Chapter 5 I Want to See You Cry

I didn't sleep. Again. The DNA results and that message on the mirror haunted me through the night. By morning, I'd made a decision – if science couldn't give me answers, perhaps psychology could.

"You want to do what?" Marcus asked, his normally stoic expression betraying surprise.

"Set up a conditioning chamber," I repeated, scrolling through the blueprints on my tablet. "Section D has the space. I need it operational by this afternoon."

"Ms. Rothschild, with all due respect, this seems... extreme."

I fixed him with a cold stare. "Are you questioning my methods, Marcus?"

He straightened, professional mask back in place. "No, ma'am. I'll have the team begin immediately."

"Good. And I'll need Miranda for this."

Miranda Liu was my behavioral specialist – a brilliant psychologist who'd worked with my more difficult acquisitions. She understood the delicate balance between breaking someone's resistance and breaking their mind.

She arrived two hours later, elegant as always in a tailored navy suit, her silver-streaked hair pulled into a tight bun.

"Fascinating case," she said after I'd briefed her. "The physical discrepancies combined with matching DNA suggest either an extreme psychological break or..." she trailed off.

"Or what?"

She hesitated. "There are rumors in certain scientific circles about identity transfer protocols. Experimental procedures to imprint one person's behaviors onto another."

"You mean brainwashing?"

"More sophisticated. Targeted neural rewiring, memory implantation, behavioral conditioning at the cellular level." She tapped her tablet. "But that's all theoretical, of course."

"Of course," I echoed, not believing it for a second. "How do we determine if that's what happened?"

"We need to create a psychological pressure chamber. Environment triggers that would activate authentic memories while suppressing implanted ones."

"Hence the conditioning room."

She nodded. "But be warned – if he's been subjected to that kind of procedure, pushing too hard could trigger a catastrophic psychological collapse."

"I'm not looking to break him, Miranda. I just want the truth."

Her shrewd eyes studied me. "Are you sure about that? Sometimes the truth is more painful than uncertainty."

By late afternoon, the conditioning chamber was ready – a room designed to my exact specifications. Soft lighting that could be adjusted to mimic specific settings. Temperature and scent controls to recreate environmental memories. Sound system for targeted audio stimulation.

A perfect stage for reconstructing the past.

I had Rowan brought there directly from his glass chamber, escorted by two guards. He entered cautiously, eyes scanning the space – plush furniture, ambient lighting, a distinct lack of the clinical sterility that marked the rest of the facility.

"Redecorating?" he asked as the guards departed, leaving us alone.

"Something like that." I gestured to one of the armchairs. "Sit."

He remained standing. "I prefer to walk around if it's all the same to you. Been cooped up too long."

"Suit yourself." I moved to a control panel disguised as a bar cabinet, activating the first sequence Miranda and I had programmed. The lighting shifted subtly, taking on the golden hue of sunset. The temperature rose slightly, and the faint scent of jasmine filled the air.

Rowan's steps faltered. "What is this?"

"Just setting the mood." I poured two glasses of champagne – Dom Pérignon, the same brand we'd had that night. "Does this feel familiar?"

His eyes narrowed. "Should it?"

"Our first real date," I said, offering him a glass. "The rooftop garden at the Carlyle. You wore a gray suit with a blue tie. I wore red. It was sunset, just like this."

He took the glass but didn't drink. "Playing memory games now, Cassia?"

"Not games. Tests." I took a deliberate sip. "That night, you told me something you'd never told anyone else. Do you remember what it was?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Refresh my memory."

"That's the point, Rowan. You should know."

He set the glass down untouched. "If you're trying to catch me in a lie, just say so."

I moved closer. "You told me you were afraid of heights. That you'd only suggested the rooftop because you knew I loved city views. You held my hand the entire time we were near the edge."

Something flickered across his face – confusion? Discomfort? I couldn't tell.

"You're misremembering," he said flatly. "I've never been afraid of heights."

I nodded, making a mental note. Strike one.

I adjusted the controls again. The lighting changed to a warm, intimate glow. The scent shifted to sandalwood and vanilla. Music began playing softly – Debussy's "Clair de Lune."

This time, his reaction was unmistakable. His entire body tensed, hands curling into fists at his sides.

"Turn it off," he said, voice low and dangerous.

"Why? Don't you like Debussy?"

"Now, Cassia."

I kept my expression neutral, though my heart raced at his reaction. "This was playing the first night we spent together. In your apartment. You said it was your mother's favorite piece."

He moved suddenly, crossing to the control panel and slamming his hand down on it. The music stopped.

"Touched a nerve?" I asked.

"You don't know what you're doing," he growled.

"I'm trying to understand who you are." I stepped closer, refusing to be intimidated. "Because the man I knew – the man I was going to marry – he would have remembered these things."

"People change. Memories fade."

"Not these kinds of memories." I activated another sequence. The lights dimmed further, and a projection appeared on the wall – us, three years younger, dancing at our engagement party. My head on his shoulder, his arms around my waist.

Rowan stared at the image, something like pain crossing his features.

"That night," I continued, "you whispered something in my ear. Something that made me laugh. What was it?"

He remained silent, watching our younger selves sway to music we couldn't hear now.

"You don't know, do you?" I pressed. "Because you weren't there."

His gaze snapped to mine, eyes darkening. "I was there, Cassia. I just don't remember every little detail from three years ago."

"It wasn't a little detail." I stepped closer, invading his space. "It was the moment I knew I would say yes when you proposed two weeks later."

The projection changed – showing us at a charity gala, laughing with friends.

"Who is the woman in the blue dress?" I demanded. "The one you're speaking with."

He glanced at the image. "A business associate."

"Her name?"

Hesitation. "Jennifer."

"Sarah," I corrected. "Sarah Blackwood. Your former partner at Vale Ventures."

Anger flashed across his face. "What's the point of this interrogation?"

"The point is proving what I already know." I moved to stand directly in front of him. "You have his face. His DNA. But you don't have his memories – not the real ones, not the ones that mattered."

He grabbed my wrist suddenly, grip tight enough to make me wince. "You think you're so clever, Cassia. Always three steps ahead, always in control." He pulled me closer, his face inches from mine. "But you're missing the bigger picture."

"Which is?"

"That maybe I remember exactly what matters. Maybe I just want to see you squirm, trying to reconcile the man you thought you knew with the one standing in front of you."

I refused to show how his words affected me. "Let go of my arm."

"Make me." His grip tightened. "Use your little shock bracelet. Call your guards. Prove that you're as cold and controlling as your father always said you were."

The mention of my father sent rage spiraling through me. I wrenched away from him, stumbling back.

"You know nothing about me or my father," I hissed.

"I know he thinks you're weak." Rowan advanced slowly. "That you'll never measure up to his expectations. That you're too emotional, too impulsive. Too much like your mother."

Each word landed like a physical blow. How could he know these things? My father's criticisms had always been delivered behind closed doors.

"Stop it," I warned.

"Why? Isn't this what you wanted? To break through the surface? To find what's underneath?" He backed me against the wall, caging me with his arms. "Be careful what you wish for, Cassia."

Something in me snapped. I slapped him, the sound cracking through the room.

His head jerked to the side, a red mark blooming on his cheek. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then he looked back at me, a strange smile forming on his lips.

"There she is," he whispered. "The real Cassia Rothschild. Not the ice queen everyone sees. Not the perfect daughter. The woman who feels too much and shows too little."

I tried to push past him. He blocked my path, hands gripping my shoulders.

"What do you want from me?" I demanded, voice breaking despite my best efforts.

"I want to see you cry," he said softly, one hand moving to my face. "Just once. I want to see you break the way I broke."

The raw honesty in his voice shattered something inside me. Tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision.

"Why?" I whispered.

His expression changed, softening into something almost like tenderness. His thumb brushed my cheek, catching a tear as it fell.

"Because you're beautiful when you're real," he murmured. "When you're not hiding behind wealth and power and that Rothschild armor."

I closed my eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "I don't know who you are anymore."

"I'm the man who knows you better than anyone," he said, his breath warm against my skin. "Even if I'm not the man you remember."

When I opened my eyes again, his face was inches from mine, expression unreadable. Then he leaned forward, pressing his lips to my tear-stained cheek.

"You're using my hatred to act out your love," he whispered against my skin.

The words struck me like lightning. I pushed him away with sudden strength, moving to the other side of the room.

"Get out," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Back to your chamber."

He made no move to leave. "You're still fighting it, Cassia. Still denying what's right in front of you."

"And what's that?"

"That you don't care who I am. You just want someone to blame for the pain you've carried these three years."

The truth of his words cut deep. I reached for the emergency call button, summoning the guards.

When they arrived, I kept my face turned away. "Take him back to the glass chamber."

As they led him out, Rowan paused at the doorway. "You're insane, you know that?" he said, but there was no malice in his tone. "It's beautiful."

After he left, I collapsed into a chair, the tears flowing freely now. Miranda entered quietly, having observed everything from the monitoring room.

"He's manipulating you," she said gently. "Using emotional triggers to destabilize your resolve."

"Or he's telling the truth," I replied, wiping my eyes. "That I don't want to know who he really is. I just want to own what I lost."

Miranda sat across from me. "The test results were inconclusive. He failed on some memory triggers but showed genuine emotional responses to others."

"What does that mean?"

"It could mean selective memory tampering rather than complete identity replacement." She handed me her tablet. "Or it could mean he's been very well prepared for exactly these kinds of tests."

I stared at the inconclusive data, feeling more lost than before. "I need to know, Miranda. I need to know who he is and why he's here."

"Be careful, Cassia." She stood to leave. "The line between interrogator and intimate is dangerously thin. And I suspect he knows exactly how to blur it."

After she left, I remained in the conditioning chamber, surrounded by the ghosts of memories I wasn't sure were even real anymore.

On the wall, the projection still played – Rowan and me, laughing, dancing, in love. Strangers from another lifetime.