Chapter 2 - THE MAN NAMED MATTHEW|
“Your patient is stable enough for transport,” Dr. Harris announced.
Elena nodded, checking the monitor one last time. The wounded man had regained a stronger pulse, and the private surgical team was waiting two blocks away.
“Keep him warm. Watch his pressure during transport. If he loses consciousness, call me immediately.”
One of Adrian’s men nodded, suddenly polite.
Adrian remained near the treatment-room door.
He had not asked another question, but Elena could feel his attention following every movement she made.
She hated it.
She hated the expensive suit, the controlled silence, the men who watched him as if their lives depended on his next breath. Most of all, she hated the way her heart still reacted to him before her mind could remind it what he had done.
When the gurney disappeared through the doors, Elena stripped off her gloves.
“You can leave now,” she said.
Adrian looked at her.
“I need to speak with you.”
“Then make an appointment.”
His bodyguard, a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his chin, looked offended.
Nobody spoke to Adrian Moretti that way.
Adrian raised one hand, stopping whatever the bodyguard intended to say.
“What is your name?”
“You already asked that.”
“I asked where you got the ring.”
“And I answered.”
“Your name.”
“Elena Ross.”
Something flickered across his face.
It was gone before she could identify it.
“Ross,” he repeated.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“No.”
“Wonderful. Then we're finished.”
She turned away.
“Did you know a man named Matthew?”
Elena stopped so abruptly that a tray rattled beside her.
For a moment, she could not speak.
Then she turned slowly.
“I knew a man who called himself Matthew.”
“Where is he?”
She laughed once, without humor.
“That's an interesting question coming from you.”
Adrian's jaw tightened.
“I’m asking because the ring you’re wearing belonged to someone who disappeared ten years ago.”
“You mean the man who gave it to me?”
“The ring was stolen.”
The accusation landed like a slap.
Elena stared at him, struggling to understand whether he truly believed what he was saying.
“Stolen?”
“Yes.”
“You put it on my finger yourself.”
“I don't remember doing that.”
“You kissed my forehead. You told me you would come back. You promised that if I kept the ring, you would always find me.”
Adrian's face remained unreadable.
“Those are very specific accusations.”
“They're memories.”
“Memories can be manipulated.”
Elena felt something inside her go cold.
Ten years ago, Matthew had been frightened, funny, stubborn, and gentle when he thought nobody was watching. He had been a wounded stranger who apologized to her father for bleeding on the clinic's clean sheets.
This man had the same eyes, but he wore cruelty like a tailored suit.
“Get out,” she said.
Adrian studied her for another moment.
Then he removed a business card from his jacket and placed it on the counter.
“My office number. If you remember anything else about Matthew, call me.”
“I remember everything.”
He turned toward the exit.
“Then perhaps,” he said quietly, “you remember more than you realize.”
After he left, Elena picked up the card.
Adrian Moretti.
Beneath his name was an address in Manhattan.
She dropped it into the trash.
Then, alone in the treatment room, she pressed her hand against her mouth and finally allowed herself to cry.
May you like
She had spent ten years waiting for Matthew.
The man who had returned seemed determined to prove Matthew had never existed.
