Chapter 3 Rainey

I stared at the cursive letters over and over again.

“Julian is not my husband. Be careful.”

That sentence felt like both an anchor and a poison. Having written proof supported my instincts, but this proof came from a version of myself that I didn't remember at all.

How could I fully trust a warning from someone who felt like a complete stranger to me?

I turned to the previous pages. The entries were broken, written with messy grammar, as if I was running out of time or in extreme panic. The heavy ink pressing through the paper showed strong emotional stress.

Heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway, tapping steadily on the oak floor, breaking the silence.

Someone was patrolling, or maybe getting closer on purpose.

My investigative instincts fired up immediately. Leaving this diary under the loose floorboard was too risky. If a maid or guard found the board moved, they would take the only independent proof I had. I needed an unexpected hiding spot.

My eyes swept the room, checking every crack and corner. The closet was too obvious; under the mattress was too cliché.

I finally walked quickly to the armchair in the corner of the room, reached under its cushion, and slipped the thin book into a tight gap between the wooden frame and the fabric.

That spot wouldn't be touched unless someone took the furniture apart.

I had just taken a deep breath to calm my racing heart when a loud knock came at the door.

A maid in a neat uniform stood in the doorway, her face flat and without a smile.

"Mr. Montgomery is waiting for you in the dining room for dinner, Ma'am."

The timing felt like a trap specially designed to test me.

I had just read a deadly warning that the man was not my husband, and now the 'husband' was calling me down into his territory.

For a moment, I thought about lying down and faking pain from my concussion to avoid this meeting.

But refusing to show up would only make him suspicious. If I hid in my room, Julian might come straight to me.

I had to face him. My goal tonight was to gather information from every detail of his behavior.

If the diary was true, Julian must absolutely not know that I had read it.

I had to act like the perfect version of a confused but cooperative amnesia patient.

The dining room downstairs had a suffocating atmosphere, very different from the quiet of my room. The room was too big, with dark walls and crystal lights that gave off a cold glow. The place was set up like a closed corporate meeting room rather than a family dining room.

In the middle of the room, a long mahogany table was set for only three people.

Julian was already sitting at one end of the table. His posture was stiff, neat, and in full control of his surroundings.

But on the other side of the table sat a stranger who quickly stood up politely when I walked in. He introduced himself as Dr. Silas Fairchild. The presence of this third man instantly changed the room's energy.

The contrast between Silas and Julian felt like day and night.

Silas gave off a warmth that made my shoulders relax a bit. He was maybe in his late thirties, wearing a shirt with the sleeves slightly rolled up. His smile was friendly, and his eyes showed a real care that I couldn't find in Julian's face.

"You're moving very well for someone who just had a bad collarbone injury," Silas greeted softly, pulling out a chair for me. His tone was light and calming, far from Julian's cold voice. After spending time with an intimidating figure like Julian, my natural reaction was to want to trust this friendly man.

"Eat," Julian ordered without looking at me. He didn't ask if I was hungry or if the food suited my taste.

I picked up my fork, chewing the meat on my plate in silence while watching the two men back and forth.

Silas took over the mood by casually checking my condition. He asked about the pain level in my shoulder, if my vision was still double, and how my balance was when walking. I gave short, very careful answers, weighing every word to avoid giving away too much information.

"Have any pieces of memory started coming back to you?" Silas asked, looking closely at me across the table.

"No. Everything is still blank," I answered smoothly.

Silas nodded in understanding. "Brain trauma is very complicated. Sometimes, our brains block access to memories on purpose to protect themselves from overwhelming or scary experiences. It's a defense mechanism."

I used that opening to dig deeper. "What was I like before the accident, Doctor? I mean, as a person."

Silas smiled slightly, glancing quickly at Julian before answering. "You were very smart. Full of determination. Sometimes very stubborn, and... always having a sharp suspicion about everything around you."

That description was very accurate. Those were the traits that pushed me to search and find the diary. "Was I stressed out? Under pressure, maybe?"

"Yes. Your job demanded it."

"Enough, Silas," Julian cut in suddenly. His voice didn't get louder, but its sharpness instantly killed our conversation. "She doesn't need to think about her work until she is fully recovered physically."

I glanced at Silas. The doctor looked a bit awkward and looked down at his plate. The subtle tension between the two men didn't escape my notice. Julian was in full control, and Silas knew his limits.