Towering pines flanked the road, stretching infinitely like a green cathedral. This was a private sanctuary tucked deep within a vast valley—a sprawling estate transformed into a villa for a reclusive billionaire who harbored secrets within its walls.
The afternoon sun filtered through the pine needles, dancing in rhythm with a gentle breeze that swayed the ancient trees. A luxury convertible roared through the warm veil of sunlight, its engine thundering across the valley before screeching to a sudden halt in front of a magnificent mansion.
Burmin, a tall and lean man, stepped out of the car with sharp, fluid movements. His handsome face was defined by a chiseled jawline, and his hair was swept back to reveal a forehead that gave him the clever, predatory look of a fox. His eyes were deep, obsidian pools, and his thin, arched lips looked as though they had never known a smile. He was dressed in a fierce black satin shirt that shimmered with an aggressive elegance, paired with denim that hugged his long legs and polished leather shoes.
As he prepared to cross the threshold, his stride broke. Someone was waiting there… a sentinel who never seemed to tire.
“And where have we been, Master Bur?”
The raspy, commanding voice belonged to the head housekeeper. She was an elderly woman with round spectacles and silver hair pulled back so tightly it strained against her scalp. Her eyes narrowed behind her frames, pinning him with an interrogative stare.
Burmin looked away with cold indifference. “Since when do I have to report to you?”
“Since you lost your memory,” she countered, her voice flat but firm. “It is our duty to keep watch... to ensure that that incident never repeats itself.”
As the head of the household, she governed every detail of the estate, including Burmin’s life. Ever since the prominent heir of a famous business dynasty survived a horrific accident—lingering in a coma for nine months—he had been branded as someone who required constant surveillance. When he finally woke to a world of missing pieces, his freedom became a shadow of its former self.
“Just because I don’t remember doesn’t mean I’m insane or incapable of taking care of myself,” Burmin argued, his patience fraying. “Don’t make this more suffocating than it already is.”
The old woman remained unmoved by his outburst. She stood as still as the stone pillars guarding the entrance. “We cannot grant that request. We have no desire to see history repeat itself. Do not leave again without prior notice.”
The command, thinly veiled as a request, left Burmin with nothing but a long, self-pitying sigh. He brushed past her into the mansion, heading straight for his private quarters.
He flung the door open and slammed it shut with a force that echoed through the hall before collapsing onto a bed so plush it felt as if it might swallow him whole. Burmin stared up at the opulent crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Its shimmering light reflected in his eyes, but the brilliance only brought a deep, stabbing ache.
Only minutes after he had regained consciousness in the hospital’s VIP suite, the entire world had become a riddle. Those around him remained tight-lipped about his past, as if there were truths so dark they feared to speak them. He remembered nothing—not who he was, nor the life he led before the crash.
He possessed a life of luxury and a fortune so vast it could never be spent, yet not a single cent could buy back a moment of his own history.
“Who exactly am I…?”
He murmured to himself as the chorus of crickets began to hum from the grass outside. He closed his eyes, pouring all his concentration into searching for a fragment of the past within the darkness of his mind. But the harder he fought to remember, the more the void expanded, until he felt like a man drowning in a sea of nothingness.
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