chapter 3

“Don’t go.”

Chris’s voice was hoarse, almost childlike, and it froze Clarisa where she stood. She’d only meant to step away to adjust the IV, but his hand shot out with surprising strength, fingers clamping around her wrist.

The heart monitor spiked a little as he did.

Doctor Martins looked up from his clipboard. “Easy, Mr. Vale. You’re safe, everything is going to be alright, your injuries are healing properly.”

Chris’s gaze didn’t waver from her. “Clarisa… please don’t leave me again.”

Clarisa felt the heat of his palm through her uniform, her pulse racing “I’m not leaving,” she said softly. “You just need to rest.”

He exhaled shakily, his hand relaxing but not releasing hers. The weight of his desperation settled over the room, tangible and fragile all at once.

Doctor Martins stepped closer, keeping his tone calm. “Nurse Thomas, stay for a minute. He is still disoriented.” Clarisa nodded. The doctor checked Chris’s vitals, made a few notes, and motioned discreetly for her to follow him outside.

In the hallway, the hospital was abuzz with activities - rushed footsteps, intercom calls. The glass wall of the ICU reflected Clarisa’s face, it looked pale and uncertain.

Doctor Martins spoke quietly “We’ve run the scans, it's not looking too good. He is suffering from retrograde amnesia. Most likely from the head trauma. He remembers nothing: his name, his past, his family… gone.”

Clarisa’s stomach sank. “Completely?”

“Completely. His mind is protecting itself. Forcing information on him could make it worse. Until memory returns naturally, he’ll cling to whatever feels safe.” The doctor gave her a knowing look. “Right now, that’s you.”

She blinked. “Me? But.... but he doesn’t even know me.”

“He heard your name when you were saving his life,” Martins said. “Sometimes, that’s all it takes. The brain latches onto the first source of comfort it recognizes.”

Clarisa pressed a hand to her chest, uneasy. “So I am ...… a replacement?”

“More like an anchor,” he said gently. “He trusts you, don’t break that yet, don't say anything to him that could cause trauma.”

Back inside, Chris watched her like a man afraid she might vanish. The monitors beeped softly, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling the air. Outside, it rained heavily. It seemed like the storm had only stopped momentarily to gather momentum.

Clarisa approached his bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I woke up in someone else’s life,” he murmured. His voice was deep but weak, threaded with exhaustion. “They keep calling me Mr. Vale. I don’t… remember being him.”

Her chest tightened. “It will take time.”

He studied her face as if memorizing every line. “You look familiar" He touched his head closing his eyes as if he had a headache. " Your eyes....” he stared into her eyes, his face unreadable.

She looked down quickly, adjusting his pillow to hide the sudden warmth in her cheeks. “Maybe because I’ve been taking care of you.”

He smiled faintly. “You always did fuss over me.”

Clarisa froze “Chris.........”

“Don’t,” he interrupted softly, his eyes glimmering with confusion. “Don’t tell me it’s not true. I can feel it. You’re… you’re her.”

There it was again, her, his supposed fiancée.

Clarisa forced a careful smile, masking the tremor in her voice. “Let’s not think too hard right now, okay? Just rest.”

But his gaze followed her everywhere as she moved around the room, checking vitals, writing notes. There was something raw about him—unshielded. No trace of the ruthless tycoon the media painted him to be. Just a man lost between two worlds: who he was and who he believed she was.

By midday, the hospital was chaos. Reporters crowded the lobby; ValeCorp lawyers and bodyguards filled the corridor. The deadly crash of Chris Vale.......the enigmatic billionaire, the king of mergers and silent conglomerate takeovers was the story of the week. Everyone wanted a quote, a photo, a word, anything for the tabloid.

Clarisa avoided the attention, keeping her head down as she slipped into his private suite. Inside, the noise and chaos vanished.

Chris sat upright in bed, staring at the muted television. The news ticker scrolled his name in red. His jaw clenched as images of his wrecked Aston Martin flashed across the screen.

He turned toward her. “That’s my car.”

“Yes it is.”

“I don’t remember driving it.” His hand went to his temple, fingers pressing hard. “I don’t remember anything.”

Clarisa quickly reached out. “Stop, don’t force it.”

He grabbed her wrist again, his touch pleading. “Then tell me, Clarisa. Tell me who I am. Who we are.”

Her throat tightened. Doctor Martins’ warning echoed: Don’t push him.

“I... I can’t,” she whispered. “Not yet, just rest, you will be fine.”

His eyes glistened with something deeper than confusion. “Then just stay, please. If you leave, I will forget to breathe.” Clarisa’s resolve fractured a little more. “I’ll stay for now,” she said softly. “But you need to rest.”

He smiled faintly, a shadow of charm surfacing beneath the exhaustion. “You always say that.”

Later, after the nurses’ shift rotation, Rowell caught up with her near the vending machine. “You’ve been in there all day,” he said, popping open a soda can. “You look like hell.”

Clarisa leaned against the wall, rubbing her temples. “He thinks I am his fiancée, Rowell. He looks at me like I’m his whole world.”

Her friend’s eyebrows shot up. “His fiancée? Damn, girl. The man loses his memory and lands the only nurse who doesn’t swoon over his money.”

“It’s not funny,” Clarisa muttered.

Rowell’s expression softened. “Sorry. You’re too kind, Clar. But be careful. Men like him… even broken, they know how to pull people in.”

Clarisa didn’t answer. Her mind was too full of his eyes, his voice, that unguarded way he said her name, like it meant the world to him. That evening, a storm rolled back over the city. Thunder rumbled beyond the window, rain streaking the glass in silvery trails.

Chris sat awake, restless. When Clarisa entered, his expression brightened instantly.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. “Every time I close my eyes, I see fire. Screeching tires. Then… nothing.”

“It’s trauma,” she said gently, checking the monitors.

He studied her face. “You say that like you've seen it before.”

“I’ve seen a lot,” she murmured. “People breaking, people loosing themselves, people healing.”

“Which one am I?”

She hesitated. “That’s up to you to decide”

He reached out, brushing his fingers against her hand—a fleeting touch, hesitant but electric. “Then maybe you could help me remember. What kind of man was I?”

Clarisa met his gaze. “The world says you were powerful.”

“Powerful?” His smile twisted bitterly. “That sounds lonely.”

“It can be.”

For a long moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with something unspoken. The storm outside filled the room with light and shadow. Clarisa’s heart thudded in rhythm with the monitors.

Then he said quietly, “If I had truly been as powerful as they say… I wouldn’t have let you go.”

The words sent a ripple through her. She swallowed hard, fighting the ache in her chest. “You need sleep, Chris.”

“I need you,” he said simply.

She looked away. “I am your nurse.”

He smiled faintly. “Then I am the luckiest patient alive.”

Hours passed, the storm waned. Clarisa dozed off lightly in the chair beside his bed, a blanket draped over her shoulders.

A soft whisper stirred her awake.

“Clarisa.”

She blinked awake, rubbing her eyelids with a finger. Chris was sitting up, sweat glistening on his forehead, his breathing fast.

“Hey, hey,” she said quickly, rushing to his side. “You’re okay. It’s just a dream.”

His eyes were wide. “There was a fire… and someone was screaming your name.”

Her heart lurched. “It’s just the trauma.”

“No,” he said firmly, gripping her wrist again. “You were there, I saw you.”

Clarisa froze. His voice was too certain, too clear.

“Chris, you’re confused......”

He shook his head. “You wore a white dress. There was glass everywhere. I tried to reach you, but... but.. oh” He stopped abruptly, eyes darting to his hand.

Clarisa followed his gaze and her breath caught. The light from the window glinted off a platinum band around his finger. The same intricate pattern she remembered from her father’s ring.

For a moment, she couldn’t move. The room spun with questions she didn’t want to ask.

Chris looked at her, frowning. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

She forced her voice steady. “Nothing. I just… need to get the doctor.”

She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her cold.

“Don’t,” he said, his tone suddenly sharp, commanding. And then softer, almost broken.......“If you walk out that door, I’ll forget you again, and I don't want to ever forget.”

Clarisa stood frozen, her hands trembling on the doorknob, the storm’s reflection flashing across the ring that should never have been his.

Outside, thunder rolled again.

Inside, something far more dangerous was waking.