Chapter 2 2

The hospital room smelled heavily of bleach and rubbing alcohol. The harsh fluorescent lights cast long shadows across the sterile floor.

Harlan sat propped up against the pillows. His broad shoulders were tense under the thin hospital gown. He stared at the door. His eyes were dark, sharp, and filled with deep suspicion. He looked like a predator trapped in a cage.

Jessenia deliberately slowed her pace. Her designer heels sank into the soundproof carpet. She didn't make a single sound.

She stopped exactly half a meter away from the edge of the bed. She looked at his bruised face. She dug her fingernails into the soft flesh of her palms. The sharp pain triggered the tears. They spilled over her eyelashes and rolled down her cheeks.

Harlan frowned. He looked at the crying woman standing in front of him. He searched his blank mind for a name, a feeling, a memory. He found absolutely nothing.

"Who are you?" Harlan asked.

His voice was rough and gravelly from disuse. But the tone was cold. It carried the natural, oppressive weight of a man used to giving orders.

Jessenia's stomach dropped. The coldness in his voice was identical to the day he threw the NDA at her. But she didn't break character. She lifted a trembling hand and covered her mouth. She let out a broken, devastated sob.

The door opened behind her. Eleanor rushed into the room, wiping her own tears.

"Harlan," Eleanor said softly. She stepped up beside Jessenia and placed a hand on her back. "This is Jessie. Your fiancée. The woman you love."

Harlan's gaze shifted from his mother to Jessenia. The frown lines between his eyebrows deepened. He didn't look convinced. He looked guarded.

Jessenia knew she had to close the distance. She dropped to her knees on the cold floor right beside his bed. She reached out with a shaking hand. She gently placed her fingers over his knuckles, right where the IV needle was taped to his skin.

The second her skin touched his, Harlan's muscles turned to stone.

He physically flinched, his instinct to pull his hand away was immediate. But Jessenia had anticipated it, her grip tightening around his knuckles with surprising strength, pinning his hand before the reflex was complete.

She felt the rejection. It burned her fingers. But she ignored it.

"I thought I lost you," Jessenia whispered. Her voice cracked perfectly. "Three years, Harlan. Three years of waking up alone. I didn't think I could survive it."

Harlan stared at her hand holding his. His jaw ticked.

"I don't remember you," he said flatly.

"I know," Jessenia said. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "But I remember everything. I remember the scar on your lower back from when you fell off your horse at the Hamptons estate when you were twelve."

Harlan's eyes widened slightly. The defensive wall in his posture cracked just a fraction. It was an incredibly private detail.

Jessenia didn't stop. She pushed harder.

"I remember the snowstorm in Long Island," she said softly. "The power went out. We sat by the fireplace, and you told me you wanted to build a life with me. You told me you were tired of being alone."

It was a complete lie. She had never been to the Long Island house with him. She knew about the scar because she used to file his private medical records when she was his assistant. She knew about the snowstorm because she had canceled his meetings that day.

Eleanor stepped closer to the bed.

"If it wasn't for Jessie, we wouldn't have survived these three years," Eleanor said. Her voice was thick with emotion. "If she hadn't given birth to your flesh and blood, Harlan, I would have given up."

The words hit Harlan like a physical blow.

His pupils contracted violently. His chest heaved as he took a sharp breath. His gaze snapped back to Jessenia's face.

"My flesh and blood?" Harlan repeated. The coldness in his voice fractured.

Jessenia lowered her head. She exposed the pale, fragile skin of the back of her neck. It was a calculated posture of submission and maternal grace.

"We have a son," Jessenia whispered to the floor. "Leo. He looks exactly like you."

Silence filled the hospital room. The only sound was the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Harlan stared at the top of Jessenia's head for a full minute. The monitor beeped faster as his heart rate increased. The effort of trying to remember was causing him physical pain.

He closed his eyes. He let out a long, heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry," Harlan said quietly. The aggression was gone. "I really can't remember."

Jessenia's heart hammered against her ribs. He apologized. He accepted the logic. The lie was secured.

She stood up slowly. She reached out and pulled the edge of the blanket up to his chest, tucking him in. Her movements were gentle, precise, and flawless.

The heavy oak door pushed open again. Arthur, the head butler of the Schwartz family, stepped into the room. Two massive bodyguards stood in the hallway behind him.

"Excuse me, Madam," Arthur said to Eleanor. "The girl we brought back from the Caribbean island. She is waiting in the VIP lounge."

Harlan opened his eyes. The confusion in his expression vanished.

"Make sure she is taken care of," Harlan said. His tone shifted. It wasn't cold anymore. It was protective. "She saved my life."

Jessenia's ears rang. She caught the subtle shift in his voice. The softness. The immediate concern.

She turned around. She put on a warm, grateful smile.

"I will handle it," Jessenia said, looking at Eleanor. "I should go thank the person who brought my husband back to me. I'll arrange her accommodations."

Eleanor smiled at her, clearly touched by her grace. Harlan gave a small, tired nod of approval.

Jessenia turned and walked toward the door. The second her back was to the bed, the gentle smile vanished from her face. Her features hardened into a mask of pure ice.

She stepped out into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind her. She adjusted the collar of her cashmere coat. She began walking down the corridor toward the VIP lounge, ready to eliminate the new threat.