Chapter 1
‘Where am I?'
A woman lay motionless on a bed in a room drowned in white. Her body was entangled with countless medical devices, tubes and wires tracing her fragile frame. When her fingers twitched, the heart monitor shrieked, its rhythm racing twice as fast as before.
Too bright! The word pierced her thoughts as blinding light overwhelmed her senses. Once her vision adjusted, she scanned her surroundings—sterile walls, an IV stand, the bed beneath her, and the suffocating weight of unfamiliar machines.
A hospital? The conclusion formed hesitantly in her mind. Nothing else could explain the sterile whiteness, the cold instruments, the needles embedded in her veins.
'What happened to me?' The dark-haired woman brushed her bangs aside, pressing her thoughts to recall the last moments she remembered. She tried to weave the fragments together, but they slipped like smoke through her grasp. A dull throb pounded in her skull, forcing her to surrender.
Her fingers flexed again, small proof that her body still obeyed her will. Relief flickered at least her arms could move. Yet her legs felt impossibly heavy, like chains anchoring her down.
“How are you feeling, Scarlett?”
The sudden voice startled her. Her head snapped toward its source from a man, unfamiliar, standing beside her bed. His face betrayed no emotion, his eyes unreadable.
“W-who?” Scarlett rasped, her throat raw with every syllable. She swallowed painfully. “Do you… know me?”
“Here, drink.” The stranger offered her a glass of water. “You’ve been asleep for a long time. Your throat must be parched.”
Scarlett sipped cautiously, the cool water soothing the fire in her throat. Slowly, nervously, her gaze rose to study him again.
“Who are you?” She demanded, stronger this time.
His answer was unwavering. “William Donovan... your husband.”
Scarlett’s brow furrowed. “Husband?” The word felt foreign on her tongue, absurd in her mind. Married? To him?
“No. That’s impossible. I don’t know you.” Her rejection was sharp, instinctive.
William stepped closer, pressing a button that raised the bed until she sat upright. The motion only deepened her unease.
“What day is it? April Fool’s?” Scarlett let out a brittle laugh, clinging to the hope that this was some cruel joke. Any moment, he would cry out... Surprise!
“April is long gone. It’s June,” William replied, flat and unyielding.
“Then why such a terrible lie?” Scarlett snapped, her voice cracking.
“I’m not lying.”
“Ridiculous! I have never been married. Stop feeding me nonsense!”
“Why? Am I unworthy of you?”
Her eyes swept over him: his flawless face, his tall frame sculpted with strength. He was the kind of man others might call perfection itself. And yet to her, that perfection felt unnatural, menacing.
“This isn’t about being worthy, it’s—uhk—”
Her voice collapsed into violent coughs, her throat searing with pain.
“Stop shouting. You’re only hurting yourself.” William lifted the glass again, pressing it gently into her hand.
“Where’s my phone?” Scarlett asked abruptly, her voice trembling with urgency. If she could just see it, call someone, anchor herself back to reality—maybe she would wake from this nightmare.
“It burned. Along with your car when it exploded.”
The words struck her like ice. She set the glass down with a shaky hand. An accident. That must be it… That’s where this nightmare began.
“Then lend me yours,” she demanded.
A flicker of hesitation crossed William’s face. “Who do you intend to call?”
“Friends,” she answered quickly. “I’ll ask them to come.”
“Not now.” His voice was firm, the calm veneer he wore beginning to fracture. “For now, you must not contact anyone.”
“Why?” Scarlett narrowed her eyes, suspicion flaring. “Are you keeping me prisoner here?”
To wake in an unfamiliar room, to face a man who claimed to be her husband, it was madness! But now Scarlett felt the certainty sink in: this man meant her harm.
William leaned in, his fingers brushing her pale cheek, his voice a whisper that chilled her blood. “Yes. I will keep you here. I will make certain you never set foot beyond this room.”
A shiver tore through her body. Scarlett recoiled, dragging herself back as far as the bed would allow. 'He’s mad!' The thought tore through her mind, a silent scream echoing louder than her trembling breath.
“Rest now. We’ll discuss this again when you’ve recovered.”
Those were William’s parting words before he turned and left, the door shutting behind him.
Scarlett remained frozen, her heart racing, her mind spiraling with questions. How long had she been unconscious? What had truly happened to her life—shattered in the instant between memory and waking?
***
Scarlett Hayes sat tucked into the corner of Café Au Lait, accompanied only by her laptop and phone. She wore a long-sleeved white shirt beneath a navy bomber jacket that added bulk to her slender frame. Wash jeans of matching shade completed her look, along with a white NY cap pulled so low it shadowed half her face.
“Would you like me to replace those?” Baron, the barista and manager, approached with the familiarity owed to a VIP customer.
Scarlett frowned, confused.
Baron gestured toward the untouched plate and cup before her—delivered two hours ago yet never touched.
“Oh.” A faint smile curved Scarlett’s lips as she realized what he meant. “It’s fine, Baron. You know I don’t like anything hot.”
Baron nodded knowingly. “Would you like something special for lunch, then?”
Scarlett thought for a moment. “I think I’m craving your lasagna.” Her eyes widened slightly, imagining the layers of pasta smothered in béchamel sauce and rich meat filling.
Baron chuckled. “Understood.”
“Oh—” Scarlett halted him before he could leave. “Keep garlic far away from mine, Baron.”
He laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re not a child, Lettie,” he teased before walking off, leaving her pouting faintly.
Scarlett refocused on her laptop. A sigh escaped her as her phone vibrated again—this time with a low-battery warning. She relented, slipping in her earbuds before answering.
“What is it?”
[Where are you, Miss Hayes?]
As expected, the voice was not Nesa, her assistant, but Derek—the director.
“I’ve warned you before, Mr. Director,” Scarlett said casually, “stop using my assistant as leverage.”
[Come on, Scarlett, you can’t just walk away from a collaboration over something so trivial.]
Her brows furrowed. Derek’s words irritated her more than she wanted to admit. Closing her laptop, she lifted her cup and took a long sip of her double-shot espresso, letting its bitter strength suppress the anger rising in her veins.
“I told you from the start, Derek—there will be no changes to my script.” With deliberate calm, Scarlett cut into her tiramisu, savoring the balance of sweetness and bitterness that this café was known for. A small, satisfied smile appeared on her lips as she heard Derek’s resigned sigh on the other end.
[Fine, I give up. Do whatever you want. But I beg you, come to the set—]
“Give the phone back to Nesa,” Scarlett cut him off, uninterested in hearing more of his excuses.
[Scar—]
“What’s going on?”
[The crew and cast are refusing to shoot once they found out you withdrew from the project.]
It was Nesa’s voice now, hushed—Scarlett could tell Derek was still looming nearby.
“Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Ending the call, Scarlett leaned back, sighing. She had doubted this collaboration from the moment she learned Derek would be directing. He was infamous for rewriting scripts at will, often dragging them into cheap, late-night, adults-only productions. He preyed on young, inexperienced writers who had no power to resist.
But not this time. Scarlett had refused his every revision, standing firm on her belief that stories should offer depth—both visually and emotionally, rather than devolve into shallow sensationalism. The conflict had escalated so badly the producer had to intervene. In the end, Scarlett had won. Backed by both the producer and the investors, Derek’s authority had been checked.
“Heading out?” Baron asked, noticing Scarlett packing her things.
“I need to be at the set.”
“Wait ten more minutes. Your lasagna will be ready and you can take it with you.”
Scarlett shook her head. “No way. Your delicious lasagna is mine. Just leave it in my room, I’ll eat it later.”
Her condominium occupied the third floor of the very same building—three stories she owned. The cafe below was Baron’s to run, the second floor his office.
Baron chuckled. “All right. Be careful. Message me when you’re home.”
Scarlett gave a small nod, waved, and slipped through the café doors. Her car, a blue crossover SUV, waited close by. Sliding in, she caught her reflection in the rearview mirror—an exhausted face that hadn’t known proper sleep for two nights. Nothing special, but enough to carry her through.
The engine roared as she pulled into the street.
Her phone buzzed again from its holder. Nesa’s name flashed across the screen.
[Scarlett, are you on your way?]
“Yes, already driving.”
[The investors are here. They’ve heard about the delay—and Derek is badmouthing you to their faces.] Nesa’s voice trembled with frustration.
Scarlett chuckled lightly. “Let him.”
[Ah, Lettie! You should see his smug face every time he says your name.]
Not the first time he’s tried that, Scarlett thought, amused. “I’m five minutes away,” she assured, glancing at the GPS before pressing harder on the gas.
Her brow furrowed suddenly. A red sedan swerved erratically in the oncoming lane, zig-zagging dangerously. Scarlett honked repeatedly, but the driver gave no response.
Her pulse spiked as the sedan barreled closer. With no time to think, Scarlett jerked the wheel sharply to the right, desperately trying to avoid the inevitable.
[CRASH!]
*****
