The months blurred together in a strange sort of peace.
Every night Adrian claimed you—sometimes rough, sometimes slow, but always as if to remind both of you of the reality you now shared. By the third month of your healing, you had taken your ALS examinations and passed. The certificate had been pressed into your hands like a trophy you'd never imagined you'd hold.
You'd run to him then, your face blooming with a smile that seemed to chase away every shadow of the past.
"Yay! I finished!" you exclaimed, throwing yourself into his arms.
He caught you easily, his strong arms folding around you in an embrace that almost startled him with how natural it felt. For a long moment, he didn't let go. He breathed you in, golden hair, green eyes, body no longer skeletal but radiant and whole.
"That's my girl," he murmured into your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he could stop himself. "College girl. I knew you'd do it."
You pulled back, your smile dazzling. "It feels good!"
And you meant it.
The tutors came and went, and you started your college program in elementary education, your heart set on teaching children so they'd never be robbed of learning the way you were. For the first time, your life was stitched together with hope, fragile but real.
And Adrian—though he would never admit it out loud—was proud. Even the staff in the estate whispered differently about you now, with respect rather than pity. Adrian's smirk whenever he caught them staring at the fading marks on your neck said enough.
Mine.
That night, he insisted you celebrate. He took you to one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, a quiet booth at the far corner. The table gleamed with candlelight, fine china, and wine glasses that caught the light like jewels.
You had barely started your meal when you set your fork down, gathering your courage.
"Husband..." you began softly, heart pounding. You wanted to tell him. To say the words that had been building in your chest. "I lo—"
The doors of the restaurant opened.
And in came your family.
Your stepmother's voice cut across the hum of conversation like the crack of a whip.
"Adrian," she said smoothly, her eyes like sharpened glass. "We have news."
Adrian's gaze snapped to her instantly, his jaw tightening.
Your half-brother followed close behind, his tone almost theatrical as he announced, "Helena has been found!"
The name fell into the room like a grenade.
You froze.
Adrian froze too, but for a different reason entirely. His eyes widened, his chest stilling as though the air had been ripped from his lungs.
Your stepmother went on, her words deliberate, savoring each syllable. "She survived the crash. She's been in a coma... twelve months. Amnesia for sixteen more. And now she's awake. Looking for us."
The candlelight flickered, shadows twisting across Adrian's face.
The glass of wine in his hand trembled ever so slightly. His arm around your waist instinctively tightened—too tight—before dropping suddenly. His mind was a storm you couldn't read.
"What?" His voice was a blade, clipped and low. "What does that mean, 'found'?"
The details spilled out—her coma, her miraculous survival, her slow recovery, her sudden memory return.
And Adrian's world tilted.
You saw it in his eyes, the way the past came roaring back. The way grief and love and anger and betrayal warred all at once in his clenched jaw and taut shoulders.
"You have got to be goddamn joking," he muttered.
Without another word, he stood.
And he followed them out.
Leaving you there.
Your stepmother lingered just long enough to lean down, her perfume cloying as she whispered in your ear.
"Think you can stay and snatch my daughter's love? She's back. Back to where you belong, Elara."
Her hand shoved you back against the booth with quiet force before she turned and left, her heels clicking like a death sentence.
Adrian's footsteps echoed down the familiar hallway of your family's estate. His chest was tight, every breath sharp.
And then—he saw her.
Helena.
Bandages swathed her frame, but her face—God, her face—was familiar enough to twist something deep inside him. The love of his youth. The one he'd buried.
Her eyes locked onto him. And then—
"Baby?" Her voice broke. She burst into tears, trembling as she reached out. "Baby, I missed you so much!"
Adrian's breath caught. His fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to turn, to leave, to remind himself of you waiting at the restaurant. But the sob in her voice, the fragility in her frame... it was like being dragged backward in time.
"Helena," he whispered—her old pet name slipping out before he could stop it.
Her sob deepened. "I was in a coma, Adrian. For years. I only just remembered. I—I thought of you every day, baby. I loved you, I still love you. Please..."
Her tears soaked into his shirt as she collapsed against him. And Adrian, rigid as stone, let her.
Because pity is a heavy chain.
"Tell me what happened," he forced out, voice steel over fire.
And she told him. The party. The drinking. The crash. The months of emptiness. The sudden flood of memory just days ago.
Adrian's gut twisted. He'd hated her for dying, hated himself for not saving her, and hated the world for taking her. But now—now she was here. Alive. Breathing. Crying his name.
"And you came back now?" His voice was dark, cold, dangerous. "When I've already moved on?"
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "Moved on? With who?"
"My wife," he spat. But the flicker in his gaze betrayed him—the wound reopened, bleeding.
Her sob turned hysterical. "Your wife? You married someone else? Who?!"
"My sister," she realized, horror dawning across her pale face.
And then—like a switch flipped—her hysteria sharpened.
"If you don't divorce her, I'll die!" she screamed, lunging toward the IV in her arm.
Adrian's body moved before thought. He caught her wrists, panic flooding his chest. "Helena! Stop it!"
"Promise me!" she cried, eyes wild. "Promise me you'll marry me, Adrian! You swore—you swore when we were teenagers! You can't take that back!"
He grit his teeth, fury and guilt tearing him apart. "We were children! That promise doesn't mean anything anymore!"
"It means everything to me!" she screamed, clawing at him. "We were in love! We were going to marry! If it weren't for the accident—" Her sob was ragged, raw. "I'd be your wife now. Not her. Me. And if I can't be, then living is pointless!"
She broke free, staggering for the rooftop stairs. Adrian cursed, chasing after her.
On the roof, the wind howled. She climbed the railing, her white hospital gown whipping in the gust.
"Marry me, Adrian, or I'll end it here!" she sobbed.
"Goddammit, Helena, don't!" His voice cracked with the panic of a man being split in two.
Her eyes—wild, desperate, manipulative—locked on his.
"Marry me."
And against every rational thought, against every oath he had made in the last two years, against the image of your face waiting at the restaurant—
"...Alright." His voice was hollow, broken. "I'll do it. I'll marry you."
Her sob turned into a laugh of relief as she crumpled against him, clinging. And Adrian let her.
Not realizing the chain had closed around his throat.
Meanwhile—
You sat in the restaurant long after the plates cooled.
The manager approached gently, apologetically. "Ma'am... we're closing."
You blinked, numb. "Oh."
You asked for the food to be packed, though you knew you wouldn't eat it.
And then, mercifully, Ysabel appeared, her expression tightening the second she saw you alone. She rushed to you, and when you tried to smile, the tears finally broke.
"Ysabel..." Your voice cracked.
She didn't ask. She just pulled you into her arms, strong and steady. "I've got you," she whispered fiercely. "You don't have to say anything. I've got you."
And for the first time that night, someone remembered you were still there.
You carried the food home. The estate was silent. Dark. Empty.
You set the takeout neatly on the table. Sat. Waited.
Hours passed.
The food grew cold.
The candles melted to nothing.
By morning, it spoiled.
You cleaned it up without a word, carried yourself to the bedroom, and curled up alone.
Sleep claimed you with the weight of abandonment pressing heavy on your chest.
Adrian came home the next morning. His steps were light, almost too light. A faint, unfamiliar contentment softened his face.
You stirred, blinking awake as he entered. Relief flooded you. "Husband..." You smiled softly, rising, reaching for him, lips parting for a kiss.
He turned his head.
Your lips brushed only air.
Your smile faltered. "...What's wrong?"
His eyes—cold, unreadable—finally met yours.
"Let's get a divorce."