Raina
The knock came faster than expected. Three sharp taps. A dramatic pause then, Camille's voice shouting through the door.
"Open up. Or I swear I'll just start singing Beyoncé off-key in the hallway."
I yanked the door open quickly. Before my neighbors would file a complaint.
She stepped inside like she owned the place. She had her oversized sunglasses still on. Coffee in one hand, attitude in the other.
"You know, you look like you haven't even blinked in an hour," she said as was busy kicking off her shoes. "Was it actually really him?"
I didn't answer. Just turned and walked to the couch, sitting like my body had just remembered gravity.
Camille followed.
"Well?" she prompted, sitting beside me. "Did Elias Langston, your very rich, very cold, possibly cloned ex-fiancé actually open his billionaire door and pretend not to know you?"
I stared at my living room wall like it might give me a different outcome.
"He didn't even flinch," I said finally.
Camille whistled low. "Wow. That's cold. Arctic-level."
"He shook my hand." I added.
She blinked. "Like, business handshake?"
I nodded.
"He once said your hands were the reason he believed in God," she snapped. "What is wrong with him?"
I laughed. Just once. Bitter. Sharp. "Apparently a car crash. Some kind of accident. He said his memories are 'blurred.'"
Camille sat up straighter. "Blurred?"
"Yup."
She narrowed her eyes. "So let me really get this straight. He ghosts you. Disappears before your engagement ever becomes public. Now, years later, you're dragged into his glass tower by some mystery client request, and,surprise! He has amnesia?"
I nodded again, this time slower.
Camille let out a humorless laugh. "How convenient."
"I know how it sounds."I said, rubbing the back of my neck.
"No, babe. You don't. It sounds like the plot of a bad soap opera and a gaslight sandwich had a baby."
I looked over at her, finally meeting her eyes.
Camille pulled off her sunglasses. Her lashes were already perfectly curled, of course.
"You can't do this job, Raina."
The words landed like a slap.
"I need the money." I said.
"I'm not talking about your bank account. I'm talking about your mental account."
"I'm fine."
She gave me a stare only best friends can pull off. The one that sees through all your crap like it's been pre-labeled.
"Okay, let's pretend for two seconds that he really did lose his memory. Clean slate, brain reset, Hollywood-style amnesia. That still doesn't change the fact that he walked away from you before that accident ever happened."
My mouth pressed into a thin line.
"No explanation," she continued. "No call. No closure. You cried for months, Rai. You couldn't say his name without choking."
"I remember."
"So then what the hell are you doing standing in his penthouse acting like you're some stranger with paint swatches?"
I didn't answer right away.
Camille leaned in, her tone softening. "You're not ready for this."
"I don't think I'll ever be." I said.
She tilted her head. "Then why not walk away?"
"I want him to remember," I said. Quiet. Firm. "I want him to look at me and remember."
Camille exhaled. "Oh, Rai…"
"I am not trying to get back together with him. I'm not delusional." I added quickly.
"I didn't say you were."
"I just… I can't be erased like that. Like I was a bad dream he got over."
She was silent.
Then, she said, "Okay. Say you make him remember. Then what?"
"Then I walk away."
"Are you sure?"
"No."
Camille laughed under her breath. "Good thing you're actually honest."
I leaned back my head on my sofa. And I just stared at my ceiling. Unblinking. Like it might blink first.
"I keep thinking. What if he's lying? What if he remembers everything and just doesn't care?"
Camille didn't sugarcoat. She never had.
"If that's true," she said, "then you really can't do this job."
"I know."
"Raina, this isn't just some room you're redesigning. It's your old life, staring you in the face, pretending it forgot your name."
I let that sink in.
Then I stood up.
Camille watched me as I crossed the room and picked up my tablet.
"Rai…"
"I already started the layout," I said, swiping through my notes. "I'll submit the first draft. Let him think I'm just a professional doing her job."
"And then what?"
"Then I find out what really happened. Why he left. Why he doesn't remember."
Camille stood too. "Babe. You're playing with fire in a building full of gas."
"I know."
"You're going to get burned."
"I know."
She stared at me for a long while, "And you're still going?"
"I already walked in the door," I said. "Might as well burn the place down from the inside."
Camille gave a short laugh. "Now that's the Raina I know."
She stayed for another hour. Tallking and teasing. She was just trying to distract me with stories about her new boss at the PR firm. He only spoke in metaphors and really thinks kombucha is an emotion.
The partment felt way too quiet after she left. Like all the air had gone out with her.
I hovered my fingers over the tablet as I sat at the edge of the bed.
I should just turn down this job.
Camille was so right. This whole thing was just ridiculous. Dangerous. So emotionally explosive.
But something inside me had already been lit.
And I wasn't done burning.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Looking forward to seeing your pitch deck tomorrow. —E.L.
I stared at the message.
No emoji. No awkward follow-up. Just initials.
Like I was just another person on his payroll.
Like he'd never tasted my laugh or kissed me in the middle of traffic or promised me the world under broken streetlights.
I set the phone down, heartbeat hammering.
No, I wasn't walking away.
Not until I had answers.
Not until I made him see me.
And if I had to set his perfect little world on fire to do that?
So be it.