Chapter 4 False Honeymoon

# Chapter 4: False Honeymoon

"I have a surprise for you," Neil announced over breakfast, his smile warm and inviting. One week had passed since I'd awakened in this strange life, and though my memories remained elusive, my suspicions had only grown. "We're going out today."

I looked up from my untouched toast. "Oh? Where to?"

"Somewhere special." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Somewhere that might help your memories return."

My pulse quickened. Any change in routine could provide an opportunity—to gather information, to test boundaries, perhaps even to escape if necessary. But it could also be a trap.

"That sounds wonderful," I said, matching his enthusiasm with practiced ease.

Two hours later, we were in the back of a sleek black SUV with tinted windows, driven by a stone-faced man Neil introduced simply as "Karl." I memorized our route, noting turns and landmarks, building a mental map as we left the city center and headed toward what appeared to be an industrial district undergoing transformation.

"Almost there," Neil said, squeezing my hand. I forced myself not to pull away.

The car slowed, turning into what looked like a massive construction zone. Temporary fencing surrounded acres of freshly paved walkways and half-completed buildings. A colorful arch loomed ahead, spelling out "WONDERLAND" in neon letters that weren't yet illuminated in the daylight.

"An amusement park?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

Neil's smile widened. "Not just any amusement park. This is where we had our first real date. They've been renovating it for months, but it reopens today. I pulled some strings to get us in early."

The driver stopped at a VIP entrance where a nervous-looking man in a suit waited. He hurried to open Neil's door.

"Mr. Hamilton! Everything's ready as requested. The park doesn't officially open for another three hours, so you'll have the place to yourselves."

As we walked through the empty park, Neil kept his hand at the small of my back, guiding me past silent carousel horses and motionless roller coasters. Maintenance crews worked in the distance, and the occasional security guard nodded respectfully as we passed.

"Do you remember?" Neil asked softly. "It was raining that day. You wore a blue dress and complained that I'd chosen the worst possible weather for an outdoor date."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He led me to a bench facing a large fountain that wasn't yet running. "We sat right here, sharing cotton candy, when you finally admitted you were CIA."

I nearly stumbled. "I—what?"

Neil laughed. "That was your joke. I'd been asking what you did before art consulting, and you kept being mysterious. Finally you said, 'Fine, I'm CIA—Cotton candy Intelligence Agency,' and it was so ridiculous that I couldn't stop laughing."

The story sounded charming, plausible—and completely fabricated. As Neil continued reminiscing, I scanned our surroundings more carefully. The paint on the buildings looked fresh, the concrete paths unmarked by foot traffic. Near a food kiosk, a worker was still removing plastic wrapping from brand new trash cans.

"When was this park renovated?" I asked casually.

"They've been working on it for about eight months," Neil replied smoothly. "It's been closed since last fall."

A security guard passed nearby, and I caught his eye. "Excuse me," I called. "This place looks amazing. When did construction finish?"

The guard glanced at Neil before answering. "Just finished the main areas last week, ma'am. Still putting final touches on the back sections."

Last week. Not eight months of renovation, but a brand new construction. Another lie.

Neil steered me away, toward a gleaming roller coaster. "They've completely rebuilt the Thunderbolt. It was your favorite."

"Was it?" I studied the structure. "It looks... intense."

"You always said the bigger the drop, the better." Neil grinned. "Want to try it? We'll be the first riders since the rebuild."

Before I could answer, a park employee approached, informing us that the coaster was ready for our private ride. Minutes later, we were being strapped into the front car, safety bars lowering over our shoulders.

"I'm not sure about this," I said, a genuine flutter of anxiety rising in my chest.

Neil took my hand. "Trust me. I've got you."

The coaster lurched forward, climbing the first hill with mechanical precision. As we crested the peak, the entire park spread before us—and from this height, something became unmistakably clear: large sections still under construction, fresh dirt where landscaping hadn't been completed, workers scurrying about. This wasn't a renovation; this was a new creation.

Then we plummeted.

The wind tore at my hair as we hurtled downward, then spun through a corkscrew turn. Beside me, Neil whooped with exhilaration, his hand gripping mine tightly. For a moment, I allowed myself to be caught in the simple thrill of speed and gravity.

That's when it happened—a terrible grinding noise, followed by a violent jerk that slammed us forward against our restraints. The coaster shuddered to an abrupt halt halfway through a loop, leaving us dangling at a precarious angle.

"Are you okay?" Neil's voice was sharp with concern.

"Yes," I gasped, adrenaline flooding my system. "What happened?"

"Safety protocol. Something triggered the emergency brakes." He was surprisingly calm for someone hanging upside-down thirty feet above concrete.

Maintenance workers rushed toward the track below, shouting instructions. After several tense minutes, they managed to reset the system and slowly reverse the cars back to the loading platform.

As we were helped out, Neil kept his arm around me protectively. I was shaking—not from fear of the mechanical failure, but from what I'd seen during those moments suspended above the ground: the unfinished park, the fresh construction that contradicted Neil's stories of our past here.

"I'm so sorry," the park manager gushed, approaching us. "Nothing like this has ever happened before. The safety systems are all new—"

"It's fine," Neil cut him off. "These things happen during test runs."

"But this wasn't supposed to be a test—" The manager stopped abruptly when Neil shot him a look. "I mean, yes, of course. Thank you for your understanding."

Neil guided me to a nearby bench. "Are you sure you're alright? That was quite a scare."

I nodded, studying his face. Despite his concern, he seemed remarkably unfazed by our near-disaster. As he leaned closer to brush hair from my face, his jacket shifted, and I glimpsed something on his side—a flash of scarred skin just above his hip.

"You're hurt," I said, reaching toward him instinctively.

Neil pulled back, readjusting his clothing. "Old injury. Nothing to worry about."

"Let me see." I didn't wait for permission, pushing his jacket aside and lifting the edge of his shirt before he could stop me.

The scar was distinctive—a curved, jagged mark about four inches long on his right side, just below his ribs. As I stared at it, something stirred in my memory—the weight of a knife in my hand, the particular angle of a thrust meant to slip between ribs and pierce vital organs. The exact shape that would leave exactly this kind of scar.

Neil gently but firmly moved my hand away, pulling his shirt down. "Boating accident, years ago. Before we met."

But I knew. That was no boating accident. That was a knife wound—the kind inflicted by someone who knew precisely where to strike. Someone like me.

Another memory flashed—the knife from the hidden case in my office, its distinctive handle gripped in my hand, the blade arcing toward a target. Toward Neil?

"I think I'd like to go home now," I said quietly.

Neil studied me for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. "Of course. You've had enough excitement for one day."

On the drive back, I stared out the window, mind racing. The amusement park was newly built, not renovated—another fabrication in our supposed history. And that scar... had I tried to kill Neil before? Was I truly an assassin sent to eliminate him?

But if so, why was I now playing the role of his loving wife? And why was he maintaining this elaborate charade?

When we arrived home, Neil suggested I rest while he handled some business calls. The moment he disappeared into his study, I went straight to our bedroom and opened my laptop—the one Neil had given me, claiming it was mine from "before."

I'd already discovered it contained nothing of value—no emails older than two months, no personal photos beyond those that matched the framed ones throughout the apartment. But now I had a new purpose: researching the amusement park.

It took only minutes to confirm my suspicions. Wonderland Amusement Park had indeed just completed construction. The news articles were dated last week—groundbreaking had occurred only eight months ago. There was no way Neil and I could have had our "first date" there two years ago.

I closed the laptop when I heard Neil's approach. He entered with a glass of water and two pills.

"For any lingering anxiety from the roller coaster," he explained. "Dr. Wexler prescribed them."

I accepted the glass but palmed the pills. "Thank you. I think I'll just rest for a while."

After he left, I flushed the pills down the toilet. Whatever game we were playing, I needed my wits about me.

That evening, Neil suggested a quiet dinner at home. As we ate the gourmet meal he'd had delivered, he regaled me with more stories of our supposed relationship—tales I now knew with certainty were fabrications.

"I have something to show you," he said after dinner, leading me to the living room wall covered with our "photos."

I froze. The photos had changed.

Where before I'd noticed inconsistencies—mismatched eye colors, strange lighting, obvious digital manipulation—now the images appeared flawless. Every photo looked genuinely authentic, my blue eyes consistent throughout, the lighting natural, our poses believable.

"I had them reprinted," Neil explained, watching my reaction carefully. "The others were damaged by water when a pipe burst last month. These are from the digital backups."

Another lie to cover the previous lies. But why go to such lengths? What was worth this elaborate deception?

"They're beautiful," I said, forcing a smile. "We look... happy."

Neil wrapped his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder as we gazed at the photographic evidence of a life that never existed. "We were. We will be again, when your memories return."

I leaned back against him, playing my part while my mind raced ahead. The amusement park, the photos, the bullet casings with my lipstick mark—all pieces of a puzzle I couldn't yet assemble. But one thing was becoming increasingly clear: Neil Hamilton was not who he claimed to be.

And neither, perhaps, was I.

That night, as Neil slept beside me, I stared at the ceiling and made a decision. I would no longer wait for my memories to return naturally. I needed to force the issue, to create situations that might trigger recollection. And I needed to discover what had happened one week ago—the day marked by that bullet casing, the day before I'd awakened in this elegant prison.

Whatever the truth, it was surely more dangerous than this false honeymoon we were playing at. And I was running out of time to discover it.