Chapter 1 Awakening in Armani
# Chapter 1: Awakening in Armani
I awoke to the gentle caress of sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, momentarily blinded by the brilliance. Silk sheets slid across my skin as I stirred, the unfamiliar texture startling me fully awake. This wasn't my bed. This wasn't my room.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I bolted upright, instantly regretting the movement when pain shot through my head. The room spun around me—a vast, minimalist space dominated by whites and creams, punctuated by touches of what I somehow recognized as custom Italian furniture.
More disorienting than the unfamiliar surroundings was the realization that I couldn't remember how I'd gotten here. Or yesterday. Or anything before that.
"Who..." My voice emerged as a croak, my throat desert-dry.
"You're awake." A deep voice from the doorway sent adrenaline surging through me. I whipped my head around to see a tall man leaning against the frame, watching me with tender concern that seemed utterly incongruous with my panic.
He moved with fluid grace, approaching slowly as if sensing my alarm. Immaculately dressed in what I somehow knew was an Armani suit, he exuded a composed confidence that both unnerved and inexplicably calmed me.
"How are you feeling, Lois?" He sat carefully at the edge of the bed, maintaining a respectful distance.
Lois. The name registered as mine, yet felt like it belonged to a stranger.
"I..." I glanced down at myself, realizing I was wearing what appeared to be a silk nightgown. My left hand caught the light, a massive diamond ring glinting on my fourth finger. Around the base of the finger, a subtle indentation marked the skin, as if the ring had recently been absent.
"Where am I? Who are you?" I demanded, pulling the sheets higher.
A flicker of pain crossed his handsome features. "You don't remember?"
"Would I be asking if I did?" My sharpness surprised even me.
He nodded slowly. "The doctor warned this might happen. I'm Neil. Your husband."
The word hit me like a physical blow. Husband?
"We were married three days ago," he continued gently. "You had an accident at our reception. A fall. The doctor said temporary amnesia was possible."
I stared at him, searching for any hint of familiarity in his face—the strong jawline, the intelligent green eyes, the perfectly maintained dark hair. Nothing.
"I need to see a mirror," I said abruptly.
Neil helped me stand, his touch careful but sure as he guided me to an en-suite bathroom that was larger than most apartments. The woman who stared back at me from the mirror was both familiar and a stranger—pale skin, wide blue eyes rimmed with exhaustion, dark hair falling in tangled waves around a face that was undeniably mine, yet somehow wrong.
"I don't understand," I whispered, touching my reflection.
"Come with me," Neil said softly. "There's something I want to show you."
Still dazed, I followed him through the sprawling penthouse—all sleek lines and tasteful luxury—to a living room dominated by one wall covered entirely in photographs. Us, apparently. Skiing in Switzerland. Dancing in Paris. Laughing on a beach at sunset.
"We've been together for two years," Neil explained, his voice warm with reminiscence. "Met at an art auction. You outbid me on a piece I'd been tracking for months."
I studied the photos closely. Something wasn't right. In one, my eyes appeared brown instead of blue. In another, my smile seemed oddly stretched, as if digitally widened. And in several, the lighting on our faces didn't quite match, as if we'd been photographed separately and combined.
"You need to rest," Neil insisted when I swayed slightly. "The doctor will visit tomorrow. Until then, you should take it easy."
He led me back to the bedroom, brought me water and pills he claimed were prescribed for my pain. I pretended to take them, hiding them under my tongue until he left, then spitting them into a tissue I tucked under the mattress.
As night fell, Neil brought dinner on a tray—gourmet food that tasted like ash in my mouth. He spoke of our life together, stories that should have felt intimate but instead sounded like a stranger's tales.
"You should sleep," he finally said, kissing my forehead with a tenderness that made me shiver. "I'll be in my study if you need anything."
The moment he left, I slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Something primal within me needed to inspect my body, to search for clues my mind couldn't provide.
Letting the nightgown fall to the floor, I turned to examine my back in the mirror. A gasp escaped me when I saw it—a puckered scar on my lower back, too precise to be from a fall. It looked like a gunshot wound, partially healed but still angry and red.
My fingers traced it, muscle memory responding before conscious thought. Without knowing why, I reached for Neil's electric razor, disassembling it with practiced ease I couldn't explain. The blade came free in my hand, and I wrapped it carefully in tissue paper, then slid it beneath the loose tile I'd somehow known would be there beside the bathtub.
Only after I'd hidden it did I question how I'd known to look for that hiding spot, or why my body remembered how to create a weapon when my mind remembered nothing at all.
I returned to bed, staring at the ceiling as questions circled like vultures. If Neil was my husband, why did every instinct scream danger? If this was my home, why did it feel like a beautiful trap? And if I had simply fallen, why did my body bear the mark of violence?
Sleep eventually claimed me, but even in dreams, I remained vigilant. Something was very wrong with this perfect picture. The diamond on my finger caught the moonlight, flashing like a warning beacon as I drifted into uneasy slumber.
When morning came, I would begin solving the mystery of who Lois really was—and whether the handsome man sleeping somewhere in this luxurious prison was my beloved husband or something far more dangerous.
