Cecilia opened her eyes slowly. The first thing she saw was a white ceiling, nothing like the one in her bedroom. Confusion washed over her. She scanned the rest of the room, a growing sense of alarm gripping her as she realized that none of it looked familiar. She was lying in a bed that wasn’t hers, wrapped in white sheets and surrounded by furniture painted a soft, pale ivory, though beneath the paint she could tell it was mahogany.

She pushed herself up, a groan escaping her lips as pain flared through her head. Instinctively, she reached up and felt a bandage wrapped tightly around her temple. She had no idea what had happened, and her body felt alien, heavy, aching, stiff. But one thing was certain, she needed to use the bathroom.

Ignoring the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm her, she got to her feet and stumbled toward the door she guessed would lead to the bathroom. She reached it and stepped inside, about to take care of herself when her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror.

She froze.

Then, like a startled animal, she jumped back a step, her heart pounding in her chest. It was as though a stranger had appeared in front of her, like she was a creature seeing its reflection for the first time, unable to recognize its own image.

"What happened to me?" she whispered, moving closer to the mirror.

Slowly, her mind caught up to what her eyes were seeing. Yes, it was her. But she looked different. Not just her hair, which was shorter than she remembered and stripped of its dye, now showing her natural color. It was more than that. Her features seemed changed, finer somehow, and she looked thinner, tired even.

The shock was so overwhelming she forgot the reason she’d come into the bathroom and quickly turned back toward the bedroom, her pulse racing. She had to find someone, anyone, who could explain what was going on.

She didn’t have to go far.

When she stepped back into the room, she stopped in her tracks. Someone was waiting for her, standing at the foot of the bed where she was supposed to be resting.

“Victor!” she cried, feeling an overwhelming rush of relief. It felt like her soul had come crashing back into her body all at once. She moved toward him, wanting to throw herself into his arms, but then she hesitated.

Victor turned to face her, and Cecilia’s steps faltered.

He was wearing one of his sharp black suits, the kind he favored when traveling for business, though this one was rumpled and wrinkled, as if he’d slept in it. His dark hair was disheveled, and dark shadows ringed his eyes, it was clear he hadn’t slept. Yet that wasn’t what stopped Cecilia in her tracks.

It was him.

And yet, not him.

“Victor—?” she said again, this time with hesitation.

“What are you doing out of bed? Doesn’t matter how much time passes, you’re still the same reckless idiot,” he muttered, a sharp edge in his voice.

Cecilia flinched, confused and hurt by the coldness in Victor tone. She took an involuntary step back. He wasn’t joking. He was seriously upset.

“Get back in bed,” he ordered.

The irritation in his voice was enough to make her obey without argument. Feeling small and uncertain, she climbed back under the sheets, never taking her eyes off him. Was he taller? No, that couldn’t be. It was probably the way he stood, his presence somehow heavier now, more distant.

As soon as she lay back, Victor’s tense shoulders relaxed, and he let out a slow breath.

“How are you feeling? I’ll call the doctor,” he said.

Cecilia tilted her head, still trying to make sense of everything. “I-I think I’m okay. But I don’t know what happened.”

Victor stepped over to a button on the wall, one Cecilia hadn’t noticed before, and pressed it.

“You stole my car and crashed it into a traffic light downtown.”

“Oh.” And just like that, pieces began falling into place. The pain, the bandages, the strange room.

“I-I guess I’m sorry?” she offered weakly.

Victor let out a low growl of frustration.

Cecilia frowned, confused by the thick, tense air between them. “Where are we? Is this a hospital? It feels like a hotel room.”

“It’s a hospital. One of the VIP suites,” Victor replied, nodding curtly.

“Right,” she murmured. She wasn’t surprised by that. “Did I hit my head?”

Another stiff nod.

“And—did you stay with me all night?” she asked, a flicker of warmth rising in her chest, some part of her hoping for tenderness.

But Victor’s response wasn’t what she expected.

“Listen, Cecilia. I don’t know what you’re after now, but I can’t do this anymore.” He spoke carefully, every word feeling like a heavy blow. “The doctors will take care of you. There’s a phone here.” He gestured toward a small table with a landline. “You can call whoever you want. I’ll settle the bill. Don’t worry about the car. You can go back to your place when they clear you.”

“My place?” The uneasiness tightened its grip on her, something cold and heavy settling in her stomach. There was something wrong, more wrong than she’d realized. Victor was irritated, yes, but it wasn’t just anger. It was distance. Complete detachment.

At first, she thought it was the accident, that this kind of situation made him tense and snappish. But now she was sure it was something else. Something bigger. She felt a sharp pain in her chest, a rising wave of anguish.

“What about the apartment?” she blurted, needing to hear it, needing to make sense of this surreal moment.

Victor gave her a puzzled look. “What apartment?”

“Our apartment,” Cecilia corrected, her voice dropping to a near whisper, locking eyes with him, searching for a flicker of recognition, of the man she thought she knew.

But Victor just stared at her, his expression stunned, as if she’d just grown a second head.

At that moment, a knock came at the door. Neither of them moved or spoke until the knock came again, firmer this time. Victor turned away, his face closing off.

“It’s the doctor and the nurse,” he said, granting them permission to enter before stepping aside.

“Victor!” Cecilia called out stunned, watching him leave the room like he was fleeing from her.