Chapter 3

The next day, the fog in my head was denser.

Ethan was... a familiar presence. Kind. Worried.

He said he was Ethan. My friend.

I believed him. Why wouldn't I?

He brought me breakfast on a tray.

"Feeling any better?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

I nodded, though I wasn't sure what "better" would feel like.

"Chloe is so excited about the wedding," he said, almost to himself.

Chloe. The pretty, sick woman. His fiancée.

He seemed happy for her.

Later, he came into the guest room looking hesitant.

"Evie," he began, "there's something I need to ask you. It's a bit awkward."

He explained that Chloe didn't have a wedding dress.

"There's this gown," he said, his gaze fixed on a point over my shoulder. "It was... commissioned a while back. For a... a project. It' s exquisite. Unique. I was wondering if Chloe could wear it."

He described it – ivory silk, delicate lace, a flowing train.

A faint, ghost-like image surfaced in my mind. A dress. My dress.

But the connection was weak, like a dream half-remembered.

"It would mean so much to her," Ethan pressed. "And it's just sitting in storage otherwise."

I nodded. "Okay."

If it made Chloe happy. If it made Ethan, my kind friend, happy.

A tiny, sharp pang went through me, so quick I almost missed it. Betrayal?

But I didn't know why. The feeling vanished as quickly as it came.

He looked immensely relieved. "Thank you, Evie. You're a true friend."

Before the last vestiges of him faded completely, a strange compulsion took over me.

I found a pen and a sheet of hotel stationery Ethan had left on the nightstand.

My hand moved, writing words I barely understood but felt deeply.

Words of pain, of a love I could no longer access, of a decision made in a clearer moment.

I found a small, velvet box in my travel case. Inside, a ring. Simple, elegant.

It felt important.

I walked through the quiet house, my steps unsure.

His home office. He used this desk often, he'd told me... or had someone else told me?

I opened a drawer. Empty, except for some pens and paperclips.

I placed the letter and the ring inside.

A farewell to a man I was rapidly forgetting.

My best friend, Maya Rodriguez, called that afternoon.

Her voice was a lifeline to a world I was losing.

"Evie? What the hell is going on? Ethan called me, said you had some kind of amnesia episode? And he's marrying Chloe Vance?"

Maya. Fiercely loyal. Sharp. A journalist who could smell a lie a mile away.

I tried to explain, but the words were jumbled, confused.

"He what? A memory drug? Evie, what did you do?"

Her voice was tight with anger, with fear. For me.

"I'm okay, Maya," I managed. "It's... for the best."

"Best for who, Evie? Him? That snake Chloe? I'm coming over. Now."

But I told her no. Not yet.

"The wedding," I whispered, an idea forming in the haze. "Be there. With me."

There was a pause. Then, "Damn right I'll be there. We'll see about this wedding."