Chapter 4

I opened my eyes to absolute silence. My mind was a clean, hollow slate -- no yesterday, no familiar faces, no emotional baggage. Just the dull, lingering ache of a neurological reset behind my eyes.

Morning light cut through the sheer curtains, washing over the unfamiliar silk sheets. Then, the heavy mahogany front door shuddered under violent pounding.

"Maeve! Open this damn door! You have had your sleep, now quit the pathetic silent treatment!" a furious male voice roared from the outside hallway.

I sat up slowly. I glanced at the bedside clock: 7:15 AM.

I looked down at my wrists. No bruises, but a strange tension coiled in my muscles. My instincts told me to stay on guard.

I walked into the foyer, kept the security latch engaged, and cracked the door open an inch.

A tall, handsome man in an unbuttoned designer dress shirt stood in the corridor. His hair was messy, his eyes bloodshot, and he reeked of stale whiskey and sweet gardenia perfume. In his left hand, he held a woman's beige cashmere scarf.

"Finally," he snapped, shoving his shoulder against the door. "Unlock the latch, Maeve. I spent four hours sleeping on the lobby sofa because of your little midnight stunt."

I did not move the latch. I stared at him through the narrow gap with guarded eyes.

"Who are you?" I asked quietly.

The man froze, then let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Oh, give me a break," he sneered, rolling his eyes with practiced irritation.

"You are pulling the amnesia card again? Every time you throw a fit at a party, you pretend you do not know who I am. You will make my espresso in ten minutes and cry about your little deleted videos like you always do."

He reached through the gap, trying to force the chain off the hook.

I reacted instantly.

I did not flinch or scream. I stepped back and drove my palm against the heavy door, slamming it shut with a resounding thud.

"Maeve!" he bellowed, kicking the base of the frame. "Open this door before I have building security take it off the hinges!"

I stood on the polished hardwood, my pulse steadying. There was a tablet on the console table beside me. Before I could touch it, the private elevator chimed.

The elevator doors slid open into the foyer landing.

A sharp woman in a tailored navy blazer stepped out, flanked by two uniformed clinic attendants. She held a medical badge in one hand and a thick manila folder in the other.

"Mr. Vance, step away from the entrance immediately," the woman ordered, her voice cutting through the hall like a razor.

Conrad spun around, scowling. "Dr. Hayes? What the hell are you doing at my residence?"

"I am Ms. Vance's designated neuro-recovery coordinator," Dr. Hayes said coldly, stepping between Conrad and the door.

She held up an electronic dispatch log. "At 2:30 AM, your emergency proxy status was legally revoked. Ms. Vance scheduled an emergency priority dispatch."

Dr. Hayes tapped the intercom buzzer. "Maeve, it is Dr. Hayes. You authorized this visit last night."

I unlatched the deadbolt and opened the door.

Conrad tried to push past the doctor, his hands reaching aggressively for my bare arm. "Maeve, talk to me! Tell this woman to leave!"

The moment his fingers grazed my sleeve, I recoiled violently. I wrenched my arm back, stepping behind the doctor with pure, instinctive repulsion in my dark eyes.

Conrad's breath caught in his throat.

There was no hidden affection in my face. No lingering hurt. No silent plea for him to comfort me.

My eyes were completely empty. I looked at him the exact same way a person looks at a threatening stray dog on the street.

For the first time in three years, the smug arrogance vanished from Conrad's face. The color drained from his face.

I was not acting.

Dr. Hayes reached into her briefcase and pulled out a sealed crimson envelope stamped with my personal signature.

"This was scheduled for hand-delivery the minute your morning reset was complete," Dr. Hayes said softly, placing the letter into my hands. "Written by you, last night... for the woman you are today."