Anna's world didn't begin with a childhood memory or a high school dream.
It began with white walls. Soft beeping monitors. The gentle weight of a baby boy curled against her chest.
And a name that wasn't hers.
Anna Smith.
It was strange how easily she accepted it. As if her old identity had dissolved somewhere in the tide, and this name, simple, quiet, floated to the surface to take its place. The doctors called it retrograde amnesia. Trauma-induced memory loss. But to Anna, it just felt like waking up in the middle of someone else's story with no idea how the first chapters ended.
Except Bryce.
He was hers.
That, she never doubted.
Even without memories, she recognized him. Not from sight or sound, but from the fierce, unshakable pull in her chest every time he cried. From the way he quieted only in her arms. From the way he gripped her finger like it was the only anchor he had.
Thomas never asked for thanks.
He provided everything, housing, nannies, medical care, tutors, and eventually, a small studio tucked away in the east wing of his L.A. estate. At first, Anna used it to hum lullabies. Then she started writing her own songs. Simple ones. Melodies she felt rather than remembered.
Thomas noticed.
"I think you were born with music in you," he said one afternoon, watching her play.
"Or maybe I lost everything else," she murmured, "and this is the only thing that stayed."
He didn't argue. He just sent his top vocal coach the next day.
Two years passed.
Anna transformed.
Not into someone else, but into someone whole.
Her voice, once fragile and tentative, became rich with emotion. Her stage presence, shy at first, grew magnetic. She never asked to be famous. She never dreamed of it. But the world didn't care.
They loved her anyway.
By the time she turned twenty-five, Anna Smith was everywhere, magazine covers, red carpets, award nominations. Her debut album soared to the top of the charts within weeks of release. Her ballads were raw, emotional, and unfiltered, like she'd lived a thousand lives in silence and was finally learning to speak.
She didn't write about her past—because she had none.
Instead, she wrote about longing.
Hope.
Aching joy that arrived too late.
And the pain of saying goodbye without ever getting the chance to explain.
The public called her a prodigy. A mystery. A breath of fresh air in a saturated industry.
Thomas called her family.
And Bryce, now a toddler with curls and sharp little eyes, called her Mom.
Anna's world was beautiful.
Safe.
Controlled.
And yet… somewhere in the back of her mind, a storm brewed quietly.
She didn't remember the fall.
She didn't remember the man with the cold eyes who sometimes haunted her dreams. The feeling of loving someone so fiercely it hurt. Or the sound of her name spoken like a promise.
But lately… strange fragments had begun to rise.
A beach.
A scarlet dress.
And once, the sound of a man's voice, desperate, broken.
"Jade… I'm sorry."
The name didn't belong to her.
And yet…
It made her freeze in the middle of a rehearsal one day, her heart pounding as if someone had whispered it directly into her chest.
She didn't tell Thomas.
She couldn't explain it herself.
She had everything now, fame, success, a son who adored her, a man who protected her like a father. Her world was perfect.
But perfection is fragile.
And memories…
Memories don't stay buried forever.