Elara’s POV

I opened my eyes to silence I didn’t recognize. The air felt heavy, like I’d stepped into someone else’s life. A name floated in my ears—“Miss Cruz”—and I froze. That wasn’t my name. It didn’t belong to me.

Adrian was there, standing near the table. His presence felt familiar, though I couldn’t place why. “Good morning,” he said, voice calm. “I made breakfast.”

I blinked. “Breakfast?” My throat was tight, words coming out strange to my own ears. “Where am I?”

“You’re home,” he said, with that certainty that made my stomach twist. “And we’re engaged.”

I coughed, trying to laugh at the absurdity. But it wasn’t funny. “Engaged? To you?” My head pounded. I pressed my hands to it. “I… I don’t remember any of that.”

He set the plate in front of me. The smell was wrong—comforting, domestic, but wrong. My memory recoiled, shivering at the edges. “You… you made this?”

“Yes. For you.” His eyes were steady. Nothing like a question. Just fact. Like it should make sense. But it didn’t. It never made sense.

I pushed the plate away, needing distance. “I… I can’t—” My voice broke. “I don’t remember anything. I don’t even know who I am right now.”

He knelt beside me, not touching, just watching. “You’ll remember in time.”

“No. I won’t. I can’t. None of this is mine.” My hands trembled. I wanted to scream, to run, but my body felt locked in place.

He sighed softly, a sound meant to soothe, but it tightened the knot in my chest. “You’ll have to trust me. That’s all you can do for now.”

“Trust you?” The words were bitter. “You—” I stopped. I couldn’t finish. Couldn’t accuse. Not when every memory I tried to hold slipped like water through my fingers.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” His tone was even. Calm. Too calm. And it made me hate him more. “I’m trying to help you remember.”

“You’re trying to control me.” My hands slammed on the table. The plate rattled. My own voice startled me. “I don’t even know why I’m here!”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t defend. “You’re safe.”

I laughed, a hollow, sharp sound. “Safe? This isn’t safe! I—” I stopped again. My mind refused the words. It refused the thought of being trapped here, bound to someone who claimed I belonged to him.

He took a step back, leaving the plate on the table. “Eat,” he said softly. “You need your strength.”

I stared at it. At the food that wasn’t mine. At the hands that made it. Every bite I took felt like a surrender I couldn’t afford. Every taste pulled me further into a life that wasn’t mine, into a lie I couldn’t escape.

I chewed slowly, pretending it didn’t matter. Pretending I could ignore the chill creeping up my spine. Pretending he wasn’t holding pieces of me hostage, pieces I couldn’t even recognize anymore.

“Do you remember anything at all?” he asked suddenly. His voice wasn’t accusing. Just probing. Testing.

I shook my head, because how could I? My memories were gone, like smoke. The edges of my life had burned away, leaving only this—him, the palace, the name “Miss Cruz,” and the suffocating pressure of being someone I wasn’t.

“Nothing?” His eyebrows lifted, just slightly.

“Nothing,” I said again, though my lips burned with the lie I wanted to speak. I wanted to scream that I remembered everything, that I hated him, that I wanted to leave, that I wanted to find the truth on my own. But the words died behind my teeth.

He watched me, calm, patient. Too calm. And I hated that more than anything. His control, his certainty, the way he moved through a life that wasn’t mine as if it had always been his.

“Finish your breakfast,” he said finally. “We have a day ahead.”

I wanted to throw the plate across the room. I wanted to run and scream and tear apart the walls of this life he’d built around me. But I didn’t. I sat there, pretending, swallowing, tasting the bitterness in every bite.

And all the while, the questions clawed at me. Who was I before this? Who was I meant to be? And why did he have the power to make me doubt everything I thought I knew about myself?