Chapter 3 The Memory Game

Zara stared at the diary in her hands until her vision blurred.

"I think I'm falling for a killer."

Her own handwriting. Her own words. But they read like a stranger's confession. Was that really her? Had she been brainwashed-traumatized into thinking love looked like control?

The silence in the room was heavy. Somewhere beneath her skin, a chill set in. Doubt crept in too.

What if it wasn't just fear? What if I really did love him?

No. She couldn't trust that voice. That voice was dangerous. Weak.

She shoved the diary back under the mattress and stood. She needed answers, not memories. Truth, not fantasy.

---

At breakfast, Khalid sat across from her, buttering a slice of toast like he didn't run a syndicate.

Zara picked at her eggs, then looked up, playing curious. Soft. Trusting.

"Do you remember our first kiss?" she asked lightly.

Khalid's eyes flicked to her. "Of course."

She tilted her head. "Where was it?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached for his coffee, took a sip, then smiled faintly.

"You were trembling," he said. "I remember that."

"That doesn't answer the question."

He set the cup down. "Some memories are better felt than told."

Zara gave a soft laugh, trying to hide the tension winding through her spine. "You're avoiding the details."

Khalid leaned in slightly, elbows on the table. "Why are you testing me, Zara?"

Her breath caught.

He wasn't angry. Not quite. But his tone curled around her like a leash-soft, dangerous, inescapable.

"I'm not," she said quickly. "I'm just... trying to fill in the blanks."

His gaze lingered a second too long. Then he stood.

"Don't force your memories. They'll come back when they're ready."

He kissed the top of her head.

And just like that, the interrogation was over.

---

Later that day, Amina left Zara alone for exactly twelve minutes while taking a call outside.

Zara moved fast.

She darted down the corridor, barefoot, heart hammering. The carved mahogany door loomed ahead, darker than the others. The forbidden room.

She pressed her ear to the wood. Nothing.

Then she reached for the handle.

It didn't budge.

A sleek sensor blinked red beside the frame.

Fingerprint locked.

She cursed under her breath. Of course it was. Nothing in Khalid's world was simple.

Still, her pulse wouldn't settle. She didn't know what was behind the door-but whatever it was, Khalid didn't want her to see it.

And that meant it mattered.

She turned to go.

That's when she saw him.

Khalid stood at the end of the hallway, silent as a ghost, watching her.

He didn't move. Didn't speak.

The air stretched thin between them.

Zara's breath hitched.

"I was just looking for the library," she lied.

Khalid walked toward her, slow and deliberate. When he stopped in front of her, he didn't touch her.

He looked down at her like he was memorizing her face.

"No more lies," he said, voice low.

Her heart thudded.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, familiar object.

A phone.

Her phone.

He placed it in her hand.

"Consider this a gift," he said.

Zara stared at the screen. Most of the apps were gone. Notes, texts-wiped. But one photo remained in the gallery.

She tapped it open.

Her breath caught.

It was her.

Smiling.

Leaning into Khalid's chest, arms wrapped around his waist. Her red dress shimmered in the light. She looked... happy.

Truly, unmistakably happy.

Zara's head spun.

She didn't remember the moment. Didn't remember wearing that dress. Didn't remember touching Khalid like that-wanting to.

"You took this?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

Her eyes searched his face. "When?"

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You'll remember eventually."

She didn't know what scared her more-the possibility that he was lying... or the possibility that he wasn't.

---

That night, she stood by the window, phone clutched in her hand. The city lights glowed in the distance, blurred through glass.

The photo haunted her.

Her smile. The way her body leaned into his without fear. The way his arms circled her like she belonged to him.

Was it real? Or staged?

Behind her, the door opened.

She didn't turn. She didn't need to.

Khalid stepped close, his presence a gravity she couldn't ignore.

"I see it in your eyes," he murmured against her ear. "You're starting to feel it."

She stayed still, jaw tight.

"You may not remember our love, Zara..." he whispered, voice brushing her skin like velvet and steel, "but I will make you feel it again. One way or another."

She closed her eyes.

And felt the cage tighten.