Chapter Two- The Man Who Calls Me His

A dull, persistent beeping echoed in my ears. My body felt heavy, like I was sinking into the mattress beneath me. My eyelids fluttered, struggling to lift, but when they finally did, the world around me was blurred, hazy—foreign.

White walls. The scent of antiseptic. A dim light humming above me.

I was in a hospital.

Panic curled inside me, slow but suffocating. My throat was dry, my limbs weak as I tried to move, but a sharp ache shot through my head, forcing me still. I winced, pressing my fingers to my temples.

What happened?

My chest tightened with unease, my mind grasping at shadows, searching for something—anything—to make sense of this. But there was nothing. Just an empty void where my memories should have been.

I didn’t know how I got here.

I didn’t even know my own name.

The door creaked open, and my heart lurched. Footsteps, slow and deliberate, approached my bed. I turned my head, my breath catching when my gaze met the striking blue eyes of a man standing beside me.

Tall. Dark-haired. Devastatingly handsome.

Something about him sent a shiver down my spine—not entirely fear, but not comfort either. He looked worried, his jaw tense, but there was something else in his expression. Something unreadable.

His eyes locked onto mine like he was searching for something—waiting.

I swallowed hard. My voice was barely above a whisper when I spoke.

“Who… who are you?”

His expression didn’t change, but I swore I saw something flicker in his gaze. Pain? Relief?

Then, after a long moment, he spoke.

“You don’t remember me?”

His voice was deep, smooth, but there was an edge to it, a careful restraint that made my stomach twist.

I shook my head, my pulse pounding. “I don’t remember anything.”

His lips parted slightly as if he was about to say something, but then he stopped himselfHis lips parted slightly as if he was about to say something, but then he stopped himself. His throat bobbed, his jaw tightening before he exhaled slowly.

Then, with a voice so calm it sent a chill through me, he said, “I am Saint. Your husband.”

I blinked, my breath hitching. Husband?

No. That didn’t feel right. The word sat uncomfortably in my mind, foreign, like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit.

I studied him, searching for familiarity in his piercing blue eyes, in the sharp angles of his face. But there was nothing—just emptiness where a memory should have been.

“I… I don’t remember being married,” I whispered, my throat tightening.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, but his expression remained unreadable. “You were in an accident,” he said, his voice carefully measured. “You hit your head. The doctors said there’s a chance of memory loss.”

An accident.

I swallowed hard, trying to push through the fog in my mind. Nothing came to me. No flashes of the past. No images of a wedding, of vows exchanged.

Just a man standing in front of me, claiming to be my husband.

Something inside me screamed that this was wrong. But I had no proof.

Saint reached out suddenly, his fingers brushing against mine. I flinched.

His grip tightened. Not painfully. Not yet. But enough to make me realize something—I wasn’t allowed to pull away.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmured, his voice smooth, reassuring—too reassuring. “I’ll take care of you. Like I always have.”

Before I could say anything, the door opened again. A man in a white coat stepped inside, his face lighting up with relief as he saw me.

“Alina, you’re awake,” he said, moving closer to my bed.

Alina.

The name felt strange, like it belonged to someone else. But if that was my name, why didn’t it feel familiar?

I swallowed hard, my gaze flickering between the doctor and Saint. “I… I don’t remember anything,” I admitted, my voice small.

The doctor’s expression softened. “That’s expected. You suffered a head injury from the accident. Temporary memory loss is common in cases like yours.”

I tried to sit up, but a dull pain throbbed in my skull, making me wince. The doctor gently placed a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “Take it easy. Your body needs rest.”

Saint’s hand was still on mine, his grip firm. I glanced at him, unsure how to feel. He was watching me closely, his expression unreadable.

The doctor checked the monitors beside me, nodding slightly. “Your vitals look good. You’re lucky—it could have been much worse.”

I licked my dry lips. “How… how long have I been here?”

“Two days,” the doctor said.

Two days.

A strange feeling crept into my chest. I had been unconscious for two days, and the only person here with me was Saint. No family. No friends. Just him.

The doctor turned to Saint. “Has she shown any signs of recognizing things?”

Saint’s fingers tightened around mine. “No,” he said smoothly. “She doesn’t remember me.”

The doctor sighed. “That might take time. We’ll run some tests later to monitor her progress, but for now, she needs rest.”

Saint nodded. “I’ll take care of her.”

The doctor gave me a reassuring smile before walking toward the door. “If you need anything, just press the call button.” Then he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Silence filled the room.

I turned back to Saint, my heart pounding. “So… we’re really married?” I asked, my voice hesitant.

His lips curved into a small smile, but his eyes held something deeper. “Yes, Alina. We are.”

I swallowed, my fingers twitching beneath his grip. Something about this didn’t feel right, but I had nothing to hold on to—no memories, no proof. Just his words.

“How long?” I asked cautiously. “How long have we been married?”

Saint didn’t hesitate. “A year.”

A year.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, my gaze drifting over his sharp features. He was undeniably attractive—almost unreal with those piercing blue eyes and sculpted jaw.

I let out a breathy, nervous laugh. “I mean… if I had to imagine myself married to someone, I suppose I wouldn’t mind if they looked like you.”

His lips twitched at the corner, but the intensity in his eyes didn’t waver. “Is that so?”

I shrugged weakly, the movement making my head throb. “I don’t know… I guess I’m just trying to make sense of this.”

Saint lifted my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Don’t force it, Alina.” His voice was smooth, controlled—but there was something off about it. Something almost… unwilling. “You’ll remember soon enough.”

The way he said it—it wasn’t hope. It wasn’t reassurance. It was almost like he didn’t want me to remember.

A chill crept down my spine.

I studied his face, searching for something—anything—that would make this feel real. But all I saw was a man who was too calm, too careful.

My pulse quickened. “You… you want me to remember, right?”

His grip on my hand tightened for the briefest second before he forced a smile. “Of course.”

But I wasn’t sure I believed him.