Arians Pov:
Pain.
That's the first thing Ariana felt. A dull, throbbing ache behind her eyes, as if her brain had been rearranged and shoved back inside her skull.
The second thing? Confusion.
She blinked against the sterile white light above her, struggling to make sense of where she was. The sheets beneath her were soft, the air smelled like antiseptic and roses, and an IV dripped rhythmically by her side.
Was this… a hospital?
The door clicked open.
She turned her head—too fast—and winced. A man stepped in. Tall. Immaculately dressed in a charcoal suit. Cold eyes the color of stormy skies. A jaw so sharp it looked sculpted by bitterness itself.
He paused at the door, staring at her with an unreadable expression. "You're awake."
She swallowed. "Who… who are you?"
Something flickered in his eyes—relief? Anger? It vanished too quickly to name.
"I'm your husband," he said simply. "Adrian Blackwood."
Her heart skipped. Husband?
She stared at him, searching for a sliver of familiarity. Nothing.
"I don't remember…" she whispered.
He stepped closer, his presence like a shadow settling over the room. "The doctor said that might happen. You had a head injury in the accident. Temporary amnesia."
"Accident?" she echoed, as if tasting the word.
"Two weeks ago," he said. "Your car was found at the bottom of a ravine. You were… lucky."
She didn't feel lucky.
There was a moment of silence before she asked something, which she hoped she didn't.
"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked, voice trembling.
He raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
"Like you hate me."
A pause.Again.
Then: "Because I do."
Her breath caught.
He continued, voice low and razor-sharp. "We were in the middle of a divorce, Ariana. You begged me not to leave you. And now... fate's played a cruel trick on both of us."
Tears threatened to form, but she blinked them away.
"I'll have the paperwork drawn up again soon," he added, already turning to leave. "But for now, you'll come home with me."
She stared at the door long after it closed behind him.
A nurse entered minutes later, soft and quiet.
"You're lucky to be alive," she said gently, adjusting the IV.
Ariana forced a weak smile. "I suppose I am."
The nurse hesitated, then slipped a folded note into Ariana's palm.
She leaned down, lips barely moving. "I'm not supposed to do this. But you deserve to know."
She walked out before Ariana could speak.
Hands trembling, Ariana unfolded the paper. Just four words, scrawled in hurried ink:
Don't trust your husband.