Chapter 2 Custom Galaxies and Lies

# Chapter 2: Custom Galaxies and Lies

I spent the next three days exploring the mansion that was supposedly my home. Each room revealed a new facet of the woman I had been—a yoga studio with a mat bearing my initials, a library containing books on subjects ranging from quantum physics to classical literature, and a music room with a grand piano that my fingers itched to touch, though I couldn't remember if I played.

Scott gave me space, but I could feel his eyes on me whenever we were in the same room. He was careful not to overwhelm me, answering my questions with patient detail, never pushing for more than I was ready to give. It was like living with a considerate ghost—always present but never intrusive.

On the fourth night, unable to sleep, I wandered onto the balcony outside our bedroom. Scott had taken to sleeping in a guest room, a gesture that both relieved and oddly disappointed me. The night was clear, the stars brilliant against the dark canvas of sky. I leaned against the railing, tracing constellations with my finger.

"You always loved the stars."

I turned to find Scott standing in the doorway, his silhouette backlit by the dim bedroom light. He wore silk pajama bottoms and nothing else, his chest bare in the moonlight. I forced my eyes back to the sky.

"They're beautiful," I admitted. "So constant. Even if I can't remember them, they're still there."

Scott moved to stand beside me, careful to maintain a respectful distance. "You used to tell me that stargazing gave you perspective. That no matter how big our problems seemed, they were infinitesimal compared to the universe."

I glanced at him. "That sounds wise."

"You were." A small smile played at his lips. "Are."

We stood in silence for a while, the night air cool against my skin. There was something comfortable about his presence, despite everything. Maybe my body remembered what my mind couldn't.

"I wish I could see more of them," I said finally. "The light pollution here hides so much."

Scott nodded thoughtfully. "Get some rest. Tomorrow might be better."

I wasn't sure what he meant, but exhaustion was finally catching up to me. I returned to the bedroom and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next evening, Scott knocked on my door around sunset. "I have something to show you," he said, his expression unreadable.

Curious, I followed him to the bedroom—our bedroom, I reminded myself. He opened the door with a flourish and stepped aside.

I gasped. The ceiling had been transformed. What had been cream-colored plaster was now a perfect projection of the night sky, but not just any sky. It moved, stars shifting subtly, galaxies swirling in slow motion.

"What is this?" I asked, stepping into the center of the room, my head tilted back in wonder.

"NASA's live feed from their deep space imaging satellites," Scott explained, watching my reaction carefully. "I had it installed while you were exploring the east wing today. It updates in real-time."

I turned in a slow circle, taking in the cosmic display above me. "This is... incredible."

"You mentioned last night that you wished you could see more stars," he said, as if commissioning a custom galaxy projection was the most natural response in the world.

"This must have cost—"

"It doesn't matter what it cost," he interrupted gently. "You've always been fascinated by the cosmos. Your degree was in astrophysics, after all."

I stared at him. "I studied astrophysics?"

Scott nodded. "At Cambridge. You were brilliant—are brilliant. You were working on a paper about quantum gravitational effects in celestial bodies before..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at my head.

Another piece of myself, revealed. I sat heavily on the edge of the bed, still staring upward. "I don't remember any of it. The formulas, the theories... nothing."

Scott sat beside me, careful not to touch. "The mind is complex. Your knowledge might still be there, just... inaccessible for now."

I looked at him sideways. "And if it never comes back? If I never remember being the woman you married?"

His expression grew serious. "Then we start fresh. I fell in love with you once. I can do it again."

There was something in his voice—a certainty, a determination—that made my chest tighten. This man loved me, or at least the woman I had been. The thought was both comforting and terrifying.

"Thank you," I said finally, gesturing to the ceiling. "For this. It's perfect."

His smile reached his eyes this time. "Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning."

After he left, I lay back on the bed, watching the stars drift overhead. If I had studied astrophysics, surely some part of me would recognize the patterns, the movements. I stared until my eyes grew heavy, searching for any hint of recognition.

Nothing came.

The next morning, I decided to explore the one room I had been avoiding—Scott's study. He had left early for a business meeting, promising to return by dinner. The house staff kept a respectful distance, appearing only when needed and vanishing just as quickly.

Perfect for my purposes.

The study door was unlocked, which surprised me. Either Scott trusted me implicitly or he had nothing to hide. I stepped inside, feeling like an intruder despite supposedly having every right to be there.

I began with the bookshelves, running my fingers along leather spines, looking for anything that might trigger a memory. Business journals, classic novels, biographies of great innovators. Nothing personal.

The desk was next. The surface was neat, containing only a laptop (password protected), a leather blotter, and a framed photo of us—skiing, my face flushed with cold and laughter as Scott held me from behind. We looked happy. In love.

I moved to the drawers, most of which were unlocked. Business documents, household accounts, property deeds—the man owned half a dozen homes around the world. The bottom drawer, however, was locked.

I hesitated. This was an invasion of privacy, wasn't it? But if Scott was my husband, what privacy existed between us? Besides, I reasoned, I was searching for myself as much as I was investigating him.

I'd noticed earlier that Scott kept a spare key hidden in a small compartment beneath his desk—the kind of hiding place only someone familiar with the furniture would know about. I retrieved it now, wondering how I'd known it was there. Muscle memory, perhaps?

The drawer slid open smoothly, revealing a leather portfolio similar to the one that had contained our wedding photos. My heart raced as I lifted it out and placed it on the desk.

Inside was a document, the header reading "Marriage Contract Agreement." My hands began to tremble as I scanned the formal legal language.

It was a contract detailing a marriage of convenience. Two years, with the option to renew. Financial arrangements. Separate bedrooms. Public appearances together. All the trappings of a business arrangement, not a love match.

My throat tightened. So it was all a lie? The devoted husband, the loving marriage—just an act?

I flipped to the last page, searching for signatures, for irrefutable proof. But where the signatures should have been, there was only a brown stain—coffee, by the look and smell of it—obscuring most of the text. Only a handwritten note in the margin was clearly visible:

"Violation clause: Should Party A develop genuine emotional attachment, all assets to be transferred to Party B upon dissolution."

The handwriting was bold, masculine—Scott's, I presumed. But what did it mean? Was he the one who'd "developed genuine emotional attachment"? Or was this a warning to me?

I was so absorbed in the document that I didn't hear the door open.

"Mrs. Blackwood? I've brought your tea."

I jumped, hastily shoving the contract back into the drawer. An older man in a crisp uniform stood in the doorway, holding a silver tray. Jenkins, the butler—one of the few staff members whose name I'd managed to remember.

"Thank you, Jenkins," I said, trying to sound casual. "You can set it there."

He placed the tray on a side table, but didn't leave immediately. Instead, he hesitated, seeming to debate with himself.

"Is there something else?" I prompted.

Jenkins' weathered face showed concern. "If I may speak freely, madam..."

I nodded, curious.

"The staff and I are relieved to see you recovering. You gave us quite a scare." He paused, then added more softly, "Especially given the circumstances of your accident."

I straightened. "What circumstances?"

Jenkins looked uncomfortable. "Perhaps Mr. Blackwood should—"

"Please," I interrupted. "I need to know."

The butler sighed. "You were on your way to your lawyer's office, madam. To sign the divorce papers. Mr. Blackwood was... distraught when he received the call about the accident."

Divorce papers. The room seemed to tilt around me. "We were getting divorced?"

"Yes, madam. It had been a... difficult few months between you." Jenkins looked genuinely pained. "I've said too much. Mr. Blackwood would not want me to upset you during your recovery."

"No, thank you for telling me," I said quickly. "I need to understand what happened."

Jenkins nodded gravely. "Of course, madam. Will there be anything else?"

I shook my head, and he retreated, closing the door softly behind him.

Divorce. Contract marriage. Nothing was as Scott had presented it. The loving husband act was just that—an act. But why? If we were ending our arrangement, why continue the charade after my accident?

I returned to the drawer, retrieving the contract, determined to find more answers. But as I turned, I found myself face to face with Scott.

He stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, eyes fixed on the document in my hands. How long had he been there? Had he heard my conversation with Jenkins?

"Find what you were looking for?" His voice was soft, dangerous.

I lifted my chin, refusing to be intimidated. "I found a marriage contract. And Jenkins told me about the divorce papers."

Scott stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a decisive click. "Did he now?"

"Were you ever going to tell me? Or was pretending to be the devoted husband more convenient?"

Something flashed in his eyes—anger? Pain? He crossed to the fireplace and knelt, striking a match to the kindling laid there. The flames caught quickly, casting his face in golden light and sharp shadows.

"Our marriage began as a contract," he acknowledged, rising to his full height. "A mutually beneficial arrangement. You needed funding for your research; I needed a respectable wife for social appearances."

"And now?" I challenged, holding up the contract.

Scott moved toward me slowly, like a predator approaching wary prey. He took the document from my hands, examining it briefly before tossing it into the growing fire.

We both watched as the flames consumed it, the edges curling and blackening before dissolving into ash.

"Now," he said, turning back to me, his eyes reflecting the firelight, "we start again."

The intensity in his gaze made me step back. This wasn't the careful, considerate man of the past few days. This was someone else—someone determined, perhaps even dangerous.

"Why?" I demanded. "Why bother with this charade? If we were ending things—"

"Because the accident changed everything," he cut in. "Do you have any idea what it was like, getting that call? Being told you might not survive? Sitting by your hospital bed for weeks, not knowing if you'd ever open your eyes again?"

The raw emotion in his voice stopped me cold.

"Whatever we were before," he continued more softly, "whatever was ending... none of it mattered in that moment. All that mattered was you. Coming back to me."

I stared at him, trying to reconcile the contract with the man before me. "So what now? You get a second chance to make our arrangement work?"

Scott shook his head. "No more arrangements. No more contracts." He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Just us. Finding out if what we had—what we could have—is real."

I should have been angry. Should have demanded he take me to my family, my friends—whoever I had before him. But something in his words, in the intensity of his gaze, made me hesitate.

"And if I say no?" I whispered.

His expression softened. "Then I'll help you find your way back to whatever life you want. But I'm asking for a chance, Celia. A real chance."

The fire crackled in the silence between us, consuming the last evidence of our contractual beginning. In that moment, I made a decision that would change everything.

"I'll stay," I said quietly. "For now."

Relief washed over his features, quickly masked by a careful neutrality. "Thank you."

As he turned to leave, I caught his arm. "But no more lies, Scott. I need the truth—all of it."

He looked down at my hand on his sleeve, then back to my eyes. "The truth is rarely simple."

"Try me."

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "Alright. Starting now—no more lies."

But as he walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that the biggest truths remained unsaid, hovering between us like ghosts.