Elena’s POV

Damian hung up on the doctor, his movements quick, sharp, and final. “You’re coming with me.”

I didn’t fight. The memory induction drug had left my limbs feeling like water and my mind too slow to formulate a coherent protest. He grabbed my arm and marched toward the far wall of the room, opening a door I hadn’t noticed before. It led to a narrow, unlit passage of stone, the air pouring out of it instantly dropping the temperature of the room by ten degrees.

“This is an old house,” he explained, not looking back. “Built with plenty of storage for things best kept out of sight. You need an environmental prompt, Elena? You’ll get one.”

The room he ushered me into was small and smelled of damp earth and disuse, like a cellar forgotten for decades. The floor was rough, unpolished stone, and the walls were covered in a thin, greasy layer of frost. The air was a physical assault, so dense with cold that it felt like breathing glass shards.

My teeth instantly started to chatter. “Damian, please, you can’t… I’m still sick.”

He ignored the plea.

“I have an emergency conference,” he stated, his voice flat, emotionless. “A ridiculous piece of theater in Geneva that I cannot miss. But I can’t leave until I know what you know. Since the needle failed, we try the elements.”

He produced heavy canvas straps with metal buckles. He looped them around my wrists and then my ankles leaving just enough slack that my limbs didn't lose circulation.

“The doctor said danger might jog your memory,” he continued, kneeling to tighten the last strap around my ankle. When I return, if the memory is not intact, we will start over. But I expect results.”

He stood up, pulling a heavy, insulated steel door shut behind him. I was alone.

The cold was not a gradual thing.Within minutes, the tremors started. small, uncontrollable spasms that escalated into full-body shivering. My jaw ached with the force of my teeth chattering.

“Think, Elena, think!” I whispered, my voice a broken rasp. The cold was turning my words into frozen puffs of breath.

I strained against the straps, to escape but the canvas held fast.

Then, a new, sickening wave of physical distress hit me. It wasn't the cold. It was a familiar, sharp cramp that gripped my lower abdomen. My already weakened body spasmed.

Oh, God. Not now.

A flush of heat, instantly followed by the awful, chilling dampness against my already frozen skin, confirmed it. My period had just started.

The cramps intensified, doubling me over in a sharp, blinding wave of pain. I felt the last of my strength leach away.

The shivers became weaker, shallower, which I knew was a terrifying sign. The deepest cold was setting in. My mind, once racing, grew sluggish and hazy. I tried to plead for help, but my tongue felt too big in my mouth.

I wanted the pain to stop.. I closed my eyes, not fighting it anymore.

He left me. He left me here to break.

The thought was the last coherent thing before my entire body went limp.

I blinked my eyes open. The sheets were silk. My clothes were gone, replaced by a soft, long nightgown.

I was in Damian’s room. The one I had woken up in before.

I lay still, letting the heat fight the cold. How long had I been out? A day? Two? The memory of the freezing room slammed into me.

Then I saw him.

He was sitting in the leather armchair near the fireplace. He must have just returned. He looked somewhat worried.

"...the Swiss were predictably tedious. Yes, Adrian, the deal is signed. Now, about this doctor's report..." He paused, finally looking at me. He gasped a little, even to my own surprise. Then he stood up and walked towards me.

I ripped the covers back and swung my legs out of the bed. My body was still weak, my legs shaking, but fueled by adrenaline. He was still holding the phone to his ear, his attention split. He wasn't fast enough.

My open palm connected with his cheek.

The force of the slap vibrated up my arm, but I barely felt it.

Damian froze. The phone dropped from his hand and clattered onto the thick rug, the voice on the other end line cut off. His head was turned, the faint redness blooming instantly high on his usually pale cheek.

Silence fell over the room.

The only sound was the crackle of the fire and my own ragged, heaving breaths.

In the doorway, the elderly maid who had brought the clothes was standing with a tea tray. She gasped, dropping a porcelain teaspoon, which shattered on the marble floor. Everyone was shocked.

Damian slowly turned his head, his eyes fixing on mine.

For a moment, we just stared. Then, the adrenaline that had held me upright vanished, and I collapsed against him/

Tears, hot and searing, streamed down my face.

“Kill me!” I screamed, my hands clutching the lapels of his suit. “Just finish it! What else do you want? Why did you lock me in that cold room and leave me there? I couldn’t breathe! I was so cold, Damian, I thought I was going to die alone!”

I beat weakly against his chest with my fists, utterly ruined. “I don’t know what you want! Look at me! I still don’t know! I still can’t remember anything!”

My voice broke into a wretched plea. “I’m sick! I’m useless! I can’t give you anything! Please! Just kill me and get it over with!” I buried my face against his chest, screaming until my lungs burned. “I don’t know who I am! I don’t know who you are! You can’t torture the truth out of me if it isn’t there!”

Damian remained perfectly rigid, the imprint of my hand burning on his face, my frantic, weeping body clinging to him. The elderly maid watched from the door, a hand pressed to her mouth, tears in her own eyes.

Damian did not say anything. He just walked out of the room. The elderly maid quickly gave way for Damian to pass. I fell on my knees, tired.

“Just kill me, Damian, or you can let me go.” I screamed loudly, hoping he heard it before disappearing.

“Miss.’ The maid called out softly as she ran towards him. She grabbed my arms and lifted me off the floor, gently dropping me on the bed. “Everything is going to be okay.”

Before I could give an answer, I fainted on to the bed.