Episode 1
Darkness. Cold. Silence.
. A sharp ache sliced through her temples, and for a second, she couldn't remember her own name.
She was in a hospital room. But something was… wrong.
Her wrists—bound.
Tightly.
Thick leather straps looped around both hands, tied securely to the steel bed rails. Her ankles were strapped too. Panic surged through her as she tried to wriggle free, but the restraints held firm.
"Wh—where am I?"
The sterile smell of disinfectant filled her nose. Machines beeped softly in the background. A fluorescent light buzzed above, casting eerie shadows against the pale green walls.
Her heart pounded.
She wasn't alone.
A dark figure stood in the corner of the room. Tall, unmoving, silent like a statue.
Her voice cracked. "Who… who are you?"
The figure stepped into the light.
A man. Late twenties, maybe thirty. Impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit. Chiseled jaw, raven-black hair, sharp cheekbones. His icy eyes pinned her down like scalpels.
She instinctively recoiled.
"You're awake."
His voice was deep and smooth, but with a chill that ran straight through her bones.
"I... I don't understand." Iris gasped, struggling again against the straps. "Why am I tied up?"
He approached slowly, like a predator studying prey.
"You don't remember me?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"You don't remember what you did?"
"W-What I did?" Her voice trembled.
The man's lips curved, not into a smile—but something darker.
"I suppose the drugs worked better than expected," he murmured.
He stepped closer, and she finally read the name on the tag clipped to his jacket: Alec Draven.
Draven.
That name scratched something in the back of her mind. Like a faint scream underwater.
"I'm Alec," he said quietly. "Your fiancé."
The world tilted.
"F-fiancé?"
He nodded. "You ran away from me, Iris. And you paid the price."
She froze, unable to speak.
"I've brought you home now," he continued. "And this time, I'm not letting you go."
---
Tears stung her eyes. "Please… I don't remember. I don't remember anything."
Alec looked at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then he sat in the chair beside her bed, crossing one leg over the other, like this was all perfectly routine.
"You had a breakdown two weeks ago," he explained, voice calm. "You tried to harm yourself—and me. You were diagnosed with dissociative amnesia after your suicide attempt."
"That's not possible…"
"You stabbed me, Iris."
She choked on air. "No! I—I couldn't have!"
Alec leaned closer, brushing a lock of hair from her face. His touch was gentle, but his eyes were anything but.
"I still have the scar. Would you like to see it?"
She flinched away, breath hitching in her throat.
"I don't know you," she whispered.
"You will."
---
Later that night
The hallway outside was quiet. Too quiet.
The nurse—what was her name? Nina?—had come in earlier, given her food and medication, and then left without a word. No explanation, no updates. The only visitors were Alec, and the eerie silence that followed him.
As the minutes ticked by, Iris's panic grew. She couldn't stay here. She needed answers. She needed freedom.
She began testing the restraints again, one by one. Her right wrist strap felt slightly looser than the others. She began twisting her hand, ignoring the sting of raw skin scraping against leather.
One hour passed. Maybe two.
Her wrist slid free.
She covered her mouth to muffle a sob of relief.
Then she unfastened the rest—ankles, left wrist—and slowly rose from the bed. Her legs were weak, but she forced herself to stand.
She needed to find a phone. A nurse. A way out.
Iris tiptoed to the door and twisted the knob. Locked.
Of course.
She scanned the room. The only window was barred. The cabinet held nothing but extra blankets. But then—she saw something poking from beneath the mattress.
A folded piece of paper.
She snatched it up with trembling hands.
The handwriting was messy. Almost illegible. But the words were unmistakable:
> "Don't trust Alec Draven. He killed your sister."
The world spun again.
She had a sister?
Her breath came in ragged gasps. She leaned against the wall, clutching the note like a lifeline.
The door suddenly creaked open.
Alec stood there, his face calm—too calm.
"You're awake again," he said, voice unreadable. His eyes dropped to her hands.
"Looks like you've been busy."
Iris shoved the note into her hospital gown pocket, hiding it quickly.
"I want to leave," she said, heart pounding. "I'm fine. I don't need treatment."
Alec tilted his head. "Fine? You don't even remember your own life."
"I remember enough."
He stepped closer, slowly, methodically.
"You're not ready," he said firmly. "You'll hurt yourself again."
"No," she whispered. "You're the one who's hurting me."
For the first time, his expression cracked. Something dangerous flickered behind his cool facade.
"You shouldn't have said that."
She turned to run—but he was faster.
He grabbed her arm, spinning her around and pinning her against the wall. Not hurting her—yet—but his grip made it clear: resistance was pointless.
"Listen to me carefully, Iris," he said, his breath warm against her ear. "You are not leaving. Not until I say so."
"I'm not your prisoner."
"You're not my patient either." His lips brushed her temple. "You're mine."
She shoved him away with all the strength she could muster and darted across the room.
He didn't follow. Instead, he laughed—a low, cold sound.
"You'll come back. Because whether you remember it or not... you loved me once."
---
That night, as she lay back in bed—pretending to sleep—she made a vow:
She'd find the truth. About Alec. About the sister she didn't remember. About herself.
Whatever this place was—hospital or prison—she wouldn't be here forever.
Even if it killed her, she would escape.
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