Chapter 1 My Awakening

I woke wrapped in a white light that hurt my eyes.

It wasn't natural light, but the kind they use in clinics-harsh, like in an operating room. The walls gleamed with inhuman cleanliness. Everything smelled of disinfectant. Of confinement.

My body wouldn't respond.

My tongue felt heavy, as if I had slept with stones in my mouth. The metallic taste churned my stomach. I vomited only air.

The silence was so absolute I could hear my own broken breathing.

Where was I? Who was I?

A buzzing drilled into my skull. I reached for my forehead. I didn't make it. Something was holding my wrist-an IV line. My other hand was tied to the side of the bed with a white strap.

Terror climbed my spine like an icy river.

A shadow moved to my left.

"Catalina?" The voice was male. Deep. Soft. Like silk hiding a knife.

I turned my head. I saw him.

His face was chiseled, elegant-a dangerous kind of beauty. Dark hair, a spotless suit, and those eyes... too light to be warm.

I didn't know him. But my body did. My pores recognized him before my mind could. A current rippled across my skin.

His presence was not unfamiliar.

It made me nauseous. And it stirred desire. Both at once.

"Where am I?" I asked, my voice a thread.

"In a rest clinic," he replied without hesitation. "A safe place. By the sea. Italy."

Italy. The word felt absurd, like he'd just made it up.

I looked around. Everything seemed too perfect to be real.

Too luxurious for someone who was sick.

"What happened to me?"

He didn't answer right away. His eyes studied me, like a scientist observing an experiment.

"You hurt yourself, Catalina. Badly."

He swallowed.

"You tried... to disappear."

My fingers trembled. I didn't know if it was fear, rage, or cold.

"Who are you?"

"Vittorio Leone."

He spoke as if that should explain everything.

"Your fiancé."

My heart stopped for a beat.

Fiancé?

The word felt absurd in my mouth.

I didn't remember loving anyone. I didn't remember anything.

But something ached when he said it. As if something lost inside me was crying to come back.

"Why don't I remember you?"

"You've been sedated. Your brain... needed rest. Intense emotions overwhelmed you."

"Did you drug me?"

His lips tightened.

"We're protecting you. From yourself."

The room spun. Cold sweat. Vertigo.

I tried to sit up. Vittorio grabbed my arm quickly. His fingers were warm, strong.

His touch sent a shiver down my spine. I wanted to pull away, but my muscles were limp.

He held me with a mix of tenderness and control.

"Don't push yourself," he murmured. "You've been very sick. It'll take time to adjust."

"Adjust to what?"

Vittorio smiled. It wasn't a happy smile-it was practiced.

"To the truth."

Hours passed. Or days. There were no clocks. Only sun and shadows trading places at the window.

The nurses spoke little. Some avoided my gaze. Others were kind... too kind.

As if I were something fragile that might break on contact.

Vittorio came every day. Always with flowers. Always with that soft voice hiding something else.

One day, he brought photos. Of us.

Smiles. Vacations. A ring on my finger.

"This was in Greece," he said, showing me an image where I smiled next to him.

"That's when you told me you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me."

I didn't recognize myself. It was like looking at pictures of a stranger.

"Why don't I remember any of this?"

"Because your mind blocked what came after. The accident. The breakdown."

"What accident?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed my forehead.

My body responded with a rush of heat. I closed my eyes for a second.

And in that instant...

...a fleeting image tore through my mind:

A room in flames.

A woman screaming my name.

A locked door.

I opened my eyes suddenly, breath ragged.

Vittorio was watching me.

"What did you see?"

"Nothing. A... memory. At least, I think it was."

"Perfect. You're starting to heal."

That night, I didn't sleep.

I sat on the bed, watching the moon reflected on the sea. Everything was too quiet.

I had started writing on the back of a book I found on the nightstand. Random words. Phrases I didn't remember thinking:

Don't trust anyone.

Not everything you feel is real.

Skin can lie too.

I got up. Walked barefoot to the door.

Locked. From the outside.

I turned the knob. Nothing.

Vittorio had said it was for my safety.

But I didn't feel safe.

I felt contained.

On the third day, I found my phone in the nightstand drawer. Someone had left it there. Or wanted me to find it.

It was locked. I tried my fingerprint. It worked.

My heart pounded in my throat. I opened the gallery. Photos. Videos.

A whole life I didn't remember. A smiling Catalina. Tanned. In love.

And yet, I felt disgust.

Something didn't fit.

I found a folder named ONLY IF I FORGET.

I opened it.

One video. Just one.

I hit play.

I appeared on screen.

Messy hair. Dark circles. Panic.

Me-but different.

My voice was broken.

"If you're watching this... it means you forgot."

I swallowed. In the video. And in real life.

"Don't trust Vittorio."

Pause.

"Or yourself."

The video cut.

I froze, phone in hand, feeling the world crumble under my feet.

When Vittorio came back that night, I pretended to be asleep.

I watched him through the slit of my lashes.

He sat beside my bed. Looked at me for a long time.

Then took a small bottle from his pocket. Placed it on the nightstand. Pink pills.

"For your dreams," he whispered.

He caressed my cheek with the back of his hand.

"I don't want to lose you again."

Tears filled my eyes. I didn't know if they were mine... or the other Catalina's from the videos.

That dawn, I had a dream.

I was in a garden. Dark. With black flowers.

There was a woman with her back to me. Long hair. White dress.

She turned.

It was me.

But her eyes were empty.

I woke up screaming.

Vittorio wasn't there. But the door was open.

In the hallway, wet footprints marked the floor.

Small. Barefoot.

I followed them to the end of the corridor, trembling.

A door ajar. Darkness inside.

Someone was breathing. Slow. Deep. As if waiting for me.

A hand touched my shoulder.

I jumped, spinning around.

No one.

When I got back to the room, my phone was gone.

I collapsed onto the bed, shaking.

The door closed again with that same dry click.

I felt like a prisoner.

But the worst part wasn't the cage.

The worst part was that, deep down, a voice said:

You chose this.

And that... terrified me more than any memory.