Chapter 6 The Amnesiac Bride
Three years passed like watercolor on rain-soaked canvas. The scandal of Duke Edward Blackthorn's "drowning" faded into society gossip, replaced by headlines of his miraculous resurrection as mining tycoon Edward Black.
"Nurse Grey! Patient in Room 12 needs his medication."
Elizabeth adjusted her starched white cap, the fluorescent lights of William Chen Memorial Clinic harsh against her pallid complexion. Three years of working double shifts had hollowed her cheeks, but not as much as the void where her memories should be.
"Coming, Dr. Winters." She gathered the medication tray, fingers brushing against the rosebud scar above her left breast. The only clue to her past—that and nightmares of drowning in midnight waters while pearls floated like severed teeth around her.
The clinic corridors smelled of antiseptic and secrets. Elizabeth's rubber-soled shoes squeaked against linoleum as she passed the children's ward, where a small boy with obsidian eyes played with toy soldiers.
"Miss Lizzie!" Three-year-old Thomas waved frantically. "Look what I drawed!"
Elizabeth smiled at the crayon masterpiece—a stick figure family beside a house with roses. "It's beautiful, Tommy."
"It's you and Daddy and me." His chubby finger pointed to the tallest figure. "Daddy's coming today."
"Is that so?" She ruffled his jet-black hair, so like her recurring nightmares. "And who might your daddy be?"
Before Thomas could answer, the clinic doors slid open with pneumatic precision. Whispers erupted like hissing snakes: "It's him... The mining tycoon... Edward Black..."
Elizabeth's medication tray clattered to the floor as Edward strode through the lobby. Three years had hardened his features into granite, a jagged scar bisecting his right eyebrow where coral had kissed him goodbye. His tailored suit couldn't hide the predatory grace of a man who'd conquered death itself.
"DADDY!" Thomas bolted across the lobby, launching himself into Edward's arms.
The world tilted beneath Elizabeth's feet. Edward's obsidian gaze locked with hers over Thomas's head, recognition flaring like struck matches.
"Elizabeth." Her name on his lips sounded like both prayer and curse.
She backed into the medication cabinet, pulse hammering against her throat. "I'm sorry, sir. You must be mistaking me for—"
"Nurse Grey." Dr. Winters materialized beside her, his smile too tight. "I see you've met our benefactor, Mr. Black. He's Tommy's father and the clinic's new owner."
Edward set Thomas down, straightening his miniature bow tie. "Run along to the playroom, son. Daddy needs to speak with Nurse Grey."
As Thomas skipped away, Edward advanced with calculated steps. "Three years playing Florence Nightingale? How... charitable."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Elizabeth's back hit the supply closet door. "I've worked here since my accident."
"Accident?" His laugh cut like broken glass. "Is that what William called it before I put a bullet between his eyes?"
Dr. Winters cleared his throat. "Perhaps this conversation should continue in private."
Before Elizabeth could protest, Edward had maneuvered her into the supply closet, the door clicking shut behind them. Antiseptic bottles and gauze packets pressed against her spine as Edward caged her with his arms.
"Playing amnesiac?" His breath fanned her cheek, smelling of expensive bourbon and barely contained rage. "Let me help you remember."
His mouth crashed down on hers, three years of fury and longing compressed into one brutal kiss. Elizabeth's knees buckled as memories flooded back—the contract, the cliff, the underwater crypt with Christabel's skeleton.
She bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. "Get off me, murderer!"
Edward pulled back, satisfaction glinting in his eyes. "There's my little rose thorn."
"How dare you!" She slapped him, the sound echoing off metal shelves. "You let me believe I killed you! And that child—"
"Our son." Edward caught her wrist before she could strike again. "Born seven months after our cliff dive."
Elizabeth's world splintered. "Impossible. I lost the baby when Anne—"
"When Anne pushed you down the stairs?" Edward's thumb traced her pulse point. "The miscarriage was staged. William kept you sedated while Thomas grew inside you."
"No." Tears burned her eyes. "I would remember giving birth."
"Would you?" Edward pulled a folded document from his breast pocket. "William's notes on your 'treatment'—experimental memory suppressants, hypnotic suggestion. You were his masterpiece."
Elizabeth snatched the papers, scanning dates and drug dosages. "Why? Why would he—"
"Because I paid him to." Edward's confession hung between them like poison gas. "To keep you both safe from Anne."
The supply closet suddenly felt like a coffin. "Where is she?"
"Feeding coral with William." Edward's smile chilled her blood. "The ocean is quite efficient at disposing of problems."
Elizabeth's hand flew to her throat. "You're insane."
"I'm thorough." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Now, shall we discuss custody arrangements, or would you prefer another demonstration to jog your memory?"
The door burst open. Thomas stood there clutching his drawing, eyes wide. "Mommy? Why are you crying?"
Edward scooped up their son, balancing him on one arm while offering Elizabeth his handkerchief with the other. "Mommy's just happy to see us, aren't you, darling?"
Elizabeth stared at the monogrammed cloth—E.B. in blood-red thread. The same initials Thomas had scribbled on his drawing.
"Come home," Edward whispered, extending his free hand. "The roses miss you."
Thomas reached for her too, his tiny fingers an echo of the contract that had bound them all. "Please, Mommy? I made your room pretty."
Trapped between past and future, Elizabeth took their hands. "One condition—no more secrets."
Edward's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Of course."
Somewhere in the children's ward, a music box played Christabel's wedding march. Somewhere in Edward's offshore account, William's silence remained well-funded. Somewhere between revenge and redemption, a new contract was already being drafted.
