Ariana Pov:
The drive to Adrian Blackwood's estate was silent.
Ariana sat rigidly in the back seat of the black SUV, hands clasped in her lap, staring at the man beside her—her husband, apparently.
But no matter how many times she glanced his way, nothing stirred in her. No flash of recognition. No warmth. Not even hate.
Just… emptiness.
The car slowed as iron gates creaked open, revealing a towering mansion surrounded by thick hedges and security cameras. Cold. Beautiful. Isolated.
Adrian stepped out first. He didn't offer his hand.
Inside, the mansion was more a museum than a home—gleaming floors, tall glass windows, art that looked expensive but lifeless. Ariana followed quietly, eyes scanning everything, hoping something would click.
A photo on the wall caught her attention. It was the two of them—she in a white dress, him in a tuxedo.
Their wedding photo.
She moved closer, heart fluttering. But as she leaned in, she gasped.
Her face was scratched out.
Rough, deliberate claw marks ran across the glass.
"Don't touch that," Adrian's voice snapped behind her. "That hallway's being cleared."
Cleared of what? Her?
She followed him deeper into the mansion, to a sleek guest room with grey walls and a window view of nothing but trees.
"You'll stay here," he said. "Until your memory returns. If it does."
Her brows furrowed. "Why not in… our room?"
He stiffened. "You gave up that right a long time ago."
Ariana opened her mouth to ask more, but he was already walking away.
Later that night, she roamed the hallways, drawn by whispers she couldn't explain. The mansion felt alive, like it was breathing secrets through the vents.
She opened a side door and found a dusty sitting room. In the far corner, tucked beneath the couch, something glinted.
She reached down and pulled it out: a photograph.
It was… her. And Adrian.
But not the cold, stiff man she met today. In this photo, they were holding hands, laughing. She was sitting on his lap, arms around his neck. They looked in love.
She stared at it, stunned. If they hated each other, why did this photo exist? Why had someone hidden it?
Something wasn't right.
The floor creaked behind her. She turned.
A maid stood in the doorway, wide-eyed.
"You shouldn't be in here," the maid whispered. "He doesn't like anyone touching the past."
Ariana clutched the photo to her chest. "What happened to me?"
The maid hesitated. Then, with a quick glance over her shoulder, she whispered:
"You weren't supposed to wake up."
And then she vanished down the hallway, leaving Ariana in the dark with a shiver down her spine.