Chapter 4 The ruthless billionaire

The nightmare returned like a thief in the night.

Emma jerked upright in bed, her breath ragged, heart pounding against her ribs. The darkness around her pulsed with eerie silence. For a moment, she couldn't tell where she was-until her fingers grazed the edge of the silk sheets, the unfamiliar headboard, the faint scent of citrus and cedar that clung to the air. The mansion. Julian's house. Her supposed home.

But in her mind, chaos had erupted.

She could still hear the shouting-low, guttural, sharp like broken glass.

"You lied to me, Julian!"

"Don't walk away from me-"

"I gave you everything!"

And then-slam. A door. Loud, final.

Emma clutched her chest, curling her knees to her body, trying to steady herself. Her skin felt clammy. Her throat ached, as if she'd screamed in that memory... or perhaps in real life. She couldn't tell anymore.

She wasn't alone in the memory. Someone else had been there. Someone crying-herself. But the other voice had been male, furious. Familiar.

Julian?

She wrapped her arms around herself tightly, hiding the tremor in her bones. It wasn't just fear of what she couldn't remember. It was fear of what might be true.

Was that the real Julian? The one behind the polished suits, the cool façade, and cold blue eyes?

The first time she'd seen him, lying on that hospital bed, she thought he looked like a stranger carved from marble. Beautiful. Intimidating. Now, the cracks were beginning to show.

By morning, the weight of the vision still lingered.

Emma dressed slowly, deliberately choosing something simple from the endless racks of designer wear: a pale blue dress that fell to her knees. It made her feel less like a porcelain doll and more like someone real.

When she entered the breakfast room, Julian was already there, sipping coffee, tablet in hand. He looked up briefly and offered a curt nod.

"Did you sleep?" he asked without warmth.

She gave a slight shrug and sat across from him, avoiding his eyes.

The silence between them stretched like a rubber band pulled too tight. Emma's fingers curled around the edge of her chair. She needed answers, not polite distance.

"I remembered something last night," she said finally, voice soft.

Julian's gaze flicked up. "What did you remember?"

Her throat tightened. "We were arguing. I was crying. You were shouting. And then... the door slammed."

He set the tablet down with a slow, deliberate motion. "Go on."

"I don't know what it was about, but it felt like-like we weren't happy. Like I was scared."

Julian leaned back, studying her. "And are you asking me to explain the context?"

She nodded.

He exhaled deeply, rubbing his jaw. "We fought often. You were passionate. Stubborn. You hated feeling controlled, and I... I had a tendency to control everything."

His honesty was disarming, but it didn't comfort her.

"Were you ever... cruel to me?" she asked.

Something flickered in his eyes-guilt? Regret?

"Not in the way you think," he said. "I never laid a hand on you. But yes, I made choices that hurt you. I prioritized the business. I made decisions without you. I assumed you'd follow."

Emma looked down at her plate. "Why didn't I just leave?"

"You tried."

That stunned her. "What?"

Julian stood and walked to the window, back to her. "You packed your bags a week before the crash. You said you wanted freedom. A fresh start. That I was suffocating you. I told you you were being impulsive. You called me ruthless."

She stood slowly, crossing the room toward him. "Then why am I here now? Why did you bring me back after the accident?"

He turned. "Because you're my wife."

"That's not an answer."

He stepped closer, tone hardening. "Because I never stopped loving you. Even when you hated me. Even when you tried to leave."

Emma's breath caught. "That sounds like possession, not love."

Julian's jaw clenched. "Maybe. But I lost control of everything when you crashed that night. And when they told me you might not wake up, I realized-none of the power, the money, the empire I built-none of it mattered without you."

Her heart stuttered. There was a rawness in his voice now. But it didn't erase the tension tightening her spine. Because love twisted into control was still a cage.

She took a step back. "I want to remember everything. Not just flashes."

"You will. In time."

"I want to leave the house."

His face darkened. "No."

"I'm not a prisoner, Julian."

"You're recovering. The media would tear you apart. And I don't trust anyone outside these walls with your safety."

"But you expect me to trust you?"

That made him falter. For the first time, the indestructible Julian Crane looked unsure.

Emma turned, heart racing, and walked out before he could answer.

Back in her room, she paced like a caged animal. The memory had been brief, but powerful. And the way Julian reacted only confirmed her growing suspicion-there was more he wasn't telling her.

She moved to the vanity table and opened each drawer, searching for anything familiar. At the very back of the lowest drawer, tucked beneath old perfume samples, she found it: a key.

Tiny, silver, with an intricate "B" carved into the head.

A clue.

Something told her it would unlock more than a door.

And as the memory of that slammed door echoed once more in her mind, Emma made a vow to herself.

She would uncover every secret this mansion-and her husband-were hiding.

Even if it shattered her.