I woke up crying.
Not the pretty kind of crying... the kind where you look like a sad K-drama heroine with a single tear rolling down your cheek. No. This was the ugly kind. My face was wet. My eyes were swollen shut. My nose was so stuffed I had to breathe through my mouth like a dying goldfish.
And I had no idea why.
I blinked. Or tried to. My eyelids felt like sandpaper.
Where am I?
I was lying in a bed. A huge bed. Like, stupidly huge. The kind of bed that makes you wonder if the person who owns it is compensating for something.
The ceiling above me was at least twenty feet high. Crystal chandelier. Fancy moldings. The walls were floor-to-ceiling windows showing a skyline I didn't recognize.
I sat up slowly. My head throbbed. My chest ached. It felt like someone had reached inside me, grabbed my heart, and squeezed.
Why does my heart hurt?
I looked down. Silk sheets. A blanket that probably cost more than a month of rent. A nightstand with a single photo frame facedown.
I reached for it.
The photo showed a woman in a sharp blazer, standing in front of a massive building. She wasn't smiling. Her face was cold, distant. Like she'd never laughed a day in her life.
I stared at her face. Then I looked at my reflection in the dark TV screen across the room.
Same sharp jaw. Same dark hair. Same cold eyes.
That's me?
I touched my cheek. The woman in the reflection touched hers.
Okay. That was me. But I didn't feel like her. I felt like someone had scooped out my insides and left me empty.
A knock on the door made me jump.
"Miss Vivian?"
A man's voice. Deep. Careful. Like he was approaching a wild animal.
I opened my mouth to answer. Nothing came out. My throat was raw. Had I been screaming?
The door opened slowly.
A man stepped in. Tall. Broad shoulders. Sharp suit, neatly pressed. His face was completely blank... but his eyes weren't. His eyes were scanning the room, cataloging everything. Checking for threats.
Then his eyes landed on me.
And for a split second, something cracked in his expression. Worry? Pain? I couldn't tell. It disappeared so fast I almost missed it.
"You're awake," he said.
I nodded. Then stopped because nodding made my head pound.
"Who are you?" My voice came out hoarse. Like I'd swallowed glass.
He stiffened. Just slightly. Almost invisible.
"I'm Lucas," he said slowly. "Your... assistant."
Lucas. The name didn't ring any bells. But when I said it in my head, something in my chest tightened.
"What happened to me?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked to the window and stood with his back to me, looking at the city below.
"What do you remember?" he asked.
I thought about it. I really tried.
Nothing.
"I woke up crying," I said. "That's it. I don't remember anything before that."
Silence.
Then Lucas turned around. His face was still blank, but his hands were clenched at his sides.
"Nothing at all?"
I shook my head. "I don't even know my own name. You said Vivian? Is that my name?"
He stared at me for a long moment. His jaw tightened. Then he did something I didn't expect.
He smiled.
It was a small smile. Sad, almost. But it reached his eyes.
"Yes," he said quietly. "You're Vivian."
"Vivian," I repeated. "It sounds... expensive."
That got a reaction. His smile twitched. Almost a laugh. He caught himself quickly, but I saw it.
"You could say that," he said.
I looked around the room again. The massive bed. The chandelier. The skyline view.
"Am I rich?"
Lucas hesitated. He looked at me... really looked... like he was trying to decide something.
Then he walked to the nightstand. He picked up the photo frame I'd been staring at. The one with the cold-faced woman in the blazer.
He turned it face-down again.
"You're comfortable," he said carefully. "Don't worry about money right now."
I frowned. That was a weird answer. But my head hurt too much to question it.
"Lucas," I said.
He flinched. I saw it clearly this time. A tiny jerk of his shoulder, like he expected me to yell.
"Did I used to yell at you?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
"Did I used to be mean to you?"
Still no answer. But his silence was louder than words.
I suddenly felt terrible. I didn't remember anything about this man, but my gut told me I hadn't been kind to him. And yet here he was. Standing in my room. Looking at me with those careful eyes.
"I'm sorry," I said.
He went still. Completely still. Like I'd said something in a language he didn't understand.
"What?"
"I'm sorry," I repeated. "For whatever I did. I don't remember it, but... I'm sorry."
Lucas stared at me for a long, long time.
Then he turned away. He walked to the window again, but this time I saw his hand come up to his face. Scrubbing. Like he was wiping something away.
"You should rest," he said. His voice was rough. "I'll bring you breakfast."
He was at the door when I called out.
"Lucas?"
He stopped. Didn't turn around.
"One more thing," I said. "My heart hurts. I don't know why. But it feels like someone broke it."
His hand tightened on the door handle.
"Do you know who did this to me?"
The silence stretched between us. I could see his reflection in the glass door of a cabinet. His jaw was tight. His eyes closed.
Then he opened the door.
"Get some rest, Miss Vivian," he said quietly. "You have a long way to go."
And he left.
I lay back in my giant bed, staring at the ceiling.
I didn't remember anything. Not my name, not my life, not the face of whoever made my chest ache like this.
But I remembered one thing.
When Lucas said Miss Vivian, it sounded like goodbye.