over Lucas's tense face before finishing.
"Whenever I see him, my hands just itch to throw a punch. Is there a cure for that?"
*****
Derek's words hit the room like dropping a stone into a stormy pond, making the tension even thicker.
Lucas shot to his feet, his chair screeching against the floor.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Lucas snapped, his forehead twitching with anger. He was still a bit skinny from months of recovery, but that old stubborn pride never left him.
I immediately got up and stepped between the two men.
The hem of my lab coat lifted slightly.
"This is a consulting room," I said.
My voice wasn't loud, but it carried an icy edge that left no room for argument.
"If you want to fight, do it outside. When you're finished, neuro and ortho have plenty of beds waiting for you."
I was speaking to both of them, but my gaze locked on Derek.
He caught my look, the sharpness in his eyes faded a bit, but he kept his hands in his pockets, shrugged, and gave me an innocent look, as if he was just reporting a medical issue.
Lucas watched the silent exchange between us; his eyes grew darker, swirling with confusion, hurt, and a simmering anger at being brushed off.
He turned to me, his voice softening, a last flicker of hope in his eyes. "Serena, who is he? Why are you wearing a ring? What's really going on?"
"That's Derek, my fiancé, and one of your doctors," I replied.
I kept it brief, purposely skipping anything that might mess with his memories or give him false hope.
"When it comes to us, Lucas, memories can be pretty damn deceptive. What you're dealing with is something we call emotional memory distortion. You take the sweet bits from the past—even stuff you only wished had happened—and mash them together, covering up how things really ended. To put it simply—"
I paused, trying to find a way to say it that was even more direct, maybe a little harsh.
"Your mind is rewriting the story, making everything look prettier than it was, or turning a finished chapter into some fairytale you want. The 'us' you remember? That was never real."