“Ahh—”

Pain ripped through her skull as she gasped awake.

Cold stone pressed against her skin. Damp. Unforgiving. She lay sprawled on the floor of a dark room, the air heavy with rot and silence. Chains dug into her wrists and ankles, their metallic bite anchoring her to reality.

High above, a tiny barred window let in a thin blade of pale light—the only proof that the world still existed beyond these walls.

Where am I?

A whisper floated through the darkness.

Outside the door.

Voice 1: Why is she here again?

Voice 2: Doctor’s orders. She lost control again—broke things.

Voice 1: Poor Miss T…

Voice 2: She used to be perfect. I don’t know what happened.

Miss T?

Her head throbbed violently. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“My head…” Her voice cracked. “Why can’t I remember anything?”

The door creaked open.

Light flooded in.

A man and a woman stepped inside—middle-aged, elegant, immaculate. Their polished appearance clashed cruelly with the filth of the room.

The woman rushed forward, eyes brimming with tears.

“My baby… how are you?”

The words meant nothing to her.

“Who are you?” she whispered hoarsely. “Where am I? And why am I tied like this?”

The man’s face tightened with concern. “Sweetheart, we’re your parents. Your mom and dad. Don’t you recognize us?”

She stared at them. Nothing stirred.

“No,” she said slowly. “I don’t know you.”

Her chains rattled as she shifted. “If you’re my parents… why am I chained in a basement?”

“The doctor restrained you,” the man replied gently. “You were trying to hurt yourself.”

Her eyes darted around. “This doesn’t look like a hospital. It looks like a prison. What kind of hospital keeps patients in chains?”

The woman broke down completely.

“Baby… you were in an accident months ago. We thought we lost you.” Her voice collapsed into sobs. She turned away, shoulders shaking.

“It’s okay,” the man murmured, holding her. “She’s alive. That’s what matters.”

“But she doesn’t remember us,” the woman whispered. “We were always so busy… and now—now she can’t even remember her own parents.”

Luna watched them carefully.

They looked real. Sounded real.

So why did they feel like strangers?

The only thing she knew—truly knew—was her name.

Luna.

“That still doesn’t explain the chains,” she said.

“I will.”

A third man entered the room. White coat. Stethoscope. Calm eyes.

“I’m Dr. Robert Fernandes,” he said. “You’re under my care.”

He spoke clinically, methodically—about the accident, the coma, the violent episodes, the fear in her eyes when she woke. About how she screamed, threw things, hurt herself.

“We recommended transferring you to a psychiatric facility,” he continued. “But Mr. Mandes refused. He believed you would recover.”

Mr. Mandes?

“Malcolm Mandes,” the man beside her said softly. “Your fiancé.”

The word echoed.

Fiancé.

“He never gave up on you,” her supposed father continued. “He came every day. Sat with you. Talked to you—even when you couldn’t hear.”

“I… have a fiancé?” she murmured.

Dr. Robert smiled faintly. “Let me run some tests. If everything is stable, you can go home.”

.....................................................................................

The discharge papers were signed with practiced ease.

“Baby, the reports are clear,” the woman said, smiling too quickly.

“The doctor has discharged you.

We’re going home.”

Home.

The word landed strangely in Luna’s mind—hollow, unfamiliar, like a place that existed only in someone else’s memory.

“Rebeca. Teressa,” the woman called. “Help Tiara get ready.”

Two young women stepped inside. They were neatly dressed, identical in black uniforms with white aprons—too neat, too synchronized.

Luna recognized them instantly.

The voices.

The ones she had heard whispering outside the door.

As soon as the door closed behind the woman, the two girls hurried toward her.

“Oh thank God you’re awake, Miss T,” they said almost at once. Tears brimmed in their eyes, unguarded and genuine. “We were so scared… we thought something terrible might happen to you.”

Their fear felt real.

Unpolished.

Human.

Luna studied their faces—no calculation, no rehearsal.

Only relief.

“Why are you calling me Miss T?” she asked softly. “I don’t remember much, but I remember my name. It’s Luna.”

Teressa wiped her eyes with the edge of her apron.

“That’s because it’s your other name,” she said gently.

Rebeca nodded. “Tiara. That’s what Sir, Madam, and Malcolm sir call you.”

Luna frowned. “Then why don’t I remember it?”

Rebeca hesitated before answering. “After the accident… you forgot many things. Some days you remembered your name.

Some days you didn’t.

The doctor said it would come back slowly.”

“And on your ID cards,” Teressa added carefully, “your name is Luna Coelho.”

The moment the name reached her ears, something inside her broke open.

Luna Coelho.

Her breath caught sharply.

A memory surfaced—not hazy, not distant, but achingly alive.

A boy kneeling on one knee, cheeks flushed with hope.

A cheap plastic ring glinting under the sun.

A voice trembling with promise.

“Luna Coelho, will you be my girlfriend?”

Her heart lurched violently.

Alex.

The love she had lived. The love she had chosen.

Her vision blurred as another memory forced itself through.

Chains.

Cold metal cutting into skin.

A dark room.

Alex—bound, gagged, his eyes swollen with tears.

He couldn’t scream.

But his eyes did.

Pain exploded behind her eyes as the truth returned without mercy.

Blood pooling on the floor.

Her parents—her real parents—dying in front of her.

Hands tearing her apart while she begged, cried, prayed.

Four men.

Four shadows.

No mercy.

Her screams — swallowed by cloth and tape.

Alex watching.

Breaking.

The weight of it crushed her lungs. Luna sank to the floor, gripping her head as if she could hold the memories back.

I remember.

Not pieces.

Not fragments.

Everything.

“Miss T!” Teressa cried, kneeling beside her. “Are you in pain? Please tell us—should we call the doctor?”

Rebeca hovered anxiously, her hands shaking. “You’ve been getting headaches whenever you try too hard to remember. Please don’t push yourself.”

Luna forced herself to breathe.

The girls weren’t lying.

They weren’t part of whatever nightmare this was.

They were just scared for her.

Slowly, painfully, she lifted her head.

“No,” she whispered. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

The lie tasted bitter—but necessary.

Because now she understood something terrifying.

The people around her believed one truth.

She remembered another.

And if she revealed what she knew—

If she spoke Alex’s name—

If she exposed the past—

She didn’t know who would protect her.

So she lowered her eyes, steadied her voice, and let the mask settle into place.

I will pretend I don’t remember.

Not because she was weak.

But because she needed time.

Time to understand why she was here.

Time to find Alex.

Time to survive.