Chapter Three- A Home I Don’t Remember

The next morning, the doctor checked me over and said I was well enough to go home. Home. The word felt strange when I had no memory of where that was.

Saint stood beside me as I changed into the clothes he had brought—a soft sweater and leggings. They fit me perfectly, like he knew my size well.

He helped me pack up the few things the hospital had given me, moving with ease, like this was routine for him.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his blue eyes watching me closely.

I nodded slowly, though I wasn’t sure.

Saint placed a firm hand on the small of my back as we left the hospital. The air outside was crisp, the sun bright against the clear sky. A sleek black car was parked by the entrance, and a man in a suit opened the door for us.

“Get in,” Saint said gently.

I slid inside, my heart pounding as the door shut behind me. The car smelled like leather and something faintly familiar—his cologne, maybe.

As we drove, I stared out the window, watching the city blur past. It felt unfamiliar, like I had never seen it before, though something in me said I must have.

After a while, the car turned onto a long, private road lined with tall trees. At the end stood a massive iron gate. It opened smoothly as we approached, revealing a grand estate behind it.

My breath caught.

The mansion was enormous—larger than anything I could have imagined. White stone walls, tall windows, and perfectly trimmed hedges surrounded it. The driveway curved around a massive fountain, where water flowed gently.

But what struck me most was the number of guards.

Men in black suits stood at different points around the property, their eyes scanning the area, their posture stiff and alert. Some carried earpieces, others had visible guns at their sides.

My stomach twisted.

“Why are there so many guards?” I asked, my voice quiet but firm.

Saint glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “For protection.”

“Protection from what?”

He paused for a moment, then said, “It’s just a precaution.”

That didn’t feel like the full truth.

As the car pulled to a stop, a man opened my door. I hesitated before stepping out, my eyes still scanning the guards.

Something about this wasn’t normal.

Saint placed his hand on my back again, guiding me toward the massive front doors. “Come inside,” he murmured.

I took a deep breath and followed him in, unsure of what waited for me beyond those doors.

As I stepped inside, my eyes widened.

The house looked like a royal castle. The floors were polished marble, reflecting the glow of an enormous chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The walls were lined with gold accents, expensive paintings, and tall windows with heavy velvet curtains. Everything about it screamed wealth and power.

Saint walked ahead, his steps confident as if he owned the world. “Come, I’ll show you our room,” he said.

Our room.

The words felt strange. I was supposed to live here, to sleep beside him. But why didn’t it feel real?

I followed him up a grand staircase, the railings carved with intricate designs. At the end of a long hallway, he pushed open a door, revealing a spacious bedroom.

“This is our room,” he said.

I stepped inside, my eyes scanning the space. The room was luxurious—dark wooden furniture, silk sheets, and a massive bed in the center. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air.

But something felt… off.

There were no wedding pictures. Not on the walls. Not on the bedside table. Nothing to show that we were married.

And when I opened the closet, my stomach tightened.

His clothes were neatly arranged inside. Suits, shirts, shoes—all his.

But where were mine?

I turned to him, my heart pounding. “Where are my clothes?”

Saint’s expression didn’t change. He was too calm, too prepared. “This is a new house,” he said smoothly. “We recently moved in. Your clothes and our wedding pictures haven’t arrived yet.”

I frowned. “But you’ve been staying here?”

He nodded. “I moved in first to set things up. That’s why only my things are here.”

I studied his face, searching for any sign of a lie. But before I could question him further, my eyes landed on something on the bedside table.

A framed picture.

I picked it up, my breath catching. It was me.

I was smiling in the photo, looking happy and carefree.

Something about it made warmth spread through my chest. Maybe I was overthinking things. Maybe I was just confused because of my memory loss.

I stared at the picture, my fingers tracing the edges of the frame. My own face stared back at me—smiling, happy, full of life.

A soft, involuntary sound left my lips. “Awww…”

I didn’t remember taking this photo. I didn’t remember where I was or what had made me so happy in that moment. But there was something comforting about seeing myself like this. It felt… real. Like proof that I belonged here.

Saint stepped closer, his voice smooth and reassuring. “You loved that picture,” he murmured. “It was one of your favorites.”

I glanced up at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “You said it captured you perfectly.”

I looked back at the frame, searching for any flicker of recognition, but my mind remained blank. It was frustrating not knowing my own memories, not remembering the life I supposedly shared with him. But if I had loved this picture… maybe I had loved this life, too.

Still, a nagging feeling sat deep in my chest. Something about all this didn’t feel quite right.

But Saint was watching me closely, waiting for my reaction. So I forced a small smile and placed the picture back on the bedside table.

“Maybe… I just need time,” I whispered.

Saint’s eyes darkened slightly as he stepped closer. His fingers brushed my cheek, his touch gentle yet firm.

“Yes, you do,” he murmured, his voice low.

Before I could respond, his lips pressed against mine. Soft at first, then deeper, like he was trying to remind me of something I had forgotten. His warmth, his scent—it was overwhelming.

When he pulled back, his blue eyes searched mine. “I have to leave for a bit,” he said. “I’ve got some work to take care of.”

I nodded slowly, still trying to process the kiss.

“Get some rest in the meantime,” he continued, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You need it.”

Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the door.

I watched as he left, my heart pounding.

Something about him felt safe. Familiar.

And yet… something still felt wrong.