Page 14 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

A memory came back with cruel clarity.

Last month, I found him in his study at two in the morning, his elbows braced against the desk, both hands buried in his hair.

He looked exhausted.

I stepped behind him and rested my hand against his shoulder, feeling the rigid muscle beneath my palm. He barely reacted, his attention fixed on the papers spread across the desk.

“Just take a day,” I pleaded, giving his shoulder a small squeeze. “One day. We could go to the coast. Just get in the car and drive. You could leave your phone behind. We could stop whenever we see something interesting, take the long way everywhere, get lost on purpose. We could sleep until noon the next morning. You wouldn’t have to think about work for a few hours. It’ll help, I promise.”

He let out a slow breath, his shoulders rising beneath my hand.

“I can’t.”

The answer came so quickly that my fingers stilled against his shoulder. His hand had already reached for another file, his attention returning to the papers spread across the desk, the conversation already pushed aside for the work waiting in front of him.

“Just one day,” I tried again, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “The company will still be there when you get back. Whatever is happening tonight can wait until morning.”

His fingers paused on the edge of the file, and he finally looked back at me. The exhaustion in his face had deepened, his eyes carrying the weight of too many sleepless nights and too many decisions waiting for him in the morning.

“Alessia, you don’t understand the pressure I’m under.” His voice stayed calm, but strain pulled at every word. “There are too many things depending on me right now. I can’t afford to step away from this, even for a single day.”

His gaze dropped to the papers again, his fingers tracing the lines of text while the crease between his brows deepened. Even with me standing beside him, his mind seemed tangled in whatever problem was waiting on those pages.

My hand slipped from his shoulder.

I stood there for another moment, watching him read, wishing he would look at me and change his mind.

He never did.

So I left the study and closed the door behind me, carrying the first pieces of an idea that would eventually become his birthday party.

The past disappeared beneath the sight in front of me.

Cassandra stumbled.

The sway had just enough exaggeration to make me wonder whether the alcohol had anything to do with it. Cassian’s arm shot out before she could lose her balance, his hand closing around her waist to steady her.

My teeth pressed together until my jaw began to ache.

She leaned into him, her weight settling comfortably against his chest. “So sorry, Alessia. We got a little out of control.”

A giggle slipped out of her, scraping across my nerves. The sound seemed to linger between us, made worse by the lazy smile still resting on her face, completely untouched by the tension filling the room.

She smelled faintly of tequila and peppermint, the sugary scent clinging to her clothes and lingering between us.

“It’s just…” Cassandra drew out the words, her gaze drifting toward Cassian before returning to me. “It’s been so long since we had a real reason to celebrate. And then we remembered it was this one’s birthday…” She reached up and pinched Cassian’s cheek. He jerked his face away from her fingers, discomfort flickering across his features as his eyes immediately sought mine. “…so we had to stay. It was a double celebration.”

A double celebration. His birthday. Their win.

And my utter humiliation.

I turned toward our bedroom, the hallway tilting slightly beneath my feet. Everything beyond the few steps ahead of me had blurred into shadows, the lights smearing at the edges of my vision.

“Alessia—”

Cassian’s voice followed me.

It reached me through the rush of blood in my ears, muffled beneath the buzzing that had started somewhere deep inside my head. Heat crawled up my neck and spread across my face. My hands hung stiffly at my sides as I kept walking.