Page 71 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

Look at me now, Mrs. Garcia.

I didn’t want filtered versions from Naija or pitying looks from Felicity. I wanted the unvarnished truth, straight from the source. I would grant him this hearing, this final chance to speak his piece, and then I would close this chapter for good.

He held my gaze, a knowing glint in his eyes. “And if I tell you… you’ll stay?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and dragged his hands over his face. He took a long, shuddering breath, then nodded as if steeling himself. When he looked up, his eyes were dark with a painful intensity.

“You know I was struggling with work,” he began, his voice low and gravelly. “What you don’t know is that I was on the verge of losing it all. I was about to lose Velaré.”

Chapter 12

Ileaned back and folded my arms. “Explain.”

His eyes held mine, the honesty in them edged with shame. “For months before the accident, my company was dying,” he admitted. “It started when we lost the Bali resort bid to a multinational that undercut us by nearly twenty percent. That loss rattled our primary investor hard. They pulled out of the Milan flagship after that, citing ‘risk exposure.’ Without their funding, construction stalled, permits lapsed, and the losses kept mounting.”

His jaw tightened. “Velaré was over-leveraged. We’d stretched our credit lines too far trying to keep every project afloat. One setback triggered another, and within weeks, we were staring at a liquidity crisis. Without fresh capital, administration was inevitable.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, his voice roughening. “Then the deal came through on the day of your party. It was the only thing standing between Velaré and collapse.” He paused, his expression tightening. “The Aethelstan Group gave me the capital, but their terms came with a price. Cassandra’s father is their majority shareholder and chairs their investment committee. He set the terms.”

“Cassandra’s father?” I interrupted. “You mean Liam’s father? Liam is your business partner—why couldn’t he just advocate for the deal himself?”

“Liam and his father have a… professionally fractured relationship,” he explained, choosing his words carefully. “Liam left the family business to build Velaré with me. In his father’s eyes, that was a betrayal. A deal from Liam would have been rejected on principle. But Cassandra… she’s the favored child, the one who stayed close to the family empire. Her advocacy carried weight we could never have. She was the only one who could get them to soften the terms enough for us to sign. She brought the finalized sheet to the office that afternoon.”

He drew a breath before continuing. “The team was ecstatic. They’d been through hell with me during those months. When they insisted on going out to celebrate… I felt I had to go. It wasn’t just a victory lap; it was a strategic necessity to show unity and confidence. And I…” He swallowed, looking away. “I was so relieved after carrying that weight for so long that I let myself be swept along.”

He rose from his chair and sank to his knees before me, his hands falling limp against his thighs. “I know I fucked up, Alessia.” Shame weighed down every word. “I know I hurt you, and there isn’t an excuse that can undo that. But trust me.” His eyes searched mine, desperate for any sign that I was still listening. “The man I became during those months… that is not who I am. That is not who we are.”

He looked down for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “If you ask me about that time, I honestly don’t know what to tell you.” He exhaled slowly. “I remember pieces. Moments. Things people said. But the rest…” He shook his head. “It’s just a blur. I remember being exhausted. I remember the pressure, the constant feeling that there was too much happening and not enough time to deal with any of it. But I couldn’t tell you what happened on which day, or even what came before what. There are gaps everywhere.”

He paused, searching for the right words. “I know I was there. I know I made decisions. I know I did things. I just can’t remember enough to put it all together.”

He reached for me, his hand stopping just short of mine, his fingers trembling in the space between us. “I am so sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry that I brought us to this cliff’s edge. But please,” he whispered, his eyes glistening, “don’t push us over. Don’t do this.”

My eyes dropped to his hand, lingering there before I looked back at him. He wanted me to hold on now. He wanted me to believe in us now. And I couldn’t help wondering why he hadn’t fought this hard when it had mattered.

“Why didn’t you tell all of this to the woman who was probably waiting for you?” I asked softly.

His head dropped. He didn’t touch me, but he hovered over my lap, his shoulders caving beneath the weight of everything he had been carrying. “I… I thought I could handle it alone,” he murmured, each word heavy with regret. “I thought I could fix everything before you ever had to know. My plan was to get through the crisis, put everything back in place, and tell you once it was over.”

A bitter breath escaped him. “But there was always another problem waiting. One thing became two, two became five, and before I knew it, I couldn’t see a way out.”

He lifted his head, his eyes filled with exhaustion and regret. “I was drowning, Alessia. And pulling you down with me felt like the cruelest thing I could do. You had your own work. Your own stress. The last thing I wanted was for you to come home and find more pain waiting for you because of me.”

His voice faltered, and he looked down again. “You deserved peace at home. You deserved a husband who could give you that. I couldn’t stand the thought of being the person who took it away from you.”

I searched his face and saw what I had refused to see before—the deep exhaustion beneath his eyes, the remorse written across his features, and the guilt etched into every line of his face.

But none of it mattered.

He was showing it to the wrong woman.

“Was this your first relationship?” I asked.

“No.” He shook his head, confusion crossing his face. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re talking as if it was.” I let out a disbelieving breath and shook my head. “Let me get this straight. You were having problems at work. You were struggling. You were drowning in all this pressure, and your brilliant solution was to stop talking to your wife?”