72

Matty struggles with his overly tight tie, looking as if he’s on the verge of asphyxiation. Taylor laughs loudly beside me.
Tears sting my eyes. Matty asks if I’m okay, but I can’t find the words to answer. Even Taylor’s booming laughter fades into a worried hush.
I manage to croak that I need air and escape the suffocating ballroom.
My heart is shattered, but the reason eludes me. A missing puzzle piece my mind hides. I gasp uselessly as I weave through smiling faces trying to coax me to do shots. Their cheer grates. I don’t belong.
Then I see him, JP Wolfe, at the top of the grand staircase. Arrogance personified.
His dark blue tailored tuxedo hugs every inch of his muscular frame. Our eyes lock, a storm churning inside me. Love and hate in equal measure.
I want to scream at him, hurl curses. I hate him. I love him. But I hate him more.
He crooks a finger, demanding my presence.
I want to flip him off and storm away. But I need to keep my cool. I’m trembling with rage, but I know what I have to do.
I reach into my bag and remove a pale blue envelope.
Each step amplifies my anxiety as I ascend toward him. But I won’t let him see how much this is hurting me. He’s dangerous. A threat to my sanity, my heart. Trusting him was a mistake I never should have made.
His eyes flicker with an unspoken emotion as he begins to speak, his face hard. But I can’t hear him. I strain to catch his words, but it’s futile. I’m a ghost.
I scream at him, hurling poisonous words meant to wound. I want to hurt him as much as he hurt me.
Shock crosses his face as he reads the letter I shoved at him. Anger, pain, a hint of regret, but the soundtrack of our heated exchange remains muted. Maybe I don’t want to hear it.
My hands shake with adrenaline. I jab a finger at his chest, unleashing a torrent of rage I can’t comprehend. We stand toe to toe at the top of the sweeping stairs, oblivious to the ballroom below.
His eyes blaze, but behind the anger is a well of hurt I didn’t know he could feel. He reaches for me. I recoil, the betrayal still bleeding and raw.
With one last look, I turn and flee down the marble steps. I have to get away from him.
Focused only on escape, I don’t see it coming. My heel catches. Balance lost, arms flailing as the ground rushes up-
“Lucy,” a voice calls, its gentle lilt replacing his voice. It’s Dr. Ramirez, coaxing me back from the precipice of the memory.
I gasp, the room swimming into focus as pain stabs through my temples.
That confrontation had to be real. But can I even trust my own mind?
If it’s real, why did JP lie? We weren’t talking like a boss and employee; we were locked in all-out war. There’s history here that he’s not telling me. He shattered me that night.
He’s the guy! the little irritating voice in my head screams. He’s the guy who hurt you. He’s Daredevil!
Did he push me in a fit of rage? Surely not, but… I don’t trust him. Not anymore. Betrayal churns in my stomach like acid. He could have helped me regain my memories. Instead, he hid the truth.
JP tried to bury the truth of that night. What really happened at the Plaza Hotel?
Lucy
An hour later, my caffeine levels and nerves are both through the roof as Priya and I sit in a cafe across from the clinic.
She came to collect me. I must’ve been a blubbering, incoherent mess over the call.
I actually threw up my ham and cheese sandwich in the clinic toilet. Somehow I managed to pull myself together and lie to Dr. Ramirez, pretending I was fine. For a second, I thought she was going to force me into a straitjacket, just as Libby predicted.
I remember now. The blue envelope. I’ve seen it before. It’s the letter that had JP turning all shades of awkward in the car when he drove me home. A car pulled in front of us and the contents of the glove box spewed open. He got flustered when it landed at my feet. I’d written it off as classified corporate mumbo-jumbo but now… now I can’t ignore the knot of unease tightening in my gut.
That was the letter I gave him, one he clearly didn’t want me to remember. The knot of dread in my gut twists painfully. JP has been lying to me, covering up something.
Knowing something traumatic happened, yet having no recollection… it’s a disturbing, twisted state of mind. I can’t find the proper words to describe it to Priya.
Reaching out to JP isn’t an option. I can’t trust him. The man is lying to me, covering something up. And that thought alone cuts deep.
Because even with all the anger brewing, my feelings for him lurk around, raw and tender as an open wound. If only I could rip them out. Easier said than done.
I let my fears tumble out, painting Priya the grim portrait of my hypnotherapy session. The retelling leaves me with a nauseating sense of dread.
“I got a recording of the session,” I confess, my skin crawling just from the thought of it in my bag.
“Well, that’s good,” Priya says. “You can play it back, see what you’ve missed.”
I shake my head, a shiver running down my spine. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just apply cold logic here. I’m scared of what I’ll feel if I hear my own voice narrate those forgotten moments.”
“Do you want me to listen for you?”
“Yes. No. God, I don’t know.” I shove the untouched coffee away, the bitter aroma suddenly too strong for my delicate gut. “Honestly, I’m in such a horrible mental state right now.”
Priya pulls me into her soothing embrace as I try to mimic the breathing techniques from the clinic. In and out. Deep, slow.
Around us, the other cafe patrons seem so chill. I envy their peace.
“Do you have any idea what could be in that letter?” Priya asks gently.
I shake my head helplessly. “None. I’ve rummaged through every file on my laptop to find a soft copy. Found nothing.”
Her eyes widen in alarm. “You don’t think he could have deleted it?”
At her suggestion, my stomach coils unpleasantly. He has the access, the power to do so.
She chews on her lip, face etched with worry. “You don’t think he could have hurt you on those stairs?”
“No.” The denial comes quick, too quick. The thought twists my insides. Because a tiny part of me isn’t sure what he’s capable of. “I am fairly sure, though, that he’s the one I was… seeing, in whatever twisted way, before the accident. The one who reduced me to a blubbering mess. That made me cry in the bar that time.”
Her eyes practically bug out of her head. “But that means he’s Daredevil? The guy you dry humped at the nerd convention?”
I manage a weak smile at her jab, despite my spiraling thoughts. “Possibly. Who the hell knows? I’m just grasping at straws right now. Second-guessing every element of my existence. But one thing’s certain-JP Wolfe is a lying bastard.”
She swallows hard, clutching my hand. “That scandal I mentioned, the one JP wanted to keep hush-hush… I think it’s about to explode.”
“Does it involve me?” A chill of dread slithers down my spine. “I’d know if it was about me, right?”
“I don’t know details,” she admits. “And even if I did, I couldn’t disclose them.”
I study her face, searching for any hint that she’s holding something back, but her regret seems genuine. Not that I’d blame her for toeing the company line. This is her job she’s risking.
“The letter…” I say slowly. “I saw it in his car. He panicked and snatched it away when it fell out. I’m dreading having to confront him about this.”
She frowns thoughtfully. “Do you think a confrontation is wise? He’s lied to you before. What makes you think he’ll be truthful now?”
Her question leaves me at a loss for words.
“Is there any way you could get ahold of the letter without him knowing?” she suggests gently. “That way you’d have the facts first before talking to him. You wouldn’t be going in blind.”