I did not sleep after Lucas left. I just lay in that giant bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember something, anything at all. My name was Vivian. That much I knew. I was rich, apparently. And my heart hurt like someone had ripped it out and stomped on it. But why? I closed my eyes and tried to reach into the darkness of my memory, but there was nothing there. Just fog, thick and gray and endless.
The next time I opened my eyes, sunlight was streaming through the floor to ceiling windows. The city below glittered with skyscrapers, bridges, and water, but I did not recognize any of it.
A soft knock came from the door. "Miss Vivian?" It was Lucas.
"Come in," I said. My voice was still hoarse.
He entered carrying a tray with coffee, pastries, and fresh fruit arranged so perfectly that it looked like a painting. He set it on the bed beside me with careful hands. "You should eat," he said.
I looked at the food, then at him. "Do you always bring me breakfast?"
He hesitated. "Sometimes."
"Did I used to make you do this?"
Another hesitation, longer this time. "You asked me to," he said carefully.
I stared at the way he stood, straight back with his hands clasped behind him and his eyes focused somewhere over my shoulder. He looked like he was waiting for an order, like he was bracing for impact. "Lucas," I said. His eyes flickered to me. "Did I ask you nicely?"
He did not answer, but his silence told me everything. I sighed. "Sit down."
He blinked. "What?"
"Sit down. You are making me tired just looking at you standing there like a soldier."
He did not move, so I patted the edge of the bed. "Come on. I cannot eat all this by myself anyway."
For a moment, he looked genuinely lost, like I had asked him to fly to the moon. Then slowly and cautiously, he sat on just the edge of the bed, as far from me as possible while still technically sitting. I pushed the tray toward him. "Eat."
"I do not..."
"Lucas, you brought enough food for four people. Help me out here."
He stared at the pastries like they might bite him, then picked up a croissant and broke off a tiny piece. He ate it like he was committing a crime. I almost laughed, but my face was still too sore from crying.
"You are weird," I said.
He froze with the croissant halfway to his mouth.
"You are not used to me being nice, are you?"
He put the croissant down and his face went blank again. The mask was back. "I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable," he said quietly. "I will maintain professional boundaries."
"No, that is not..."
He was already standing and already retreating to the door. "I will have someone check on you later, Miss Vivian. Please rest."
"Lucas, wait."
He stopped but did not turn around. I did not know what to say. I did not know how to fix whatever I had broken. So I just said the only thing that came to mind. "Thank you. For the breakfast. For being here. For everything."
His hand was on the door handle and I saw his knuckles go white.
"Thank you, Lucas."
He stood there for a long moment, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. Then he turned around, and I saw it. His eyes were red, not crying but close, like he was holding something back with everything he had.
"You are welcome," he said, his voice rough. "You do not have to thank me. I am just doing my job."
"That is not true," I said. He went still. "You are doing more than your job. I do not remember anything, but I know that. You are here and you are taking care of me, and I do not know why because from what I can tell, I was not very good to you."
He did not deny it.
"Why, Lucas? Why do you stay?"
He opened his mouth and closed it. Then he said something so quiet that I almost missed it. "Because I see you. The real you. The one you hide from everyone."
I did not know what to say to that. He shook his head like he was waking himself up. "I will send someone to check on you later. You need to rest." And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stared at that closed door for a long time. The real me. The one I hide. What did that mean? Who was I hiding from? And why?
I picked up my coffee. It was still warm, made with just a little cream and no sugar, and it tasted exactly how I liked it. Except I did not remember liking coffee. I did not remember liking anything.
I looked around the room again at the massive bed, the expensive sheets, and the photo frame still facedown on the nightstand. I picked it up. The woman in the photo stared back at me, cold and distant and alone. She was standing in front of a building with a name I could not read, her arms crossed and her jaw tight. She looked like she had never been hugged a day in her life.
Is that who I was?
I turned the photo over. There was writing on the back, handwritten, and the ink was smudged like someone had touched it with wet fingers. It said, Vivian Chen. CEO. Chen Group. The woman who has everything. But underneath that, in smaller handwriting, someone had added, Except happiness.
I touched the words and the ink smudged further. I wondered who wrote that. Was it me? Lucas? Someone else? I looked at the woman in the photo again, cold and alone, surrounded by money but empty inside, and I thought to myself, I do not want to be her.
I did not know who I was before, but I knew who I did not want to become. I set the photo down face up this time. Then I picked up my coffee, took a sip, and made a decision.
I was going to find out who I used to be. And then I was going to decide if I wanted to stay that way.