Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Because they haven’t come to visit you in months.
Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I saw them. It’s like there’s a cloud sitting in the middle of my head, fogging everything up.
This is not normal. A person should remember things like their family and when they saw them last.
Usually, I feel like I would ask Seth for help, but…
A sliver of a memory enters my brain. An argument. Being held down by my husband, hand covering my mouth, while we have sex. Bitterness coils in my gut and it has nothing to do with morning sickness.
I’m going to throw up.
Your mind lies, Romy. It’s probably lying now.
The fury gleaming in Seth’s eyes as he handcuffs me to our bed burns inside my skull. I didn’t dream that up. It’s real and it happened.
Why would he handcuff me?
Are we freaks in bed?
I shiver at the terrible threads of memories, knowing it has nothing to do with our sex life. There’s something far more sinister at work here. I just need to get to the bottom of it.
How?
I need more time to think.
My mind whirls as I put away the folded towels in our bathroom. After getting them neatly stacked in the closet, I stare at Seth’s sink, my whole body trembling with sudden disgust.
Red, curly pubic hair has been left in the sink. I should be grateful he’s manscaped for me, but right now, gratitude is far from my mind. Visceral hatred for my husband consumes me as I stare at the mess he’s left for me.
I’m his sex toy, his maid, his nanny.
The word nanny makes my skin crawl.
What’s going on with me today?
I’m toggling from disgust to anger to fear, unsure why these feelings are consuming me.
I wish I had someone to talk to.
I wish I had a friend.
Why don’t I have a friend?
Crossing my arms over my chest, I stare at the pube mess, scouring my mind for any recollection of having someone to confide in.
A brief flash of a puzzle teases my memories. There are two men there. Seth and Doc Junior?
No.
The memory isn’t from the lab where I always see those two together. It’s of two other men. I can’t see their faces, but I can almost hear them. Squeezing my eyes shut, I grasp at the whisper of a life I don’t remember.
Who are you?
Caius.
The name cuts into me like a blade—sharp, quick, precise. I’m left clutching my middle and stumbling out of the bathroom, gasping at the pain that’s filleting me from the inside out.
Who is this Caius?
The memory of saying his name comes to mind and then I remember Seth’s reaction. Hand over mouth, handcuffs, his phone.
What was his phone for?
I’d watched helplessly as he did something on the screen and then mind-numbing static crackled through my every nerve ending, chasing everything away except a blank quiet inside me.
My mind feels like a puzzle, but I’ve only been given a few colored pieces. The rest have been painted black, hiding in the shadows for me to find and put together.
They’re there. I just have to locate them.
How?
I have no way of researching into my past. No phone. No computer. No access to the outside world.
The puzzle pieces are slowly beginning to reveal themselves to me. It’s strange for a wife to be locked away at home with no interaction aside from her husband and child. What if I wanted to call my dad or brother or stepmom?
Eva.
I have another distinct memory of us sharing orange scones in our favorite café. And then there was a guy watching me. Who was the guy? Another man dragged him away? What happened next?
More blank holes where a life I used to know should be.
Maybe if I iron down what I do know, it’ll be easier to piece together what I don’t. So what do I know?
Dad and Bastian live in New York City. They run VEIL, a global media conglomerate. I come from a wealthy, well-known family. Eva is my stepmother, and I always secretly wished she were my actual mother.
Where’s my real mother?
Empty.
Nothing to see here, folks.
Irritation simmers in my veins. Again, I want to blame Seth and feel irrationally angry toward him.
Trust your instinct, Romy.
A quiet, urgent whisper of a feeling tells me to snatch Kaitlyn up and run. Why? Where would we go? How?
I have no phone, no car, no link to the outside world.
An enormous tidal wave of fear of the unknown threatens to drown me. I have a peculiar urge to rush into my closet, push apart my many dresses on the hangers, and to sit on the floor between endless pairs of shoes to hide from this growing monster of fear.
You can’t hide, Romy.
You have to protect Kaitlyn.
This I know deep in my soul. Kaitlyn is real to me. The love I have for her is real. If I were ever to leave Seth, she’s coming with me.