Chapter 3 Memory Isn't Mercy

# Chapter 3 — Memory Isn't Mercy

The hospital waiting room smelled of antiseptic and stale coffee. I'd been there for six hours, still wearing my wedding gown, now stained with Damien's blood. The diamond ring on my finger caught the fluorescent light, mocking me with its brilliance.

"Ms. Mitchell?" A nurse approached, her expression carefully neutral. "Mr. Cross is out of surgery. You can see him now."

I followed her through sterile corridors, my mind racing. Sister. The word echoed in my thoughts, impossible yet increasingly undeniable. The resemblance between Iris and me was too striking for coincidence.

Damien's private room was dimly lit, monitors beeping steadily beside his bed. He looked vulnerable in the hospital gown, his shoulder heavily bandaged, his usual commanding presence diminished by pain medication.

"You're still here," he murmured as I approached, his voice rough.

"Where else would I be?" I pulled a chair closer to his bed. "You took a bullet for me."

"Tactical decision," he said, but the slight curl of his lips betrayed him. "Can't have my fake wife dying before the honeymoon."

I couldn't help but smile. "Is that gallows humor, Damien Cross? I didn't know you had it in you."

His expression sobered. "There's a lot you don't know about me." He shifted, wincing. "And apparently, a lot I don't know about myself."

"The memories," I prompted gently. "You're remembering things about Iris."

He closed his eyes briefly. "Fragments. Like looking through broken glass. But they're coming back clearer now." His hand found mine, surprisingly warm. "She was never who I thought she was. And that night, the car accident... she was angry. We were arguing about the merger, about her family's hidden debts. She said—" He stopped, his brow furrowing.

"What did she say?"

"That I'd never escape the Cross curse. That's when she grabbed the wheel, sent us over the embankment." His eyes opened, haunted. "I remember falling, the water rushing in. She was laughing."

A chill ran through me. "But you survived."

"And somehow believed she died saving me. I must have hit my head... or maybe she drugged me that night. The doctors found traces of something in my system afterward, but attributed it to the rescue team's medications."

A soft knock interrupted us. Vivian entered, carrying a change of clothes for me and a concerned expression.

"How's the patient?" she asked, setting the clothes down.

"I'll live," Damien replied dryly.

"Good, because we have a situation." She pulled out her tablet and showed us news headlines already circulating: "CROSS WEDDING DISASTER: DEAD FIANCÉE RETURNS," "BILLIONAIRE LOVE TRIANGLE: SISTERS AT WAR."

I groaned. "This is a nightmare."

"It gets worse," Vivian continued. "Iris is claiming you've known you were sisters all along, that you conspired to take her place and steal her inheritance. The tabloids are eating it up."

"That's absurd," I protested. "I didn't even know I was adopted until today!"

"Were you?" Damien asked quietly. "Adopted?"

I hesitated. "Foster care. I never knew my birth parents." A thought struck me. "Your stepmother—Juliette. Iris said she knew about me."

"She's refusing to speak to anyone," Vivian said. "Locked herself in her suite with a bottle of Valium and her lawyer."

"And Iris?" Damien asked.

"Police custody, but her lawyers are working overtime. With her family connections, she'll probably be out on bail by morning."

The weight of everything crashed down on me suddenly. Twenty-four hours ago, I'd been preparing to fake a marriage for money. Now I was possibly an heiress, definitely a target, and inexplicably worried about the man I'd agreed to deceive.

"You should go," Damien said, as if reading my thoughts. "This isn't what you signed up for."

"And leave you to face the 'Cross curse' alone?" The words came out before I could stop them. "Not a chance."

Something shifted in his expression—surprise, followed by something warmer. "You're not afraid?"

"Terrified," I admitted. "But I'm already in too deep to walk away now."

Vivian looked between us, a small smile playing on her lips. "I'll give you two some privacy. And Avery—security's been doubled. You'll be safe at the penthouse."

After she left, silence settled between us. Damien's hand was still holding mine, his thumb tracing small circles on my skin.

"Why did you really take that bullet?" I finally asked.

He studied me for a long moment. "Because when I saw her aim at you, something snapped into place. Like the final piece of a puzzle I didn't know I was solving." His grip tightened. "You're nothing like her."

"Isn't that the problem? You wanted me to be her."

"I thought I did." His voice lowered. "Now I'm realizing she was never who I thought she was. But you—" He stopped, seeming to search for words. "You're real. More genuine in your deception than she ever was in her supposed honesty."

I didn't know how to respond to that. Part of me wanted to flee, to escape this tangled web before it suffocated me. Another part, one I barely recognized, wanted to stay by his side.

"Get some rest," I said, gently pulling my hand away. "I'll come back tomorrow."

The Cross penthouse felt cavernous and cold that night. I wandered through rooms designed by top interior decorators, filled with art worth millions, yet devoid of warmth. This was to have been my gilded cage for a year. Now it felt like a fortress under siege.

Unable to sleep, I found myself in Damien's study, drawn to the photographs on his desk. One showed him with Iris at some gala, both smiling for the cameras. But looking closer, I noticed the distance between them, the way his smile didn't reach his eyes, how her hand gripped his arm possessively rather than affectionately.

"She controlled everything," a voice said behind me.

I turned to find Victor Cross, Damien's father, standing in the doorway. Tall and distinguished with silver hair, he carried himself with the assurance of a man used to power.

"Mr. Cross," I acknowledged, setting down the photo. "I thought you'd gone home."

"This is home," he said simply. "Or one of them." He entered the study, his gaze assessing me. "You really didn't know, did you? About Iris being your sister."

I shook my head. "Did you?"

A heavy silence. "Suspicions, nothing more. Juliette handles the... personal aspects of the family."

"You mean the secrets."

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "The Cross family has many. Some worth killing for, apparently." He moved to the bar cart and poured two drinks. "Damien is remembering, isn't he?"

I accepted the offered glass cautiously. "Yes. Fragments, he said."

"Good." Victor took a seat across from me. "Memory isn't mercy, Ms. Mitchell. It's justice. And my son deserves that, at least."

"What happened between them? Really?"

Victor sighed deeply. "Iris was... ambitious. The merger was her idea originally. But somewhere along the line, I believe she discovered something—something that made her desperate enough to attempt murder rather than go through with the wedding."

"The curse," I murmured.

His eyes sharpened. "A convenient myth. Three Cross brides died young, yes, but from natural causes. Cancer. Heart failure. Childbirth complications. Hardly a curse."

"Then why would she believe it?"

"Perhaps she didn't. Perhaps she merely needed an excuse." He finished his drink. "Or perhaps there are truths even I'm not privy to." Standing, he headed for the door, pausing at the threshold. "My son took a bullet for you today. In thirty-five years, I've never seen him act so instinctively for anyone."

With that cryptic observation, he left me alone with my thoughts.

The next morning, I returned to the hospital to find Damien sitting up, reviewing documents on a tablet despite his injury.

"Workaholic much?" I teased, setting down the coffee I'd brought.

He looked up, and something in his expression made my heart skip. "You came back."

"I said I would." I sat beside him, suddenly shy under his intense gaze. "How's the shoulder?"

"Functional." He set aside the tablet. "I've been dreaming. Remembering."

"And?"

"She tried to kill me more than once." His voice was eerily calm. "Small doses of something in my food. I was getting sicker, doctors couldn't figure out why. Then the car accident when that didn't work fast enough."

I reached for his hand instinctively. "Damien, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." His fingers intertwined with mine. "If she hadn't tried to replace herself with you, I might never have known the truth. I might never have met you."

The intensity in his eyes frightened me. "This isn't real," I said quietly. "Whatever you're feeling, it's just... gratitude, or relief, or—"

"Is it?" He pulled me closer. "She was a shadow. You're sunlight. Don't tell me what I feel."

"You don't even know me."

"I'm beginning to." His free hand came up to touch my cheek. "And I want to know more."

The door swung open abruptly, breaking the moment. Juliette stood there, immaculate in designer clothes, her face a mask of controlled fury.

"I see you've made yourself at home," she said coldly to me. "Replacing one sister with another without missing a beat."

"Mother," Damien warned, his voice hardening.

She ignored him, advancing into the room. "You think you've won some prize? Being a Cross comes with a price, girl. One your sister was smart enough to try to escape."

"Is it true?" I demanded, standing to face her. "Are Iris and I sisters? Did you separate us?"

Juliette's laugh was brittle. "Oh, it's far worse than that." She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope, tossing it onto Damien's bed. "DNA results, my dear. Proof that you aren't just sisters—you're twins. And the real revelation? You're not the replacement." Her smile was venomous. "You're the original. The true heiress to the Blackwood shipping fortune. Iris was always the imposter."

The room seemed to tilt around me. "What?"

"You think you were a substitute?" Juliette's eyes gleamed with malice. "Wrong. You're the legitimate heir. The one I should have drowned at birth."