I didn't sleep after Lucas left.
I lay in that giant bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember something. Anything.
My name was Vivian. That much I knew.
I was rich. Apparently.
And my heart hurt like someone had ripped it out and stomped on it.
But why?
I closed my eyes and tried to reach into the darkness of my memory. Nothing. Just... fog. Thick and gray and endless.
The next time I opened my eyes, sunlight was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city below glittered. Skyscrapers. Bridges. Water. I didn't recognize any of it.
A soft knock came from the door.
"Miss Vivian?"
Lucas.
"Come in," I said. My voice was still hoarse.
He entered carrying a tray. Coffee. Pastries. Fresh fruit arranged so perfectly it looked like a painting. He set it on the bed beside me with careful hands.
"You should eat," he said.
I looked at the food. Then at him.
"Do you always bring me breakfast?"
He hesitated. "Sometimes."
"Did I used to make you do this?"
Another hesitation. Longer this time.
"You asked me to," he said carefully.
I stared at him. The way he stood. Straight back, hands clasped behind him, eyes focused somewhere over my shoulder. Like he was waiting for an order. Like he was bracing for impact.
"Lucas," I said.
His eyes flickered to me.
"Did I ask you nicely?"
He didn't answer. But his silence told me everything.
I sighed. "Sit down."
He blinked. "What?"
"Sit down. You're making me tired just looking at you standing there like a soldier."
He didn't move. So I patted the edge of the bed.
"Come on. I can't eat all this by myself anyway."
For a moment, he looked genuinely lost. Like I'd asked him to fly to the moon.
Then slowly, cautiously, he sat. Just the edge of the bed. As far from me as possible while still technically sitting.
I pushed the tray toward him. "Eat."
"I don't..."
"Lucas. You brought enough food for four people. Help me out here."
He stared at the pastries like they might bite him. Then he picked up a croissant. A tiny piece broke off. He ate it like he was committing a crime.
I almost laughed.
Almost. My face was still too sore from crying.
"You're weird," I said.
He froze. The croissant stopped halfway to his mouth.
"You're not used to me being nice, are you?"
He put the croissant down. His face went blank again. The mask was back.
"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," he said quietly. "I'll maintain professional boundaries."
"No, that's not..."
He was already standing. Already retreating to the door.
"I'll have someone check on you later, Miss Vivian. Please rest."
"Lucas, wait."
He stopped. Didn't turn around.
I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to fix... whatever I'd broken.
So I just said the only thing that came to mind.
"Thank you. For the breakfast. For being here. For... everything."
His hand was on the door handle. I saw his knuckles go white.
"Thank you, Lucas."
He stood there for a long moment. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath.
Then he turned around.
And I saw it.
His eyes were red. Not crying, but close. Like he was holding something back with everything he had.
"You're welcome," he said. His voice was rough. "You don't have to thank me. I'm just doing my job."
"That's not true," I said.
He went still.
"You're doing more than your job," I continued. "I don't remember anything, but I know that. You're here. You're taking care of me. And I don't know why, because from what I can tell... I wasn't very good to you."
He didn't deny it.
"Why, Lucas? Why do you stay?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
Then he said something so quiet I almost missed it.
"Because I see you. The real you. The one you hide from everyone."
I didn't know what to say to that.
He shook his head, like he was waking himself up. "I'll send someone to check on you later. You need to rest."
And then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him.
I stared at the closed door for a long time.
The real me. The one I hide.
What did that mean? Who was I hiding from? And why?
I picked up my coffee. It was still warm. The way he'd made it, with just a little cream and no sugar, tasted exactly how I liked it.
Except I didn't remember liking coffee.
I didn't remember liking anything.
I looked around the room again. The massive bed. The expensive sheets. The photo frame still facedown on the nightstand.
I picked it up.
The woman in the photo stared back at me. Cold. Distant. Alone.
She was standing in front of a building with a name I couldn't read. Her arms were crossed. Her jaw was tight. She looked like she'd never been hugged a day in her life.
Is that who I was?
I turned the photo over. There was writing on the back. Handwritten. The ink was smudged, like someone had touched it with wet fingers.
Vivian Chen. CEO. Chen Group. The woman who has everything.
But underneath that, in smaller handwriting, someone had added:
Except happiness.
I touched the words. The ink smudged further.
I wondered who wrote that. Was it me? Lucas? Someone else?
I looked at the woman in the photo again. Cold. Alone. Surrounded by money but empty inside.
And I thought: I don't want to be her.
I didn't know who I was before. But I knew who I didn't want to become.
I set the photo down. Face-up this time.
Then I picked up my coffee, took a sip, and made a decision.
I was going to find out who I used to be.
And then I was going to decide if I wanted to stay that way.