Chapter 1

The first thing I felt was water in my lungs, a burning, terrifying sensation. Then, nothing.

Now, I felt the rough texture of a starchy white sheet against my cheek. A slow, rhythmic beeping sounded to my right. It was the only sound in a quiet room.

I opened my eyes. The ceiling was white, a dull, sterile white. I was in a hospital. How did I get here?

My head throbbed. I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness pushed me back down onto the pillow. I lifted a hand to my head and felt a bandage wrapped around it.

A woman in blue scrubs walked in, her shoes squeaking softly on the polished floor.

"Oh, you're awake. That's wonderful news," she said with a kind smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Where am I?" I asked. My voice was a dry croak.

"You're at Oceanville General Hospital. You had a little accident, a fall. You've been unconscious for two days."

An accident? I searched my mind, but it was a blank wall. I remembered my name, Chloe Miller. I remembered growing up, going to college, my mother's death five years ago. But the recent past was gone. There was a huge, gaping hole.

"The last thing I remember..." I started, but I couldn't finish. I didn't know what the last thing I remembered was. It was all a blur, a fog. "How long... how much do I not remember?"

The nurse' s smile tightened slightly. "Your doctor will be in to talk to you about that. Your father is here to see you. I'll let him in."

She left, and a moment later, the door opened again.

My father, Robert Miller, walked in. He looked older than I remembered, his dark hair now streaked with prominent gray at the temples. He wore an expensive suit that looked out of place in the sterile hospital room.

"Chloe," he said, his voice strained. He stood awkwardly by the door, not moving closer. Our relationship had always been like this, a vast, cold distance between us.

"Dad," I said. "What happened?"

He finally walked over and took a seat in the chair beside my bed. He avoided my eyes, looking at the heart monitor instead.

"You had a near-drowning incident at the lake house," he explained. "You slipped and hit your head. Your bodyguard, Liam, pulled you out."

The name Liam Stone meant nothing to me. A bodyguard? Since when did I have a bodyguard?

"The doctor said you have some memory loss," my father continued, his voice carefully neutral. "You've lost the last three years."

Three years. A chasm. Three whole years of my life, just gone. My heart started to beat faster, the beeping of the monitor speeding up with it.

"What was I doing for three years?" I demanded. "Who is Liam?"

My father sighed, finally looking at me. "Liam Stone has been your bodyguard for the past three years. You... valued him. Very highly."

The way he said "valued" was strange. It was a business term, a word you use for an asset, not a person. It felt like he was hiding something, choosing his words with too much care.

Before I could press him, the door swung open again.

A young woman stood there, holding a silver thermos. She was beautiful, with wide, innocent eyes and long, blonde hair that fell in perfect waves. She wore a simple white dress that made her look pure and sweet.

It was my stepsister, Brittany Hayes.

"Chloe, you're awake!" she cried, rushing to my bedside. She set the thermos on the nightstand. "I was so worried. I made you some of my special chicken soup to help you get your strength back."

I stared at her. I remembered her, of course. My father had married her mother two years after my own mom died. Brittany was always sweet, always perfect, always the doting daughter my father wished I was. But looking at her now, a cold, instinctive dislike rose in my throat. Her sweetness felt like a costume.

"I'm not hungry," I said flatly. My voice was colder than I intended.

Brittany' s smile faltered. Her eyes welled up with tears. "Oh. I... I just wanted to help."

"By bringing me soup?" I asked, an unfamiliar sharpness in my tone. "I nearly drowned, Brittany, I didn't catch a cold."

My father scowled. "Chloe, that's enough. Brittany is just trying to be kind."

"Is she?" I shot back, my eyes locked on my stepsister.

The door opened for a third time, and this time, the man who entered commanded the room's entire attention.

He was tall, with broad shoulders that filled out his black suit perfectly. His face was all sharp angles and hard lines, with intense, dark eyes and a jaw that looked like it was carved from stone. He was handsome in a severe, dangerous way.

He stood by the door, his expression unreadable, his gaze sweeping over the room before landing on me. There was no warmth in his eyes, only a cool, professional assessment.

"This is Liam Stone," my father said, standing up. "Your bodyguard."

I stared at Liam. My heart gave a strange, painful lurch, but it wasn't a feeling of love or recognition. It felt like a warning. My mind was blank, but my body remembered something. It remembered pain. Three years of obsessive love, my father had said. But all I felt looking at this man was an empty, chilling void.

This man was a stranger. And I didn't trust him at all.